#its his world and we’re all living in it!!!!!!!!

[tragedy-of-commons]

HI GWENNIE !!! here for the event hehe

may i req honeysuckle + ebullience + serendipity for dan heng? 🤍

HONEYSUCKLE:  they’re making it a point to show you just how much you mean to them.

ebullience  —  a boiling or bubbling up; (figuratively) the quality of enthusiastic or lively expression of feelings and thoughts.

serendipity  —  a combination of events which have come together by chance to make a surprisingly good or wonderful outcome.

modern au but it's not obvious, fluff and mush, dan heng is whipped, so is reader, kinda fits the dahlia prompt better but shhh

“It’s fine. We don’t have to go.”

In response to Dan Heng’s reassurance, you snap your neck around to face him like an affronted owl. By the expression quickly making its way onto his countenance, he seems to regret ever speaking up, his brow pinched together in contrition and his fingers twitching as if to physically take the statement back.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you scoff, voice light. “You went out of your way to make dinner reservations on the most romantic day of the year, months in advance. Cancelling is out of the question. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You must remain resolute. Today is Valentine’s Day, and after all of the cursory couple activities that you’ve dragged your boyfriend to, you’re more than worn out. Normally you’d be bouncing off the wall in excitement at the prospect of dinner - food is the best - and you rarely go out with Dan Heng as it is! However, it’s apparent you’ve already expended all of your daily stamina.

You can’t shirk his thoughtful gesture just because you’re tired! And you’ve told him as much, which is why you’re both here, lingering near the front door in reluctant date attire.

“It’s not entirely about me,” he tells you, watching with crystalline discontent as you stalk over to him. You fidget with the silver necklace resting over his shirt while he continues. “And to be transparent, I’m not exactly looking forward to it either. I made the reservations because I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I do appreciate it! I love restaurants…” you lament. Dan Heng sighs, breath ghosting your face.

He’s really close now, and it makes you feel even worse about not feeling your best. You decide to cup his cheek in your palm while he leans into your touch, even if he’s normally embarrassed to accept such things from you. At least you’re in private. 

“But you’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. These circumstances are less than ideal.”

His reasoning is sound, and you groan, perching your chin on his shoulder, melding chest to chest with him. However, you make no move to embrace your partner, instead letting your arms hang loosely by your sides like a dejected ragdoll.

“Yeah… but I don’t want to waste the night.”

“Maybe we don’t have to.”

You blink, pulling back to level with him. “I’m listening.”

And to your surprise, Dan Heng leads you outside anyway. If you’re not going to the restaurant, then pray tell, where the hell are you going? The streets aren’t pitch black just yet - you have the periodic lampposts and sinking sun to thank for that - but you’re still perplexed. You wave to one of your neighbors as you pass his house, a very friendly old man that, earlier in the day, was giving out free bouquets to any passing couples. You remember shoving a bundle of tulips in Dan Heng’s arms while he held back an earth-shattering sneeze.

Man, you are tired. You’re not even energized enough to break from your boyfriend’s side and start up a thirty minute chat about life as humanity knows it with the neighbor! What is the world coming to? Terrible, awful, no good.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” you yawn.

“...No.”

“Really? ‘Cause you sound dangerously close to cracking.”

He pulls a face at you. You’ve learned that Dan Heng is good at keeping secrets - especially his own - but he’s a horrible liar. One time he was attempting to fib to you about what his plans were for your shared anniversary (he had none, he’d claimed), but his ears were tipped an endearing, entirely telling red. 

Also, it’s like his tongue sometimes fistfights his brain. The man you’re in love with doesn’t stutter or trip over his words very often, but he can get hesitant and lock up for an indefinite period of time. So you’re really excited - despite your low battery - that he’s going to surprise you. You know he can do it! 

Dan Heng doesn’t have to reply. The conversation has lulled into a comfortable silence, anyway; the kind of quiet that really brings out the love you harbor for one another. If you were side-by-side with anyone else, walking to some unknown destination, you’d force a cheerful smile on your face, and perhaps a bizarre non sequitur out of your mouth, desperate to keep up the banter. 

But with him, you don’t have to. You can be tired all you want without fear of being pestered by well-meaning questions or concerned glances. And Dan Heng, in turn, can say everything without saying anything.

It’s truly bliss, this life. 

“We’re almost there,” he remarks, taking an abrupt right turn. You only stop for a moment before doubling your pace to catch up, the brisk temperature coaxing you forward. “Sorry for the walk.” 

You snort. “If you’re sorry, then I must be doing something wrong.”

You can’t say you’ve ever been this way. Groceries, work, leisure - it’s all reached by taking a left, not this fantastical right. But you’re not complaining! It’s nice out, golden hour is dwindling, and all of the possible yet abundant circumstances that’ve led you to this very moment drift by in your mind like shooting stars. 

Dan Heng halts in front of what seems to be a small park. It’s contained by a chain link fence, boasts a couple of tall oaks, and is connected by a bunch of sprawling concrete paths. 

You deflate.

He turns to gaze at you, taking note of your indifference. The sky is now briefly turning a magenta color in anticipation of total sunset, bathing him in a mild warmth that will soon give way to cool in a matter of minutes. It wholly suits him.

“Is something wrong? We can go home.”

“No, idiot,” you laugh, limply shooting your arms out and gesturing to the grassy landscape, “It’s perfect. I didn’t even know we had a park in this neighborhood. How long have you been keeping this place a secret?”

Dan Heng lets you link pinkies with him as you begin the (not so perilous) journey through the green. It’s nothing like how dinner would’ve been - no clinking glasses or endless noise. It’s so peaceful. 

“Not a secret,” he sighs, “but on one of my walks I discovered the area. I was waiting for an opportunity to share it with you, believe it or not. Tonight fits the bill well.”

You hum in response, falling back into silence. The cue is understood and honored without a beat skipped, as it often goes. For the next hour or so, you stroll through the park with your other half. Nighttime descends and quickly shadows all the tempting wildflowers you’d normally pluck from the ground and take home, but you find yourself content.

I love you, your hand says as it engulfs Dan Heng’s.

I love you too, his replies ardently as it squeezes back.

event post here. network members only!

[nylloth]

First of all, you're talking about a very specific political critique, while most of the actual criticism has nothing to do with that.

Personally, I know very little about American politics, so I’ve never criticized the show on that basis. The show has its own internal city politics, which were established in the official game lore. I know the official lore, which is why my expectations for this aspect were completely different. This has nothing to do with the real world.

Secondly, my main criticism is about the writing. Arcane didn’t win its writing award.

Here’s what I’m criticizing: the characters have forgotten their own motivations from Season 1. Viktor’s arc is a blatant retcon—his motivation was death, not disease. The show always tackled social issues and inequality, but in Season 2, those themes were erased. The dialogue was drastically reduced. The creators chose the "show through animation, don’t tell" approach, but you can’t use it in every situation—otherwise, we’re just left staring at Caitlyn’s microexpressions. Vi’s dialogue was cut by 60% compared to Season 1. That’s not how good storytelling works.

Is it because of the episode count? No, because Season 1 managed it just fine. Instead, the writers crammed in too many music video sequences, which anyone can interpret however they want, and which often fail to convey the characters' thoughts and relationships.

The pacing is breakneck, making serious decisions feel unearned—especially Viktor’s, which change every five seconds. He becomes a god and loses faith in his vision all in one day.

Jinx’s "revolution" basically didn’t happen.

Pacifist Viktor suddenly decides to team up with Ambessa and considers it the right choice. And Ambessa, a brilliant warrior and strategist (as established in Act 1), agrees to a highly questionable alliance with someone she can't control.

The weapons conflict between Viktor and Jayce, which was a major theme in Season 1, is completely dropped. Why? Because Jayce fell into a pit and broke his leg. As if that somehow helps him understand Viktor, who lived with a disease, was dying from it, and was part of the lower class that no one cared about.

The core dynamics of the show—family relationships and social inequality—shifted to a Marvel-style formula with lots of action and a big bad villain.

See? It’s not about real-world politics. It’s about how it was written.

Moving away from writing: Viktor’s original lore was far more complex and morally engaging. He was never purely evil or just a victim of magical manipulation. Turning him into an "evil god" is an incredibly dull choice. Of course, you might not know this if you haven’t read the original lore.

Caitlyn poisoning the city? Completely brushed aside.

We have two "women in freezer"—Sky and Isha. This is one of the worst, most lazy, and disgusting writing choices. Cheap, especially for Sky, who was already treated this way in Season 1.

Viktor’s time loop raises countless unanswered questions.

Episode 207 is pure fanfiction, eating up screen time for the sake of the Time Bomb ship. It serves no narrative purpose. We don’t even see how Ekko talked Jinx out of suicide. Why? Because it happens off-screen. And ask yourself—why is it off-screen? Because the writers had no actual dialogue for that moment.

Now the most interesting part. I watched the leaks. Dialogues were rewritten and cut at the last moment! This means the writing was incredibly raw. They were re-recording lines just months before release. Sevika’s lines were cut from the final episodes.

And while I can accept Act 1 with all its flaws, Act 3 is a disaster.

As a standalone Marvel-style show? Maybe 8/10. But as Arcane’s second season—compared to Season 1’s writing, storytelling, themes, and character arcs—it’s really bad.

I feel sorry that so many of you aren’t trying to analyze these issues. That you think slowing the show down and staring at the characters’ facial expressions is the right way to understand their shifting motivations. I feel sorry that you don’t see the obvious difference between Season 1 and Season 2. But it’s there. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be so much criticism. And that criticism has nothing to do with real-world politics.

The first season never received this much criticism and for good reason. It was simply better written.

People don't understand that we criticize s2 because we genuinely love s1 and we were disappointed. basically what speaks to us is the grief of losing potential or “what could it be…” it's not the same as being a hater

[banana-can-do-art]

Guys I just finished the well it’s not the entirety of Riddle’s dream there’s still like an hour and a half that hasn’t been translated on Gasmask’s channel but I finished the part that they did translate and omg heeelp this is the best dream yet. This is so sad omg I have to ramble about it also all translations I’m using are from gas mask on YouTube.

First of all omg he’s so happy it’s making me sad. Also him saying that he would be tired of everything being the same all the time right after I made that post rambling about how his implied OCD causes him to always do everything in a “samey” manner I aaaaagghhhh. And he’s saying that he’s going to have a chaotic band because in his dream he isn’t upset when things aren’t in order and he can just let himself be happy. You can’t do this to meeee! But there’s more!

Look he’s happily breaking the rules and feeling no anxiety about it whatsoever. (OCD be gone). In his dream world he can do what he wants with no terrible parents or mental illness holding him back. Look at him he’s adorable. And then we have this though agghhh.

This is so sad! When Ace and everyone tells him about what he’s like in real life as though they are talking about another person, Riddle immediately hates the person they are describing. Because he doesn’t like who he is irl. In fact, Riddle even says here that he hates school and studying and that it makes people miss out on the fun things in life. It’s so sad because who he actually is irl is the complete opposite of what he wants to be. He’s so isolated and self loathing I can’t.

Also in the dream Riddle isn’t even a mage. Because he doesn’t even actually like doing magic because all of the joy was sapped out of that for him because he’s always expected to do it perfectly. He never just gets to do magic because he wants to or because it’s fun but rather only because others expect and pressure him too. It feels like the idea of a hobby losing its charm and fun when people have to make it into their jobs. (I hope that doesn’t happen to me heeeelp)

Also I felt so bad for Trey during this because he knows the most about Riddle’s reality and he is the entrenched in it himself. Riddle’s mom screamed at him for five hours as a child and he’s scarred from everything that happened with Riddle and his mom as a kid and yet now he’s supposed to just walk into Riddle’s house like nothing’s wrong. That must be so jarring and unsettling. Props to Trey for managing to do that honestly that’s freaking terrifying.

Also I can’t with all of those pictures on the wall. What do you mean he hates his real life so much that in his dreams his entire memory has become fabricated. His real life memories are completely different from his dream memories. And what do you mean that in his dream his parents are together and they love him and neither of them are mages and he just lives a happy and normal life?! What do you mean?!

Also, even though his parents love him in the dream, his mom has been so awful to him irl that even though everything is fake he can’t even actually picture her face saying nice things to him so it’s just the house talking to him. That’s so awful!

Also then we get this whole reference to the scene in Alice in wonderland where Alice has the big tears and people are drowning. Except it’s tea this time lol. Also Riddle crying that he wants to get out of the house is so sad even in his dreams he can’t escape agshdjdjdj. Omg Cater is so funny in the drowning scene though, he’s just like stop crying we’re gonna drown lmao. Also I know Chenya is fake but it is still so unbelievably funny how he is literally drowning in tea and yet he just has this huge smirk on his face the whole time lol. Chenya’s so silly.

Also the house became so creepy omg I saw someone saying it looks like an rpg maker horror game and like it really does! Specifically I think it really looks like Sunny’s house during the truth sequence of Omori.

Speaking of rpg maker horror games, Malleus was really channeling his inner rpg maker horror villain this update. Poor Idia lol. My condolences to Idia, he’s become the main character of an rpg maker horror game. I dunno Idia if we are going for Omori parallels then maybe you should open that door.

And then later when he gets pulled deeper the dream reflects false desires. To have control over the dorm while everyone bows down to him is was he thinks he wants but not his actual true desire. That’s why in the second layer of his dream even though he is in power, he still seems miserable because we know that he doesn’t even want to be a mage in the first place, much less have all of these rules.

And then Chenya pushes him over and he gets tangled in his cape lmao. That was so funny and then the screen is just Riddle with his feet in the air lmao. That outfit is not conducive to getting up from a fall.

But omg when the darkness is telling him that in the dream they respect him while irl he is isolated it’s so sad. Because he knows that irl his rules and strictness (and OCD) isolate him and that’s why it’s so difficult for him to make friends. He understands that he is lonely because he is a control freak like this, and yet it’s the only thing that he knows how to do because it’s all he’s been taught. (And also because he’s mentally ill you see).

This is all so sad I can’t. Twst! How could you do this to me?!

Anyway, in conclusion punk band Riddle is the most amazing thing to ever grace my eyeballs just look at him. We need a Riddle vocaloid band rhythm game spinoff immediately actually. Also his new fit is absolutely slaying look at him go!

Now I must wait in agony for the next hour and a half or so to be translated by the great and amazing fandom hero, gasmask.

[kayawolfhorse]

The sun sets molten across the server, brushing the horizon in strokes of fiery reds and sickly, lurid golds. Rivulets of light drip sluggishly between the boughs of the dark oaks around Grian and glint against the diamond blade held loose at his side—a mere precaution, in this space between one held breath and the next. The night is young enough to have not yet spawned its monsters, and evenings are an agreed-upon respite this early in the game.

Grian flexes his hand around the sword as he walks. As newly-crafted as it is, the leather grip is still stiff, and it cuts a hard crease into where his time ticks away between the green lines of his palm. The heart and the life lines, he vaguely recalls, working in tandem to cease the pulse at his wrist. Who had told him that? It doesn’t matter.

The din of the day has faded into a buzzing hum that reverberates across Grian’s nerves. His shoulders feel pinched within the confines of the jacket Joel had wrangled him into. The grass doesn’t sound quite right beneath his soles. There is a sense of wrongness that clings to the back of his neck.

“Fancy seeing you here!”

His blade is at Scar’s throat before Grian can register the movement. “Scar!” He lowers his arm and glares. He does not put the sword away. “You can’t do that to a man.”

Scar’s grin is far too crooked to be anything close to the sheepishness he tries to sell it as. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, meaning approximately none of it. “Beautiful day we’re having, isn’t it? Would you just feel that breeze! The air is ripe with opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” Grian says drily. “Were you following me?”

“It’s all coincidences, Grian, all coincidence,” Scar says with a wink. His tinted glasses are perched rather precariously on his face. Behind them, in such low light, his eyes look odd. “I just happened to be in the area! That sword is completely unnecessary, by the way.”

“Do you want something? Is that what this is?”

“Can’t a guy just visit with his favorite bread bridge boy?”

“Bad Boy,” Grian corrects, and immediately wonders why he bothers. “And anyway, I’m hardly on favorite grounds.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Scar waves him away, and his striped shirt—predominantly buttoned for once—ripples with it. “Joel’s definitely crossed off the potential list, we can rule him out. Jimmy and you are about even on the mischief meter, but between you and me, you wear those sunglasses better.”

Grian wrinkles his nose. “They weren’t my idea.”

“And yet here you are, wearing sunglasses after the sun’s gone down.”

“On my head.” Grian gestures at where they’re propped in his hair to emphasize his point. “You’re over here actually wearing yours. Why are they blue, anyway? That’s got to make the world look weird.”

“Oh, they do,” Scar agrees. He slides off his glasses and takes a moment to consider them before, without warning, turning them around and sticking them on Grian’s face.

Grian’s sputtering protest dies in his throat as Scar adjusts where the glasses lay behind his left ear, brushing the shell of it in the process. Scar’s skin is rough with callouses and his touch is gentle. Grian is suddenly, inexplicably warm.

Once satisfied with his work, Scar takes a step back and tilts his head. The blue tint of the glasses does color the world strangely, but every observation of it is taken from Grian’s peripheral; his field of vision seems to have narrowed to encompass Scar alone. Like this, his eyes appear sea-green, and it’s nicer than the near-fluorescent shade his current life gives him, but Grian can’t help but think of kinder worlds and the lovely, lively emerald they bring with them.

“Well?” Scar prompts.

After Grian’s remembered how to breathe, he huffs at Scar. “Now I’m wearing two pairs of stupid glasses—hey!”

Scar steals Grian’s sunglasses and slides them into his own hair, and it’s stupid, really, how well he pulls them off. He strikes a pose and asks, “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot,” Grian deadpans, but the quirk of his lip betrays the straight face he’s trying to keep. This is the problem with Scar: no matter what may lie between them, regardless of the sides they stand on, it never takes Scar long to slip between the barbs of Grian’s scowl and soften the points into a smile.

Scar is entirely too aware of such an issue for Grian’s personal liking, if how his eyes crinkle at the corners is anything to go by. “A matching pair we make, then!”

“Hey, now, don’t go lumping me into this.” Grian’s sure the blue glasses look silly on him without the context of the rest of Scar’s get-up.

From a nearby tree, a spider leaps towards them with its mandibles splayed. Grian strikes it down in two hits; after it disappears, he turns to raise an eyebrow at Scar.

“Maybe the sword had some use,” Scar concedes, “but not against me!”

“We’re both green; I wouldn’t have killed you anyway,” Grian remarks.

“Of course, of course, that comes later.” Scar is easily wry and comfortably teasing.

“Of course.” Grian smirks. The night is dark. The faint, flickering light of a nearby torch illuminates Scar’s lingering smile—a small, private thing, accompanied by a slight pitch in his brow. Grian’s voice comes out lower than he means it to as he says, “Best be getting back, yeah? You wouldn’t want to lose time to some old skeleton.”

“Bedtime waits for no man.” Scar nods. “Especially if you’re teamed with Bdubs.”

Grian laughs. His fingers twitch at his side for something he can’t name but feels twisting in his chest. “Goodnight, Scar.”

“Goodnight, Grian!” With one last flash of his teeth, Scar’s unprotected back recedes further into the forest as he heads for the Clockers’ base. A beat passes, then another, as Grian’s feet remain rooted in place.

Nearby rattling shakes him of his stupor. Sighing, Grian passes a hand over his face as he starts in the direction of the bridge. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still wearing Scar’s glasses.

He folds them carefully into his pocket before he reaches the Bread Bridge. The world’s strangeness no longer has the justification of a filtered view. The stars don’t look quite right above him.

Before beginning the climb to the half-burnt mansion’s roof, Grian lightly touches the glasses’ translucent rim. He does not think about too-green eyes and too-indulgent smiles. He does not think about blood that always stains the same.

He’ll give the glasses back tomorrow.

[fiveredlights]

Loved it!!!! Is there any Benjamin POV of when he found out Max and Daniel were drivers in this world? Like any thought process? It surprised me too that they weren't in his world haha. Thanks for sharing!

okay i managed 400 words of benjamin arriving in the universe and then my brain continued on its holiday in aruba so i’ve written out what would’ve happened afterwards

It's not like Benjamin expected there to be a whole parade when he landed into his DAUD universe, but a room full of people staring at him like he's an alien from another planet feels a little weird.

Technically, he is an alien from outer space—if you equate an alien to a life form, and the other planet is true, but at that point they should consider that we’re all aliens in a planet floating around the universe and there’s no need to stare at him like that.

Or really, they aren’t staring at him. They’re staring at the name emblazoned into his race suit. Or the flag. Maybe they’re struggling to understand why the Dutch and Australian flags are mashed together.

Benjamin worked really hard to get the team and the FIA to approve that. He had to do a whole presentation.

One of the people—his boss he assumes, given that he’s one of the two people to be wearing RB shirts—takes a slow step forward, adjusting the black rounded frames on his face.

“Benjamin—” Ooh, French, “—Ricciardo-Verstappen,” he states, though it’s really more like a question.

“Yeah.” He steps out of the portal tube. “Did I get sent to the wrong universe or?”

“Maybe,” someone in a Red Bull shirt quietly mutters and the other RB shirt guy hits him in the shoulder and scolds, “Christian.”

He has no idea who this Christian guy is but he knows he already doesn’t like him. Giving off bad energy, or whatever Julian uses as an excuse whenever he meets someone he doesn’t like.

“I’m Laurent Mekies, I’m your team principal,” the French—Laurent says. “Can we just confirm who your parents are?”

Everyone in the room seems to lean in and hold their breath. Benjamin thinks they’re all really weird. “Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen. They live in Monaco, or well in my universe they live in Monaco, so maybe they’re in the Netherlands or Australia here.”

Laurent immediately spins onto his heels and they all form some sort of emotional support huddle, like they’re the ones who got sent through to another universe.

“I’ll get Max,” Christian sighs and points a finger at Laurent. “You’re calling Daniel.”

Laurent tenses. “I don’t want to call Daniel. Why can’t you call Daniel? You knew him longer?”

Christian goes very quiet. “I think he’s blocked my number,” he says with no room for further questions as he walks out of the room.

—

benjamin has found a wheely chair to spin around the room in whilst laurent peter and helmut (idk if he's here) debate on who is calling daniel, benjamin's like "I can call Daniel if you don't want to break the news," and frankly it's a bit concerning how three of these very grown men look very ready to take this offer.

eventually someone is like, you know what. we'll get MAX to call him. daniel will answer max's calls and they leave benjamin in the room with laurent whilst the rest of them look in the mirror and wonder what they need to do to atone for this hell-ish situation they've been placed in.

(there is no atonement possible. you must live in the decisions you made. no amount of apologies or prayers will be able to heal the deep, deep scars you have given. zero love and zero light will be given.)

“So Max works here or?” benjamin asks, if only to make small talk so they’re not sitting in silence. laurent takes a very long look, he's confused. he tells him that of course Max works here, he's a driver?? but reigns it in because maybe benjamin was asking if max was at some different RBR factory. or maybe he's asking because he thinks max is in monaco, laurent doesn't possess the brain cells needed right now.

benjamin is thinking oh maybe max's a sim driver. or a test driver. he knows that max's father was a f1 driver, but doesn't really know much else. nowhere in benjamin's brain is the thought that max is a formula 1 driver, and certainly nowhere in benjamin's brain is the thought that he's a 4x WDC.

max walks in, looks at benjamin. benjamin looks back. max walks out.

he walks in again. looks at benjamin again. walks out again.

he walks in again. is about to walk out when benjamin's like, "You know walking out for the third time doesn't activate me being sent back to my universe?"

(internally, max is like, oh my god. he talks exactly like daniel. i'm looking at another daniel. which you know. a little bit insane given that i wrote benjamin to look like max, and benjamin wouldn't really sound like daniel accent wise at least, given that they raised the kids in monaco, but you know. maybe the speech patterns are similar, who the fuck knows. easier to see the parts of the person you love than yourself in your kid. can't blame him, daniel did the exact same thing for like the whole fic.)

max immediately looks around at the whole group of people and does a head nod for benjamin to follow him into his office, and it’s probably not until he sees the replica WDC trophy sitting on a bookcase with max’s name inscribed on it benjamin’s like what the fuck…

in his head benjamin is like, i am hiding the fact that i am shocked about max being a driver so well. he’s not. he’s kinda just staring at the trophy but max is way too distracted about the fact that alternate him had a kid (emphasis on kid, singular) with daniel.

benjamin is stalking around the room looking at EVERYTHING, and he catches the photo of max and daniel in malaysia 2016 and is even more like what the fuck… BOTH of my parents are drivers?????

first thought: they’re both horrible normal road car drivers. maybe it makes sense now.

second thought: god it’s so cool that his parents (or this version of his parents) are formula 1 drivers. that’s like so arguably cool. suck it julian, he KNEW doing the DAUD program was a good thing. 

third thought: do they know sebastian vettel.

in this moment he has decided that this max and daniel cannot know that his max and daniel aren’t drivers. he kinda suspects that max might be going through a quick existential crisis and he’s not making it bigger by telling 4x WDC max that his max is a 0x WDC and has never driven a f1 car in his life. 

(also it has not crossed his mind that this max and daniel are not together. if you saw that photo of malaysia with max looking at daniel doing the shoey like he wants to jump his bones in public, yeah i wouldn’t question it either and end that line of thought immediately.)

i’m learning very quickly that benjamin processes things so quickly that he doesn’t really have time to freak out.

max is processing everything and benjamin is like “are you gonna call dad or?? where is he??”

max: dad?

benjamin: yeah. dad. daniel. this tall. your husband. or partner idk i don’t know, i’m not gonna assume. oh god are you guys broken up here please don’t tell me that. i mean like tell me, but like that’s so weird.

max kinda looks embarrassed and benjamin clocks him so quickly. 

benjamin: oh. you two aren’t together here. you two have never been together here.

max: … yeah

benjamin is immediately like fuck everything about them being drivers what do you MEAN they aren’t together???? he looks at the malaysia photo again. looks at max again. 

benjamin then decided his only goal is to parent trap his parents. which i think he did achieve. good job dude.

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Hello again, welcome back to this humble little- whatever. Week five is here, and I just spent the weekend writing nonstop for this fic- there is much much more waiting for you guys in the future :) Special thanks to my bestie, @djosfavewig who will always be the first to know what happens, before it even does. Now, let’s read.

Currently Reading: Part Five

Masterlist

It starts with Nancy, she begins the story from where it starts. Retelling what you had learned from Steve and the kids, only this time with more attention to details that you hadn’t heard before, it’s only a summarized version, but it’s enough to give you a better idea- and enough for Victor to form his own view.

Then, when she finishes, you take over, from the point that you’ve been present. You tell Victor about Chrissy, letting Nancy speak about Fred, then you come back to tell him about Eddie running, how you found him. You tell him about searching for evidence, the school therapists office, then Max’s experience.

“When he attacks, our friend described it as a trance.” You recall what Eddie had said about what he had witnessed in the trailer, trying to remember what you had read from the papers as well. “Like a waking nightmare. What’s why we think he’s coming for her next. Does any of this, anything we’ve told you, sound like what happened to your family?”

“Victor?” Nancy prompts when he’s quiet too long. “I know this is hard-”

“You don’t know anything!” He yells and the echo of it rings, it continues in your mind even when it’s gone.

“You’re right.” You say, keeping your voice quiet, soft, trying to ease his nerves even as you struggle to maintain your own. “We don’t know. That’s why we’re here. To learn, to understand.”

“We need to know how you survived that night.” Robin says.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more terrifying than humorous. “Survived? Is that what you call this? Did I survive? No, I assure you, I am still very much in hell.”

When he speaks, he reminisces. Its slow, a memory coming to mind that’s not too far gone, one that he thinks of often, maybe even always. A soft smile forms on his lips, out of place with the scars, but whist full.

“I had been back from the war, some fourteen years. Her great uncle had died, leaving us a small fortune. Enough to buy a new home.” He says. “A new life. It was…a magnificent home. Alice said it looked like it was from a fairy tale.”

“Alice? Was this your daughter?” You ask him, hoping that he doesn’t take it as a hostile sign.

“Mhm, yeah.” He nods, and his smile falters as he continues, a happy memory tainted. “But Henry, my…my boy, he was a sensitive child. And I could see he felt something was wrong. We had one month of peace in that house. And then it began. Dead animals. Mutilated, tortured, began to appear near our home. Rabbits, squirrels, chickens, even dogs. The police chief blamed the attacks on a wildcat. This, this was no wild cat. This was an evil. And evil neither animal nor human. This was a spawn of Satan- A demon. And it was even closer than I realized.”

“My family began to have encounters, conjured by this demon. Nightmares. Walking, living nightmares.” The way he reuses your phrase, it solidifies your belief in him, in the evil you’ve become entangled with, the evil you are now attempting to fight. “This demon, it seemed to take pleasure in tormenting us. Even poor, innocent Alice. It wasn’t long before I began to have encounters of my own. I suppose, all evil must have a home. And though I had not a rational explanation for it, I…I could sense this demon. Always close. I became convinced it was hiding, nesting, somewhere within the shadows of our home. It had cursed our town. It had cursed our home. It had cursed us.”

He drops down onto his cot, defeated.

“It took Virginia first. I tried to get the children out- to save them. But…I was back to France. Back in the war. It was a memory, I had thought German soldiers were inside. I ordered its shelling. I was wrong. This demon, it was taunting me, and I was sure it would take me, just as he’d taken my Virginia. But then- I heard another voice.”

He removes his hands from where he had been covering his ears to shield himself from the dark parts of his memory. “At first, I believed it was an angel. And then I followed her. Only to find myself in a nightmare far worse. While I was away, the demon took my children. Henry slipped into a coma shortly after that. A week later he died.”

The crying starts, and it’s horrible, bad enough you have to tighten your fists and dig your nails into your already bruised palms.

“I tried to join them. I tried. Hatch stopped the bleeding. He wouldn’t let me join them!” He’s sobbing now, curled into his cot with his head against the striped pillow.

“The angel you followed…” You ask, though he might be too far gone. “Who was she?”

He doesn’t answer, confirming your suspicions by humming a song, rocking back and forth in the cot in a way that only the most broken man would. Nancy seems not to realize, attempting to try again, calling his name several times louder each- until the cell door at the end of the hall slams open and makes you all jump.

“Is he everything you hoped he would be?” Dr. Hatch yells down the tunnel, in a sinister voice that tells you he’s found out everything you tried to hide in order to get here. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Professor Brantley. Perhaps we should discuss it in my office, while we wait for the police.”

Security removes you, forcing the three of you out of the cell while Dr. Hatch yells, storming ahead to lead you back out of the cells and through the asylum.

Nancy begins to spill everything, about Eddie, Max, and every little detail that her mind can pull up and spit out- and if you weren’t in your own head trying to organize your plan to escape- you would be telling her to shut the fuck up.

They take you through the building and back into the listening room- where your eyes linger on the patients listening to music.

Debussy.

Etta James.

Elvis.

Brenda Lee.

Beethoven.

They shove you out of the room, Robin yells at the guard who had physically pushed her, and you follow quickly. As soon as you’re out of the doors, into the grounds of the inner courtyards and gardens, she pulls you and Nancy close.

“Victor said the night of the attack, everything went on in the house.” She whispers in a hurried manner, eyes darting up to make sure the guards and Hutch don’t hear. “But he made specific mention of music. He said music was playing- and then when we asked him about the Angel? He started to hum-‘Say nighty-night and kiss me, Hold me tight and tell me you miss me-‘”

“Dream a Little Dream of Me.” You remember the title of the song immediately, having listened to it growing up, the radio always on at home as a child. “Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Voice of an Angel.” Nancy says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods, glad that everyone follows her line of thought.

“Hatch said that music can reach parts of the brain that words can’t.” You say, walking briskly beside them, eyes scanning the grounds of the asylum, counting staff members and patients.

Robin nods again, her voice raising slightly, but not enough to alarm the guards. “So maybe that’s the key. A lifeline.”

“A lifeline back to reality.” Nancy mutters.

“It’s worth a shot.” Robin says.

Carefully, you look over your shoulder, at the guards. There are maybe two yards behind, they leave a gap large enough to take a few minutes to close if you run at the right time. They could get you, but only if they expect it and predict your movements beforehand.

“I think we can beat him.” You whisper.

“What?” Robin gives you a concerned look.

“To the car.” You say, ignoring the look Nancy shoots you.

“Okay, I’m warning you right now. I have terrible coordination.” Robin stresses. “Like, it took me six months longer to walk than all the other babies-”

“Just follow my lead.”

Before she can object, you sprint. You can hear her yelling, but she and Nancy fall right into step beside you- the guard quickly realizing and chasing behind them.

The grass is soft, but the ground beneath is firm enough to keep you from tripping. The patients watch with wide eyes, the staff slowly clueing in and rushing forward to catch you. But you run, as fast as you can, as far as you can and then further. Your sides burn, your lungs acting fast in the sudden burst of adrenaline- your heart doubling its natural rate, but you keep going until you’ve lost your shoes and run through the open gates.

The car is unlocked, and you silently thank God that Nancy hadn’t locked the doors before the meeting. The three of you climb in, and are almost immediately met with pounding fists on the windows. Nancy starts the car quickly, Robin yells, and you curse as you scramble for the radio that a familiar noise comes in and out. Static and Dustin’s frantic voice.

“Robin where the hell are you? This is a code red! I repeat, a code red!”

Finally finding it, you extend the antenna and press the button. “Dustin- It’s me. We copy.”

“Holy shit, finally!” His voice filters in immediately. “Please, please tell me you guys have this figured out.”

“What’s happening?” You have to yell over him, hoping he’d listen. “Dustin tell me what the hell is happening right now.”

“He’s got her- She’s- fuck.” The desperation in his voice hurts and you can’t do anything but talk. “What do we do? Tell me you found out something before-”

“Music.” You tell him.

“What? We need-”

“I can’t explain it now. Music, Dustin. Her favorite song, okay? Something that she loves that has meaning!” You speak as fast as you can, Robin yelling for Nancy to drive faster and your heart racing. “Just do it, okay! Her headphones. Get them and play a fucking song.”

“Okay.” He sounds stricken, and the line falls into static, a sign you hope means he’s doing what you hope will save her.

“Is she okay?” Robin asks frantically. “She has to be okay, right? The music? Fuck the music has to work- if it doesn’t-”

“It’ll work.” You tell her, louder than you meant to be but you can’t handle it, not while you have no clue what is happening or where they are. “It will work.”

It might take minutes, hours or maybe only seconds. All you know is that you can’t ease the tension in your body, you’re sitting up, knee bouncing, and staring out the window. Your hands are clutching the radio waiting for a signal. Nancy speeds away from the asylum, and eventually finds a rural road to start heading back home. Robin is chattering nervously, her hands tapping against her legs. None of you attempt to comfort each other, because there is no comfort to give.

Between the three of you, the car is overwhelmed with anxiety and anticipation. Not a single one of you knows that to do or say, and once Robin no longer has breath…It's silent.

The noise of the road is loud in your ears, mingling with the memory of Victor’s humming, the tune of his song stuck in your head like a spinning record, broken, repeating the same segment.

One, two, four clicks later- still no answer from Dustin. Not a single second of static from his end, not a yell, or a cry.

Nothing.

It will work. It has to work.

Even when Robin takes the radio, attempting to call for a response herself, you sit there waiting and listening. All you need is a voice. Dustin, Max, Steve. You need someone to tell you is she alright or is she…is she alright?

No answers. Not the first or the fifth time she tries. And then Nancy takes it, one hand on the wheel while the other holds the radio. No answers for her either.

Eventually, the radio is set on the dash, sitting in the sunlight as you speed down the road toward Hawkins. You count the street signs, watching the mile markers as you get closer. You're passing the sign reading eighteen miles to town, when the radio finally makes a sound.

Dustin’s voice comes in, quiet, no longer yelling for answers he doesn’t know exist. Robin is the one to pick it up, asks him what happened. And he tells her. She’s alright, she’s sleeping it off now in Steve’s car. They’re heading back to the wheelers.

She’s alright.

====

A loud sound wakes you. Your eyes open slowly, still blurry with sleep. It takes a moment to register that the sound is radio static and a familiar voice coming through.

Sitting up carefully, you make sure not to bump into Steve’s legs, where he’s curled in a seemingly uncomfortable way in an armchair, the same position he had been asleep in when you arrived last night. You search the floor for the radio, before realizing that it’s behind Dustin’s head on the TV stand. Reaching for the radio, you take it and carry it away from the others, who are still sleeping.

In your half asleep state, you press the button in the middle of Eddie trying to reach someone on the other end. “It’s way too early for this, Ed.”

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” His voice lightens when he finally receives an answer. “Um, I'm gonna need a food delivery. Like really soon, unless you want me going out into the world-”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that.” You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “Just stay where you are and we’ll be there as soon as we can, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He responds quickly, barely giving you time to finish. “Listen, um, can you pick me up a six-pack? I know it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves-”

Behind you, you hear the sound of Nancy arguing with somebody. “Hey, hold on. I’m gonna have to call you back-” Eddie starts to protest, but you set the radio aside and hurry back in time to see Nancy shaking Dustin awake. “What’s going on?”

She ignores you, speaking directly to a startled Dustin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on Max watch?”

“Yup, yup, yup- Sorry-”Dustin rubs his eyes, still not completely aware of the empty sofa you’re now staring at.

“Where is she?” She asks.

“She’s right there-” He freezes. “A second ago- I swear, I just dozed off for…an hour.”

“Hold on guys-” You try to reason with them, but before either can listen, they shoot up the basement steps to search for her. “Or don’t. That’s a choice too.”

A creaking behind you makes you turn, your eyes landing on a disgruntled Steve Harrington waking up and shifting in the too small armchair, untangling himself.

“That’s what all this noise is about?” He asks groggily, his voice deeper than normal and his eyes squinted as he grunts, stretching his arms. “Max went upstairs like, thirty minutes ago.”

“Alone?” You ask, dropping onto the now empty sofa and refraining from shutting your eyes, still tired.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s up there with her. Making breakfast.” He runs a hand through disheveled hair, somehow making it sit more perfectly than should be possible. “Are you…wearing new clothes?”

“Sleepover, remember?” You gesture lazily towards your discarded backpack. “I brought a few changes of clothes.”

He hums, his eyes lowering to his two days old shirt and the jeans he’d slept in. For a while you sit in silence, both of you still trying to wake up, or maybe just unsure of what to say. But it’s not unpleasant, rather, it’s the opposite.

When he looks up again, his eyes hold yours, and you find that he’s sharing the same feeling. It’s easy to tell that both of you are tired, and comfortable. Here, beside him, you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t in days. Maybe it’s the quiet slowness of the morning, or the fact that you’re alone, save for the sleeping bodies of Lucas and Robin. And for a while, you both embrace the stillness. But like most things, it only lasts so long.

It’s been over twenty four hours since you’ve decided to be upset with him. And in that time, you’ve lost reason to care about it anymore, there’s not an ounce of you that wants to be upset. It’s long faded- but you still feel a wave of something like relief when he brings it to light again.

“I don’t think it’s his fault.”

You ask, sitting up. “What?”

“Eddie. I don’t think he caused this.” He says, his voice kept low and his eyes not leaving yours, holding them captive without trying. “I don’t think that he killed Chrissy.”

“He didn’t.” You look down at your hands, unable to hold his gaze, whether or not you’re greatful to hear what he’s admitting.

He says your name, and it’s almost too much to hear him say it in this context. Your voices are little more than whispers, trying not to wake the others, but it’s like he says it through cupped hands- loud and demanding your attention.

He doesn’t get a chance to continue.

“We’ve got something.” Nancy comes down the steps first, interrupting with a stack of papers in her hand, Max and Dustin right behind. They quickly wake the others, nearly scaring the shit out of Lucas and making Robin yelp.

“What do you mean?” Steve stands, and Robin clumsily clears the coffee table she had been sleeping on, dazed from her sudden wake. “What have you got?”

Nancy and Max begin to pay out the papers, page by page. They connect lines, the scribbled marks coming together like a spider's web. They continue through each page, fitting broken images together until everything aligns.

“What’s this?” You trace your fingers over the lines, frowning at the distorted images. “A map?”

“Almost.” Max says, taking creased pages and beginning to fold them, red and black shapes being manipulated into something else. “I saw this during… At first I thought it was a random mess, like an upside down junkyard. Everything was disconnected and in ruins, torn apart and separated, but it’s not random, it’s all pieces of the same place.”

Steve leans closer, looking down at the pages as Lucas and Robin crowd around. “Where?”

Slowly, she starts to arrange the folded pieces, Nancy helping to match the lines and shapes together. At first, it looks like nothing, but it’s familiar to you. Then, before the image is fully formed, it clicks into place within your memory. You take in a sharp breath, startling the people around you. “The Creel house.”

“What-” Robin gasps, her eyes wide as Nancy lays the last piece, the stained glass door. “Shit.”

“That’s where we need to go next.” Max says, her eyes locked onto the image. “We need to go there and look for something, anything that could be useful. A clue to give us more time or-”

“A cure.” Lucas says, tapping the papers. “If we get there, we can look for a cure. Then you’ll be safe, Max. We can get you the hell away from all this shit, away from Vecna.”

“Lucas-” Dustin attempts to slow him down, but he ignores it.

“A cure.” He says again, sounding nearly distraught. “We can get her out of it, guys. Once she’s safe we can figure out how to take him down, but if this place can fix her-”

“Fix me?” Max cuts him off.

Lucas freezes, stumbling over his words when he tries to recover. “Not fix you. Fix this. If we can fix everything, then it’ll all be over. But a cure-”

“And what if there’s not a cure?” She asks, her voice raised enough that you take half a step back. “What if instead of a cure, I die? What if we find out that I’m going to end up like Victor? If that happens, you still have to defeat Vecna! You still have to figure out how to stop him, so that no one else dies.”

“Max-” Steve speaks to her gently, his hand hovering a few inches from her shoulder, careful.

“No, Steve.” She snaps her head up to him, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you see the pain in her eyes.

They’re red, her cheeks flushed with the same color, and tears threatening to fall. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger and sadness showing straight through her face. Her voice begins to shake, her hands flexing as she tries to hold herself together. The headphones around her neck sit there as a reminder, of what she’s close to.

“We don’t know what will happen when we get there, but we have to go, okay?” She’s looking at him while she speaks, but she directs it towards everyone in the room. “He needs to hear it- because it’s true. If I die, you need to keep going. You can’t stop, got it? Find out how to kill him, because you fucking have to-”

Steve's hand settles on her shoulder just as the first tear falls, her face crumbling with it. He hushes her, pulling her into his chest and down into the armchair. You can’t see it, because he keeps her face shielded, but you know. You know that she’s crying, her breathing too shallow, even if she falls silent while she cries. She doesn’t sob, she doesn’t yell anymore, she just stays there- and it’s enough.

Nancy clears away the papers, Robin helps her and they step away to talk. Dustin slowly moves across the room when the radio starts to go off again with Eddie’s voice. And Lucas…Lucas doesn’t move. His attention is not once taken off of Max where she’s curled into Steve’s embrace. And you realize that you can’t move either.

For three days, you’ve been involved with them. You’ve only known them for that long, and yet it feels like you’ve always known them. Every problem, you feel you need to help solve. Their triumphs are yours, and their pain…you feel it, every little bit of it. And some moments it seems like everyone is on the same page, because they’re all fighting the same evil. But now, when you look at them, you see that they’re children.

Max, she’s only fourteen. She’s facing a fate worse that anything you can imagine, she’s forced to fear every second- whether she can spare them or not. And now, even while she’s crying, she’s fighting for herself and everyone else. She doesn't deserve it at all, and you wish you could stop it. You wish that you could take all the fear and pain from her, and save her from this monster and every other one that’s looming over.

But you can’t, not now, without knowing how to. And it tears you up, this girl you had met only days ago, that you can’t help her yet. That you don’t know how to, or if you’ll even be able to. It weighs on you, clouding your head with what ifs and wishes you can’t hope for. Things that you never hope to feel again, after everything is over. And it only worsens when you look at Steve.

Only a few years older, Steve is taking responsibility. You can see it in everything he does. He might complain, but he wouldn’t ever leave them when he’s needed. He would never let them be lost, even if it means he has to pretend to know the way. He’s here, holding Max as she cries, as if she’s his responsibility. Because to him, she is. To him, each of the kids, even Robin and Nancy, are under his watch. He doesn’t expect anything from them, and part of you thinks he wouldn’t accept it.

He’s strong, you know it. You see it in the way he talks to her, quietly, trying to sooth her. It’s evident in the way he acts without being asked, in the way he wants to do anything he can. And most of all, it’s in the way he’s able to comfort her while he looks as though he himself might break.

The way his eyes water is nearly impossible to notice. The way his hands tremble on her shoulders, as he rubs her back. The way he has to pause every few seconds to take a deep breath, to keep his voice from becoming unsteady, because he has to stay strong for her.

And it burns a hole in your chest, watching it all unfold, being witness to the unnoticed. But you can’t look away, you won’t, because when it ends, you will be here if they need you.

Because, you have to be.

[mil0murphyslaw]

milo doodles i did earlier :)

[bravevolunteer]

breaking my silence. i really do not like the idea of the sister location warehouse being underneath the afton house

[seventh-district]

hm.

[everyframeapainting20]

Miyazaki’s visual storytelling thrives on a sense of flatness that doesn’t diminish but rather enriches his worlds. By compressing the layers of his compositions—merging the foreground’s details, middle ground’s action, and background’s context—he crafts images that feel like living illustrations. Take the Warawara swarming with dishes in "The Boy and the Heron" or the jubilant feast scene in "Spirited Away" : both are packed with vibrant details, yet the visual plane feels collapsed, like a tableau unfolding all at once. This "flatness" isn't a flaw but a deliberate technique, pulling us into the frame as if we’re unrolling a scroll of visual wonder. It’s not depth that Miyazaki aims for—it’s a sheer density of storytelling in every frame, a reminder that 2D animation’s strength lies in its ability to immerse without imitating.

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

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

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

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

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[reasonsforhope]

"One of the least respected but most important ecosystems on Earth are seagrass meadows, and a pioneering robotic solution is helping marine scientists restore these underwater gardens.

The ReefGen Grasshopper can plant dozens of seagrass seeds per minute. Not only is this faster than a human diver, but much safer as well.

It works by injecting a tiny slurry of sediment wrapped around the seagrass seed into the seafloor. After covering a growing plot of four seeds, the robot ‘hops’ about 30 centimeters away and starts again.

Despite covering a minuscule portion of the seafloor, seagrass meadows are estimated to hold 35-times more carbon than terrestrial forests—amounting to around 18% of the total carbon stock of the world’s oceans.

ReefGen’s founder Tom Chi dreamed up the idea after watching the degradation of coral reefs on his home island in Hawaii. The first iteration of the robot set coral ‘plugs’ onto existing reefs to help regrow them, but the technology was prohibitively expensive for wide-scale use.

Now however, broader selections of off-the-shelf parts have driven down the costs of manufacturing and maintaining underwater robots, according to Chris Oakes, CEO of ReefGen.

“Manual planting works, but robots are really good when things are dull, dirty, dangerous, or distant—the four Ds,” Oakes told CNN, adding that at the moment, Grasshopper is piloted with a controller by a human on the surface.

“Right now, we’re focused on the planting, the biology, and the mechanical aspects, once we’re confident that that’s all designed the right way, we will overlay more semi-autonomous features like navigation, so you don’t actually have to pilot it,” he said.

ReefGen has been able to not only expand into restoration of seagrass meadows, but also see its robots used in oceans around the world. This July, Grasshopper planted 25,000 seeds in Wales. In October, ReefGen teamed up with the University of North Carolina (UNC) Institute of Marine Sciences to test various seed replanting methods out on the state’s declining seagrass meadows.

Oakes says that as cool and “flashy” as a robotic solution might seem, the most important factor in its success will be the long-term monitoring of the fields it’s replanting. Are they growing to maturity, are the seedlings dying off before then, will they live long enough to seed and germinate fields of their own, how do fields it plants compare to fields planted by hand??"

-via Good News Network, December 24, 2024

[jupiterpilgrim]

Embracing the Mission

Christmas Special 🎄

Julie x Natty x Belle x Male Reader

word count 14K

A/n: last fic of the Christmas Special

Christmas Eve. Quiet, solemn, lonely. The kind of night where you can’t decide if you’re grateful for the silence or crushed beneath its weight. You drag yourself up the stairs, the old wood creaking under your feet. The dull glow of Christmas lights spills from the living room, blinking in patterns that feel more mocking than festive. You’ve always been a good guy, the dependable one, the “nice” one, but here you are, one stocking hung, one bed waiting for nobody but yourself.

At the top of the stairs, just as your hand brushes the railing, the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

Who the hell rings a doorbell on Christmas Eve this late? Solicitors don’t work tonight, and your neighbors barely talk to you during daylight hours. For a long moment, you consider ignoring it. Then it rings again—insistent, cheery.

You shuffle back down, mumbling under your breath about late-night pranks and cold drafts. Pulling the door open, you’re met with a sight that doesn’t just stop your breath; it slams it into reverse.

Two girls stand on your porch. They’re stunning in a way that should be illegal. The first one has curves so generous they practically defy gravity, her chest straining against a red and green corset that looks stitched from mischief itself. Her long, dark hair frames a face you could mistake for angelic if not for the sly twinkle in her eyes.

“Hi! I’m Natty!” she says brightly, as if this is the most normal introduction in the world.

Beside her, the other one radiates an entirely different energy: poised, commanding, her toned body wrapped in something close to a uniform, sharp lines of green velvet hugging her hips. Her dark brown hair glints in the soft light, and the arch of her brow suggests she’s used to being in charge.

“I’m Julie,” she says, her voice smoother, more measured. Then, in perfect unison, they chirp:

“And we need your help!”

You blink. Then you blink again. “Uh…”

“Wait, where’s Belle?” Julie cuts you off, her brow furrowing as she scans the space behind you.

“Typical,” Natty groans, folding her arms beneath her chest, which only makes the situation more distracting. “Always late.”

Before you can process any of this, a loud thunk echoes from inside your house, followed by a flurry of soot and a muffled cough. Spinning around, you see something—a someone—sprawled across your fireplace hearth.

“What the hell—”

The girl clambers to her feet, brushing coal dust off a mess of blonde hair. She's the same height as that other girl, Julie. With delicate features and wide, apologetic dark eyes that suggest she’s either innocent or very good at faking it. She’s wearing a short red dress streaked with ash, and she’s scowling as if this is somehow your fault.

“Belle!” Natty snaps. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You said to come in sneaky!” Belle protests, hands on her hips. “The chimney’s sneaky!”

“Not that sneaky, dumbass,” Julie groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Even Santa Claus doesn’t actually use chimneys. That’s a marketing thing.”

“You said stealth!” Belle shoots back, still smudged with coal and radiating indignation. “Stealth means unconventional entry points! It’s basic infiltration tactics!”

“I swear, I’m going to—” Natty starts, but Julie waves her off, taking a deep breath.

“Let’s just… move on. The whole night’s a disaster already.”

With that, they sweep past you and invade your home.

“Okay, hold up,” you interrupt, raising your hands. “Who are you people, and why are you in my house?!”

Julie turns her piercing gaze on you, suddenly all business. “We’re Santa’s elves.”

You stare. They stare back.

“…Elves,” you repeat.

“Uh-huh,” Natty confirms, nodding so enthusiastically that her chest threatens to break free of its corset.

Belle perks up. “Yeah! We work at the North Pole!” She pauses, then adds, “Well, usually. Technically, we’re on maternity leave before the fact.”

“Maternity leave?”

Julie steps forward, her voice low and commanding. “Look, I’ll cut to the chase. The birth rate in the North Pole is… concerningly low. Like, end-of-our-species low. We need help. Specifically, your help.”

“…My help,” you echo, your brain lagging behind the speed of this conversation.

Natty leans in, her lips quirking in a teasing smile. “We need you to get us pregnant.”

For a moment, the world tilts sideways. “Is this some kind of weird prank? Am I being filmed?”

“It sounds fake, doesn’t it?” Belle says, skipping over to you with a little bounce in her step. “But it’s totally true! Look—” She grabs your hand and drags it toward her head.

“Whoa, what are you—”

“Feel my ear!”

You hesitate, then give in, tugging lightly at one of her pointy ears. It’s soft, warm, pliant, and very much attached to her skull.

“Ow!” she yelps, batting your hand away. “What are you, a sadist?”

“They’re real,” you whisper, finally starting to believe them.

“Duh,” Natty says with a smirk. “So? You in?”

Your laugh comes out half-hysterical. “You think I’m just going to say yes to… to that?!”

Julie crosses her arms, tilting her head. “Why wouldn’t you? You’ve always been a good boy. Generous, kind, single…”

“That’s why I’m single!” you snap, throwing your hands in the air. “I don’t go around impregnating random women—elf women—on Christmas!”

“See?” Belle chimes in. “He is perfect. I told you.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. “This can’t be happening.”

“It’s happening,” Natty says, stepping closer. Her scent—cinnamon and something sweeter—fills your lungs, and suddenly the room feels ten degrees hotter.

Julie’s voice softens, almost coaxing. “All we’re asking is that you help save a species. A race. Think of it as… the ultimate Christmas gift.”

Belle pipes up, already raiding your kitchen. “If you'll excuse me, I'm hungry!”

Natty plops herself onto your couch like she owns the place, her corset straining as she lounges back, legs crossed. Belle's rifling through your fridge now, pulling out milk like this is her second home, while Julie perches herself neatly on the armrest of the chair across from you, her hands clasped like she’s about to break into a corporate PowerPoint presentation.

Julie clears her throat. “All right, let’s break this down. The North Pole is in crisis.”

“Oh, no,” you deadpan, flopping into the recliner. “Is Mrs. Claus filing for divorce? Did Santa get caught in a Ponzi scheme?”

Belle laughs from the kitchen, milk mustache and all. Natty, meanwhile, grins. “Ooh, I like him. He’s got jokes.”

“Let’s stay focused,” Julie says sharply, shooting a glare at both of them before turning back to you. “It’s not a joke. The population at the Pole is dwindling. Our fertility rates have been tanking for decades.”

“Have you ever considered having sex with other elves?” you ask

“Ha,” Julie deadpans. “No. It’s a genetic bottleneck problem. Too much inbreeding, not enough diversity.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, throwing your head back. “Am I about to be roped into a weird elf eugenics experiment? I didn’t sign up for this.”

Natty leans forward, her cleavage doing distracting things that seem entirely intentional. “You’re not roped into anything, sweetheart. But let’s just say you’ve been on the Nice List for decades. That’s not common. We figured, hey, why not pick someone who’s already a certified good boy?”

Belle chimes in from the kitchen, still munching on what might be your last box of Oreos. “And it’s not like you’ve got any plans tonight, right?”

You glare at her. “I could’ve had plans.”

“With who?” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow as she holds up a half-eaten cookie. “These? Didn’t think so.”

Julie rubs her temples like she’s dealing with toddlers. “The point is, the North Pole relies on elves to keep everything running smoothly. Toy production, reindeer care, Santa’s logistics—”

“—the strip club down on Candy Cane Lane—” Natty interjects with a wink.

Julie doesn’t miss a beat. “—all of it requires a stable population. We’re dangerously low. If we don’t start producing new elves, the entire system collapses.”

“Okay, but why me?” you ask, gesturing at yourself like there must be some mistake. “There’s eight billion people on the planet. You couldn’t have found someone… better qualified?”

Natty shrugs. “Most people don’t qualify for the Nice List. And a lot of the ones who do are, like, seven years old.”

“Or old ladies who bake cookies for their neighbors,” Belle adds.

“And you’re… what? Prime reproductive age? Decent genetics? Plus, you live alone, so no messy drama with spouses or girlfriends. Frankly, you’re the perfect candidate,” Julie finishes matter-of-factly.

You snort. “Wow, thanks. Nothing boosts a guy’s ego like being told he’s a walking sperm donor with no social life.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short,” Natty says, standing up and sauntering over to you. She plants her hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until her face is inches from yours. “You’re also cute.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second before you manage to sputter, “Girls, this is crazy. It sounds like something out of an erotic fiction written by a sick mind.”

“It’s practical,” Julie counters. “We’re not asking you to marry us. We’re asking for your… genetic material. Through, uh, direct methods.”

“Oh, is that all?” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sure, let me just whip out my North Pole application and put ‘elf breeding kink’ under special skills.”

Belle wanders over now, plopping onto the couch and curling her legs beneath her. “Look, it’s not like you’re doing it for free. Think of it as an exclusive, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You get to help save Christmas and have sex with three hot elves. Win-win, right? It's not that difficult, elves are very, very fertile.”

Natty grins, her lips brushing dangerously close to your ear as she whispers, “Bet no one’s ever left that off their bucket list.”

You shove her away gently, shaking your head. “You’re all insane. I should call the cops.”

“Oh, please,” Belle scoffs. “What’re you gonna say? ‘Help, three elves broke into my house and asked me to impregnate them’? You’d be on YouTube before the night’s over.”

“Wait, do elves also watch YouTube?”

Julie sighs, standing up and dusting off her hands. “Listen, we’ll give you some time to think about it. But let’s be clear—this isn’t just about us. It’s about every elf, every reindeer, every child who wakes up on Christmas morning hoping for magic.”

"Be mindful, this could be a total game-changer!” Belle exclaims. “Imagine if other elves join us, we'd have the numbers to make the North Pole council change their rules. Interracial babies for everyone! It would be legendary!” She's clearly excited about the idea.

“That’s a lot of pressure,” you mutter.

Natty strokes your arm, her smile equal parts playful and predatory. “You’ll rise to the occasion. I can feel it.”

Belle snickers. “Or we’ll make you.”

—

You shut your bedroom door, leaning against it like it might keep the insanity out. Your room feels smaller, tighter, like the walls are closing in on you. You sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at your hands, the events of the last hour replaying in loops too ridiculous to comprehend.

Three elves. Pregnant. By you.

You look at the glow-in-the-dark clock on your wall, its numbers mocking you. Midnight, Christmas Day. The kind of moment that should be filled with a warm cup of cocoa, maybe a silly Christmas movie in the background. Instead, you’re debating whether to turn your house into the world’s weirdest fertility clinic.

You groan, dragging your hands through your hair. It’s not like you’re against the idea. They’re beautiful—beyond beautiful—but this isn’t just some quick hookup. They’re asking for something bigger. Permanent. And yeah, it’d be easy to chalk it up to a crazy story you tell yourself later, but you can’t stop thinking about what it would mean.

Kids. Real, flesh-and-blood kids. Yours.

You’ve spent enough Christmases alone to know how heavy the quiet can get. It’s not the sex you’re hesitating about—it’s what comes after. You can’t just pump and dump (so to speak). That’s not who you are.

A burst of laughter from the living room pulls you out of your spiral. You push yourself off the bed and head to the door. Whatever decision you make, it’s better than sitting here stewing in your own head.

When you step back into the living room, they’re sprawled across your couch like they’ve lived here for years. The TV’s on, tuned to some Christmas classic, though the sound’s muted. Natty’s flipping through your Blu-ray collection, shaking her head at your lack of romantic comedies. Belle’s halfway through a bag of chips you’re pretty sure you were saving for New Year’s.

“You know, those were mine,” you say, pointing at the chips.

She grins, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. “Finders, eaters.”

Julie barely glances up from where she’s scrolling on your phone. “So? Have you come to your senses?”

You take a deep breath, stepping further into the room. “I’ve made my decision.”

The room goes still. Belle pauses mid-chew. Natty freezes with a DVD case in hand. Julie sits up straighter, her eyes locked on you like a hawk.

“I’ll do it,” you say. “On one condition.”

Natty perks up immediately. “Name it, stud.”

“I want to see the kids.”

The room practically tilts sideways with the weight of their confusion.

Julie narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want to just… make them and never see them again,” you explain, running a hand over the back of your neck. “If we’re doing this, I want to be part of their lives. I want to know them. I want to have a family.”

They all stare at you like you just grew a second head. Even Belle, who has been entirely food-focused until now, sets the chips down to gape at you.

Julie is the first to recover, though her tone is softer now. “Why? That wasn’t part of the deal. You’d be doing your… civic duty, so to speak. Why do you care what happens after?”

You shrug, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if I made a mistake. I don’t want to be a ghost in their lives. Hell, I don’t even have anyone now, let alone a family. Maybe this is my chance.”

That last part slips out before you can stop it, and you immediately regret how vulnerable it sounds.

The elves exchange glances. Natty bites her lip, Julie furrows her brow, and Belle just looks vaguely guilty. Without a word, they huddle together in the corner, whispering furiously.

“Oh, come on, you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” you call out, gesturing to their huddle.

“Shh!” Natty waves a dismissive hand at you, her voice muffled. “We’re deliberating.”

Belle glances back at you once, her lips twitching like she might smile. Julie smacks her on the arm, dragging her back into their huddle.

After what feels like an eternity, they break apart, turning to face you with synchronized seriousness. Julie steps forward as the spokesperson.

“Alright. We’ll allow it.”

“Allow it?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she continues, ignoring your tone. “It’s unconventional, but you’ve proven yourself to be… an exceptionally good boy.”

Natty snickers. “You’re, like, too good. It’s almost weird.”

Belle beams. “It’s sweet!”

You exhale, relief flooding through you. “Okay, good. Then we’re all on the same page.”

Julie smirks, tilting her head toward the hallway. “We are. Now, let’s get started.”

Before you can process her words, Natty grabs one hand, Julie takes the other, and they start tugging you toward the bedroom.

“Wait, right now?” you stammer, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“Uh, yeah,” Natty says, throwing a playful wink over her shoulder. “You’re not getting out of this, Mister Family Man.”

Belle trails behind, licking chip dust off her fingers as she grins, a new bag in the other hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait my turn. I’m still eating.”

The door to your bedroom looms closer, and for the first time all night, you realize you might actually be in over your head.

—

The bedroom feels both foreign and familiar, lit softly by the glow of Christmas lights strung around the window. Julie and Natty waste no time, their hands still locked around yours as they pull you toward the bed, their intentions as clear as the sly smiles on their faces. Your heart hammers in your chest as the door clicks shut behind Belle, her footsteps slow and casual.

Natty is the first to spin around, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she steps in close, the scent of peppermint and something deeper, muskier, teasing your senses. Julie mirrors her movements, sliding behind you with a grace that’s almost predatory, her hands grazing your shoulders.

You’re caught between them, their bodies pressed against you—soft and warm in all the right places. Julie’s lips ghost over your ear, her voice a low purr. “You’re nervous. Don’t be. We’ll make this… unforgettable.”

Natty chuckles, her hands already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Oh, he’s already enchanted. Look at him.”

And she’s not wrong. Your gaze flickers to her pointed ears, impossibly cute, twitching slightly as she speaks. You can’t help yourself; your hand lifts, fingers brushing the curve of one. She gasps softly, her body trembling against you.

“Sensitive, huh?” you murmur, surprised by your own boldness.

Natty smirks, leaning into your touch. “You’ve got no idea.”

Julie’s hands are more decisive, sliding down your chest as Natty tugs your shirt up and over your head, leaving you bare to the room’s cool air. Her nails drag lightly across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Behind you, Julie’s fingers work at your belt, a faint laugh escaping her lips as she feels the bulge already straining against your jeans. “Well, someone’s eager.”

“You’re the ones who dragged me in here,” you shoot back, though your voice is breathless.

Natty steps back, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath as her fingers move to the laces of her corset. She catches your gaze, a teasing smile curving her lips as she deliberately slows, each pull on the strings heightening the anticipation. Bit by bit, the tension gives way, and her ample cleavage begins to spill over, the fabric struggling to contain her.

With a final tug, the corset slackens, and she slides it down her torso, her movements fluid, almost hypnotic. The garment falls away, revealing the smooth, unblemished plane of her skin, glowing in the dim light. Her breasts, full and impossibly perfect, sway slightly with her motion, their weight almost defying reason, nipples already stiffened peaks begging for attention.

Natty doesn’t stop there. Her hands travel lower, unfastening her skirt and letting it pool at her feet. She steps out of it, the shift leaving her in only a pair of thin, lacy panties clinging to her hips. Her fingers hook into the waistband, and she peels them down inch by inch, the reveal torturously slow until the fabric slides off completely, leaving her bare.

She stands there unabashed, her toned figure on full display, the curves of her hips leading to the bare mound of her pussy, glistening slightly in the light. She tosses the corset aside with a devilish grin, her eyes locking onto yours.

“Like what you see?” she teases, palming her own chest and giving it a little bounce.

Before you can answer, Julie tugs your pants and underwear down in one swift motion, leaving your cock springing free, hard and ready. She hums appreciatively, her sharp eyes glinting as she reaches out to grip it lightly, her fingers warm and confident.

Belle, meanwhile, has claimed the armchair in the corner, Opening the new bag of chips. She crosses her legs, leaning back like she’s settling in for a show.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, her voice light and amused. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“More like immoral support,” Natty quips, stepping out of the rest of her clothes to reveal curves that could have been sculpted by a god. Her hips sway as she moves closer, and you can’t help but stare, utterly captivated.

You sit on your bed, Julie begins to unbutton the top of her elven uniform, sensually removing the velvet from her skin, The red lingerie reveals her medium-sized, round and perfectly formed breasts that, combined with her smooth skin, leave you almost drooling. She slides down to her knees in front of you, her dark brown hair pooling around her shoulders as she gazes up at you with a wicked grin. “All right, let’s set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” you echo, your brain barely functioning under the weight of what’s happening.

“I’m going first,” she says simply, her hand stroking your length with slow, deliberate precision. “I’ll be the first one pregnant. But first…” Her tongue darts out, licking her lips. “We’ve gotta get you nice and ready.”

Natty giggles, pressing herself against your side, her breasts warm and soft against your arm. “Oh, he’s ready. Look at him.”

Julie doesn’t respond, too focused as she leans in, her tongue tracing a line along the underside of your cock. The sensation sends a shiver racing up your spine, and you grip the edge of the bed for support.

“Jesus,” you breathe, your head falling back.

“Not quite,” Julie murmurs, her lips wrapping around the tip.

Her mouth is warm, wet, and devastatingly skilled as she takes you deeper, her tongue swirling in maddening patterns. Natty watches with a smirk, her fingers trailing down your chest, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.

Belle’s voice drifts over from the chair, smug and teasing. “Damn, Julie. Save some for the rest of us.”

Julie pulls back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your slick length. “Patience, Belle. You’ll get your turn.”

Natty leans in, her lips brushing against your jaw as she whispers, “She likes to make a mess. You should see her when she’s serious.”

You groan, caught between the relentless heat of Julie’s mouth and the soft press of Natty’s body against yours.

Julie doesn’t waste a second. She tightens her grip at the base of your cock, guiding it back between her lips with the kind of confidence that only comes from experience—or maybe instinct. Her mouth is pure heaven: warm, wet, and impossibly tight as she takes you deeper, her cheeks hollowing with every movement.

The sight of her on her knees, her brown dark hair falling around her flushed face, has you twitching in her mouth, and she hums in approval, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight through you. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and mischievous, as her tongue swirls around your head before she dives lower, taking you all the way in until your cock is brushing the back of her throat.

“Fuck, Julie,” you groan, your hips jerking forward instinctively.

Natty laughs softly from beside you, her full, bare breasts pressed against your arm as she leans in. “She’s a pro, isn’t she? Makes you wonder what other surprises she’s hiding.”

Her voice drips with teasing warmth, and you turn your head, unable to resist the lure of her body. Her tits are huge—soft and heavy, nipples stiff and begging for attention. You cup one in your hand, marveling at the weight of it, and she shivers, biting her lip.

“Don’t be shy,” she murmurs, pushing herself closer. “I’ve got plenty to keep you busy.”

Your mouth finds her nipple, hot and eager, and she gasps, her fingers tangling in your hair as you suck gently, your tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. Her skin is soft and smooth under your lips, and you move to her other breast, giving it the same attention as her moans grow louder.

Meanwhile, Julie’s pace is relentless, her head bobbing as she works your cock with a combination of tongue, lips, and sheer determination. The obscene sounds of her mouth—wet, messy, and utterly filthy—fill the room, mingling with Natty’s soft cries and the distant hum of Christmas lights.

Belle, still perched in the chair with her snacks, snorts. “Damn, Julie, you trying to drown him? I can hear that slurping from here.”

Julie pulls back just enough to shoot Belle a look, her lips glistening with spit. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d do something useful for once.”

Belle grins, taking a lazy sip of her milk. “I am doing something. I’m observing. Documenting this historic moment. You’re welcome.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Julie mutters before turning her focus back to you.

She grips your cock tighter, her other hand cupping your balls as her mouth slides down again, taking you even deeper this time. The wet heat of her throat surrounds you, and you can’t stop the groan that tears from your chest, your hips bucking slightly.

“Careful,” Natty teases, her voice breathy as you switch back to her other nipple, sucking harder this time. “You don’t want to choke her. She’s got a small throat.”

Julie glares up at her, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her movements faster, rougher, as if to prove a point. The slick noises of her blowjob grow louder, lewd and shameless, and your legs tremble as she works you closer to the edge.

“Holy fuck,” you manage to gasp, your hand gripping her hair as she takes you all the way again, her lips flush against the base of your cock.

Belle claps mockingly from the chair. “Bravo! Give the girl a medal. Or maybe a towel. She’s making a mess.”

You glance down and see that she’s right—Julie’s chin is glistening with spit, and a thin line of drool drips from her mouth to the floor. She doesn’t care. If anything, she leans into it, her hands stroking you as she pulls back to catch her breath, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to your cock.

“God, you’re a mess,” you say, half-laughing, half-moan.

Julie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her grin wicked. “You fucking love it.”

And she’s not wrong.

Natty, watching from your side, lets out a low chuckle, her hands sliding down her own curves.

“You’re hogging all the fun,” Natty purrs, leaning forward, her full breasts pressing against your side. “Don’t you believe in sharing, Julie? It is Christmas.”

Julie raises an eyebrow, her tongue flicking out to lick a stray bead of spit from her lips. “Think you can keep up?”

Natty grins, already dropping to her knees beside Julie. “Try me.”

Your cock twitches at the sight of them kneeling together, their hair—a mix of raven-black and chestnut brown—falling around their faces like something out of a dirty dream. Natty’s hand joins Julie’s, her grip firm but teasing as she strokes you alongside her.

“Damn, you’re big,” Natty murmurs, her fingers wrapping around your shaft as she glances up at you. “Santa Claus really chose the right guy.”

Julie rolls her eyes but leans forward again, her lips brushing the tip of your cock as Natty keeps stroking. “Quit talking and get to work,” she mutters before taking you back into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks.

Natty doesn’t miss a beat. She leans in from the side, her tongue darting out to lick along your shaft, tracing every vein with slow, deliberate strokes. Her lips are soft and warm as they move lower, trailing down to your balls, and you nearly lose your balance as her mouth closes around one, sucking gently.

“Holy shit,” you groan, your head falling back as they work in perfect sync.

Julie pulls off with a wet pop, her lips curling into a smirk. “He likes that. Don’t stop, Natty.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Natty replies, her voice muffled as she switches to your other ball, her tongue swirling in slow circles.

Julie takes you back into her mouth, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm that leaves you trembling. She takes you deeper this time, her throat tightening around your cock as she moves faster, her hand stroking what she can’t fit. Natty’s hands roam, one gripping your thigh while the other strokes the base of your shaft in time with Julie’s movements.

“You two are gonna kill me,” you manage to gasp, your hands tangling in their hair as pleasure courses through you.

Natty pulls back just enough to laugh, her lips shiny with spit. “Kill you? Baby, we’re just getting started.”

She leans up, her mouth joining Julie’s at the tip of your cock, their tongues meeting in a wet, messy kiss around you. The sight alone is almost enough to make you lose it—two gorgeous girls, their mouths working together, their spit mixing as they trade kisses and licks across your length.

“God, that’s hot,” Belle mutters from the armchair, her voice low and lazy. You glance over to see her lounging with one leg draped over the armrest. “I’d offer to join, but you two look like you’ve got it handled.”

Julie shoots her a glare without pulling her mouth away, her tongue swirling around your head before she pushes you deep again. Natty giggles, licking a long stripe up your shaft before wrapping her lips around the base, her hand stroking in tandem with Julie’s bobbing head.

The combination is overwhelming—Julie’s throat tightening around you, Natty’s tongue teasing every sensitive spot, their hands and mouths working together like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Your legs shake, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as they push you closer and closer to the edge.

You pull back, your cock slick with their spit, and both women look up at you in surprise, lips swollen, faces flushed.

“Stop,” you pant, your voice rough. “I need more. Julie—get on the bed.”

Julie’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Finally ready to stop playing around, huh?”

She stands gracefully, peeling off the scraps of her lingerie as she moves. Her body is toned and lithe, her skin gleaming in the soft glow of the Christmas lights outside, visible through the window. Her breasts are perky, her waist narrow, and when she turns to climb onto the bed, you can’t stop yourself from staring at her ass—big, perfectly round, the kind of ass that seems sculpted to be fucked.

Natty is already lying on her back, her legs spread wide, her glistening pussy on full display. She props herself up on her elbows, watching the two of you with a grin. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Don’t be shy, Julie. Show him how it’s done.”

Julie positions herself on all fours, her back arched and her cheeks raised in invitation. She glances over her shoulder, her dark eyes filled with challenge and anticipation. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

You don’t need to be told twice. Climbing onto the bed behind her, you grip her hips, your fingers digging into her soft, supple skin. Her pussy is already dripping, her arousal glistening in the light, and you drag the head of your cock along her folds, teasing her.

“Come on, shove it in my pussy,” she snaps, her voice sharp but laced with need.

“Patience,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her lower back before pressing the tip of your cock against her entrance.

Julie growls softly, but her breath hitches as you push inside, the tight heat of her pussy clamping around you. She’s wet and snug, her walls pulsing as you slide deeper, and you have to grit your teeth to keep from losing it right there.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you groan, gripping her hips tighter as you bottom out, your cock buried to the hilt.

Julie’s head drops forward, her hands fisting in the sheets. “Mmm, yeah. Just like that. Don’t hold back.”

Natty’s laugh draws your attention, and you glance up to see her spreading herself wider, her fingers teasing her folds as she watches. “Don’t let her boss you around too much,” she teases. “She likes it rough. Don’t you, Julie?”

Julie doesn’t respond with words, just a guttural moan as you pull back and thrust into her again, harder this time. Her ass jiggles with the force, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Natty coos, her voice thick with arousal. She moves closer, her legs spreading even wider. “C’mere, Julie. You’ve got work to do.”

Julie doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward until her mouth is hovering over Natty’s dripping pussy. Her tongue flicks out, teasing the sensitive flesh, and Natty gasps, her hips bucking up toward Julie’s mouth.

“God, that’s good,” Natty moans, her fingers tangling in Julie’s hair.

The sight of Julie buried between Natty’s thighs, her ass raised high and rocking back against you, is enough to drive you insane. You grip her hips harder, your thrusts growing faster and rougher, each one making her moan louder into Natty’s pussy.

“Fuck, Julie,” you growl, your voice ragged. “You feel so fucking good.”

She hums in response, the vibrations making Natty cry out, her legs trembling as she grinds against Julie’s face.

“Don’t stop,” Natty gasps, her eyes fluttering shut. “God, you’re both so good.”

Julie’s moans are muffled by Natty’s pussy, but the way she clenches around your cock with every thrust tells you she’s just as lost in the moment as you are. You lean over her, one hand sliding up her back, your fingers tangling in her hair as you fuck her harder, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the air.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, your chest heaving.

Belle’s voice cuts through the haze from her perch in the corner. “I mean, if you two could make it any louder, that’d be great. I don’t think the neighbors heard you yet.”

“Shut up, Belle,” Julie snarls, her voice muffled by Natty’s folds.

Natty lets out a breathless laugh, her head falling back as she grinds against Julie’s tongue. “She’s got a point. You two are animals.”

You ignore them, too focused on the way Julie’s pussy grips you, the way her ass bounces with every thrust, the way Natty’s moans grow louder as Julie devours her. It’s raw, messy, and perfect, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out.

You’re buried deep inside Julie, her tight, wet pussy squeezing you like a vice with every thrust. Her big ass bounces against your hips, and you can’t help the low growl that escapes your throat. She’s good—too good—but there’s something you can’t shake, something you need to see.

Leaning over her, your voice comes out rough, ragged. “Julie… twerk on my cock.”

Julie freezes for half a second, her breath hitching. Then, to your surprise, Natty bursts out laughing from her spot beside you, where she’s still sprawled on the bed, her fingers teasing her swollen clit.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Natty purrs, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Twerking’s her specialty. Go on, Julie. Show him what you’ve got.”

Julie glances back over her shoulder, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and amusement. “You think you can handle it?” she asks, her voice low and teasing.

“Try me,” you growl, your hands gripping her hips tighter.

She smirks, planting her palms firmly on the bed as she starts to move. Her hips roll first, slow and deliberate, before she begins to bounce, her ass clapping softly against your thighs. The sensation is unreal—her tight heat milking your cock as her ass jiggles in perfect rhythm, the wet sound of your connection filling the room.

“Holy fuck,” you mutter, your hands sliding down to grip her cheeks, spreading them wide as she works.

Natty props herself up on one elbow, watching with a wicked grin. “Told you. She’s got moves.”

Julie arches her back, her movements growing faster, more intense. She pushes back hard with every bounce, driving your cock deeper inside her, and the sight of her round, flawless ass slamming against you is enough to make your head spin.

“Like that?” she asks breathlessly, glancing back at you.

“Fuck yes,” you groan, raising one hand and bringing it down on her cheek with a sharp smack.

Julie moans, her hips jerking forward slightly before she slams back again, grinding herself against you. “Harder,” she demands, her voice dripping with lust.

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hand comes down again, the slap echoing in the room, leaving a red imprint on her smooth skin. She gasps, pushing back harder, her pussy clenching around you.

“Jesus, Julie,” you growl, your nails digging into her flesh. “You’re gonna kill me.”

From the corner, Belle snickers, her voice lazy but amused. “Yeah, Julie. Work that dick. Milk him dry.”

Julie smirks, but her focus doesn’t waver. Her ass bounces faster, harder, the rhythm hypnotic, and you feel your control slipping as the pleasure builds in your gut, hot and insistent.

“Keep going,” you urge, your voice rough. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. If anything, she doubles down, her movements wild and relentless as she twerks on your cock, her pussy squeezing you tighter with every bounce. Your breaths come faster, your grip on her hips growing almost desperate as the pressure inside you reaches its breaking point.

“Gonna cum,” you gasp, your thrusts growing erratic as you match her pace.

“Do it,” Belle encourages, her tone teasing but firm. “Fill her up. That’s what she’s here for.”

Natty grins, her voice a purr. “Yeah, Julie wants it. Don’t you, baby?”

Julie moans in response, her movements frantic now, her pussy milking you with every thrust. “Fuck, yes,” she gasps. “Cum in me. Fill me up.”

Her words are your undoing. With one final thrust, you bury yourself as deep as you can go, your cock pulsing as you release inside her. The heat of your cum floods her, and she cries out, her body trembling as her own climax ripples through her.

You stay there for a moment, your bodies locked together, both of you panting and shaking.

Julie collapses forward, her body trembling, chest heaving against the sheets. You slowly pull out, and the sight stops you in your tracks. Your cock slides free with a slick, wet sound, and thick ropes of your cum immediately start dripping from her swollen, glistening pussy, running down her thighs in sticky trails.

She groans softly, her legs shaking as she shifts to the side, collapsing onto her back. “Holy shit,” she mutters, tossing a glance at Natty. “You’re gonna love this.”

Natty grins, already on her knees beside you, her hands sliding over your chest. “Oh, I know I will.” She nudges Julie with her hip, her voice teasing. “Move over, Julie. My turn.”

Julie chuckles breathlessly but obliges, rolling to the side to give Natty space. Natty wastes no time, her hand already wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly. You twitch in her grip, still sensitive from your release, but she doesn’t let up, her fingers firm and deliberate.

“You’re not done yet, big guy,” she murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your chest. “We’ve still got work to do.”

Belle snorts from her spot in the chair. “Poor guy looks like he’s already dead. You sure he can keep up?”

“Oh, he can keep up,” Natty replies, her voice full of confidence. She moves lower, her lips trailing hot, wet kisses across your skin, her hand never stopping its slow, steady strokes.

Julie props herself up on one elbow, her gaze fixed on you with a satisfied smirk. “If he can’t, we’ll make him.”

Natty chuckles, her tongue flicking out to tease one of your nipples. The sensation sends a jolt through you, and she grins against your skin. “See? He’s already waking up.”

Her other hand joins in, her nails lightly scraping down your stomach, and your cock twitches again, starting to harden in her grip. She hums in approval, her lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking gently as her hand works you. Slowly you lie down on the bed, pulling Natty with you. The new position allows you to enjoy the best of her touch comfortably.

Julie leans in from the side, her lips finding your neck. “Yeah, relax,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. “Let us take care of you.”

You exhale shakily, your hands resting on their hips as they move together, their lips and hands exploring every inch of you. Julie’s tongue traces the curve of your jaw, while Natty’s mouth moves lower, her kisses trailing down your chest to your stomach.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your head falling back against the pillow.

Natty glances up at you, her grin wicked. “That’s it. Just let go.”

Her strokes grow firmer, her grip tightening around your cock as it hardens fully again, and she laughs softly. “There we go. Good boy.”

Julie smirks, her lips brushing against your ear. “Told you he’d be ready in no time.”

Natty’s hand slows, her thumb swiping over the sensitive head of your cock, smearing the bead of precum that’s already forming. “He’s perfect,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Belle sighs dramatically from the chair. “All right, Natty, quit hogging him. Let’s see you put that cock to good use.”

Natty laughs, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Patience, Belle. You’ll get your turn. For now…” She straddles your hips, her wet pussy hovering just above your cock. “It’s my turn.”

You grip her hips instinctively, your body already craving her. “Bring it on,” you mutter, your voice rough with desire.

Natty grins, her hands resting on your chest as she positions herself, her eyes locked on yours. “Oh, I will,” she promises, her voice low and teasing. “You’d better keep up.”

She grips your cock, guiding it to her slick, swollen entrance, her wetness coating the head as she teases you with slow, deliberate movements. You groan, your hands tightening on her hips as the head of your cock pushes into her heat, her pussy stretching to take you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your head falling back against the pillow. “You feel… so fucking good.”

She lets out a low, satisfied moan as she sinks all the way down, her thick, curvy body pressing against you. Her pussy grips you like a glove, tight and wet, and you can feel every pulse, every clench as she adjusts to your size. Her breasts bounce slightly with the movement, full and heavy, her nipples stiff and begging to be touched.

Your hands slide up her waist to cup them, marveling at their softness, and she grins down at you, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Like what you see, huh?”

“You’re perfect,” you rasp, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a gasp from her. “Thick, juicy… fuck, Natty, you’re incredible.”

She laughs, low and teasing, her hips starting to roll in slow, deliberate movements. “Careful, big guy. You keep talking like that, and I might actually start thinking you’d make a good husband.”

You chuckle breathlessly, gripping her hips as she rides you, her movements smooth and sensual. “Might not be wrong.”

Natty grins, leaning forward slightly, her breasts brushing against your chest as she moves. Her pussy slides up and down your cock with maddening precision, her pace slow enough to drive you crazy, but steady enough to keep you on the edge.

Your cock, still half-numb from your release with Julie, feels like it’s waking up all over again, the pleasure building slowly but intensely. The way her body moves, her hips rolling, her ass bouncing slightly with every thrust—it’s hypnotic, and you can’t look away.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you murmur, your hands trailing up her sides to cup her breasts again, squeezing gently.

Natty moans softly, her pace quickening just slightly. “Mmm, keep talking, sweetheart. I like to hear how much you adore me.”

The sight of her, riding you like she’s in control of the entire world, is almost too much to handle. Her thick thighs frame your hips, her juicy breasts sway with every movement, and her dark hair falls around her face in messy waves.

You glance to the side, catching Julie watching intently, her lips parted as she takes in the scene. “Julie,” you call out, your voice rough. “Kiss her.”

Julie’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn’t hesitate. She moves closer, kneeling on the bed beside you. Natty’s eyes flick to her, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Julie murmurs before leaning in.

Their lips meet in a soft, teasing kiss at first, their mouths moving slowly, testing, teasing. Then it deepens, their tongues tangling, and the sight makes your cock twitch inside Natty.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands tightening on her hips as she continues to ride you.

Natty moans into the kiss, her movements growing faster, her pussy squeezing you tighter. Julie’s hands slide up to cup Natty’s face, holding her close as their kiss becomes wetter, messier, their moans mingling in the air.

Your eyes flick to the corner of the room, and your breath catches at the sight of Belle. She’s leaning back in the chair, her dress hiked up around her hips, one hand pressed against her panties. Her fingers move in slow, lazy circles, teasing herself as she watches the three of you.

Her eyes meet yours, and she grins, her cheeks flushed. “Don’t mind me,” she says, her voice low and breathy. “Just enjoying the show.”

The combination of Natty’s bouncing ass, her tight, wet pussy gripping you, the sight of her and Julie kissing hungrily, and Belle touching herself in the corner—it’s overwhelming. The pleasure builds rapidly, every nerve in your body on fire as Natty’s hips grind against you, her pussy gripping your cock with that maddening rhythm that has you teetering on the edge. Her thick, curvy body moving with an expertise that makes it impossible to think straight.

But as much as you love the sight of her riding you like this, there’s one thing you need even more.

“Turn around,” you growl, your hands sliding down to her thighs. “I want to see that fat ass while you ride me.”

Natty’s grin widens, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you like my ass, huh?”

“Love it,” you reply, your voice thick with need. “Now, turn around and show me.”

Natty bites her lip, sliding off you slowly, your cock glistening with her wetness as it slips free. She swings her leg over, turning around to face away from you. And when she lowers herself back down, guiding you into her dripping pussy, the sight is absolutely fucking perfect.

Natty's ass is a fucking spectacle, a fucking masterpiece that deserves to be worshipped. It's not just round and thick; it's fucking voluptuous, a perfect peach that jiggles and bounces with every damn movement. As she sinks down onto your cock, you can see her cheeks spreading, swallowing your shaft like it's fucking hungry for it. She glances back over her shoulder, her hair falling in messy waves around her flushed face.

“Better?” she asks, her voice teasing, as she starts to move her hips in slow, grinding circles.

“Fuck yes,” you groan, your hands gripping her waist. “You’re fucking perfect, Natty.”

Natty laughs softly, her hips lifting and dropping in a slow, torturous rhythm that leaves you panting. Her pussy grips you like a vise, the wet sounds of her movements filling the room as she bounces on your cock.

“Look at you,” she purrs, glancing back again. “Losing your mind over my ass, huh?”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your fingers digging into her hips. ���Look at the way it fucking moves.”

She smirks, her pace quickening, her ass clapping against your thighs with every bounce. “Yeah? You like that? You like watching my fat ass swallow your cock?”

“Fucking love it,” you groan, your hips bucking up to meet her movements.

Julie moves in closer, leaning over your chest. Her lips find your neck first, soft and teasing, before trailing down to your chest. “Don’t forget about me,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

Her tongue flicks over your nipple, and you shudder, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through your already overworked body. She grins against your skin, sucking gently before moving to the other side, her fingers tracing light patterns over your abs.

“You’re lucky we’re letting you take your time,” she teases, her lips brushing against your ear. “Natty could’ve made you cum five minutes ago if she really wanted to.”

Natty laughs, throwing her head back as she rides you harder, her movements wild and relentless now. “He’s just trying to keep up, Julie. Don’t be too hard on him.”

You growl, your grip on Natty’s hips tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements with desperate intensity. The sight of her ass bouncing against you, the wet sounds of her pussy taking you so deep, Julie’s lips on your chest—it’s all too much, but you don’t want it to end.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” you groan, your voice ragged. “You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind.”

“Good,” Natty shoots back, her voice breathless. “That’s the idea.”

Julie laughs softly, her lips brushing against your neck. “She’s got you right where she wants you.”

Belle’s voice cuts through the haze from her spot in the armchair, the voice low and soft, almost a moan, the fingers rubbing in a steady rhythm under her panties. “Pretty sure she’s got all of us right where she wants us. Keep going, Nat. You’re killing it.”

Natty’s pace doesn’t falter, her ass slamming down on your cock with every thrust, her pussy clenching around you like she’s determined to drain you dry. The pleasure is overwhelming, building in waves that threaten to pull you under, but you hold on, desperate to make this last as long as possible.

“Come on,” Natty urges, glancing back at you again. “Show me what you’ve got, big guy. Fucking give it to me.”

Natty’s pace is relentless, her thick ass bouncing against your thighs with obscene, wet smacks as her pussy milks you. The sight of her in reverse cowgirl, riding your cock like she’s possessed, makes your chest tighten and your breath come in ragged gasps. Every bounce sends another jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, the heat in your gut coiling tighter, threatening to snap.

Julie is right on top of you, her lips on your neck, her tongue dragging along the sensitive skin as her fingers pinch and tease your nipples. Each twist and flick sends electric shocks through your body, making your cock twitch inside Natty’s impossibly tight, soaking pussy.

Natty throws her head back, her hair cascading down her back as she grinds her hips in circles, her ass slamming against you with each motion. “Come on,” she growls, glancing over her shoulder at you, her eyes wild with lust. “Pump your cum inside this elf whore's pussy. Fucking fill me up.”

You grip her hips tightly, your fingers digging into her soft, luscious flesh as you thrust up into her, meeting her every movement. The way her pussy grips you, squeezing and pulling like it’s desperate for your cum, drives you to the edge.

“You want me to fill you?” you growl, your voice thick and rough.

“Fuck yes,” Natty moans, slamming herself down on your cock with even more force. “I want all of it. Every fucking drop. Fill me so full I’ll feel it for days.”

Her words send a shiver through you, and you grip her even tighter, pulling her down hard onto your cock. “Say it,” you demand, your voice harsh. “Tell me you want me to breed you.”

Natty moans louder, her head falling forward as she picks up the pace, her hips moving with a wild urgency. “I want it,” she cries out, her voice high and desperate. “Fuck, I want it so bad. Breed me, baby. Please! Fill me with your fucking cum! Make me yours.”

Julie bites your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as her fingers tease your nipples harder. “Listen to her,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with lust. “She’s fucking crazy for you.”

Belle’s laugh echoes from the corner, her voice breathy. “You better not disappoint her, big guy. She’s counting on you.”

Natty’s movements become frantic, her pussy gripping you like a vise as she slams herself down on your cock over and over again. “Come on,” she begs, her voice cracking with need. “I need it. I need you to fucking cum inside me. Fill me up. Breed me like a fucking slut.”

You’re shaking now, your entire body taut as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. “Fuck, Natty,” you groan, your hips jerking uncontrollably. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes!” Natty screams, her hands gripping her thighs as she rides you harder, her movements wild and uncoordinated. “Do it! Cum in me! Breed me, you fucking stud!”

The words tip you over the edge, and with a guttural moan, you thrust up into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as you can go. Your cock pulses, your seed spilling into her in hot, thick waves, and Natty loses it.

Her entire body shakes as she cums, her pussy clamping down on your cock, milking you for every last drop. “Fuck, yes!” she screams, her head thrown back, her hands clutching at her bouncing breasts as her orgasm rips through her.

Julie watches with wide eyes, her lips parted in awe, while Belle groans softly, her hand moving faster under her panties. “Goddamn,” Belle mutters. “That’s fucking hot.”

Natty doesn’t stop. Even as you cum inside her, she keeps riding you, her hips slamming down with an almost violent force, drawing out every ounce of your orgasm until you’re shaking, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Take it,” you groan, your voice raw. “Take every fucking drop.”

“Fuck, yes,” Natty moans, her body trembling as her pussy clenches around you, her own release leaving her dripping all over your cock. “I can feel it. So deep. Mmm, so fucking good.”

Finally, she collapses forward onto the bed, her body trembling, your cum leaking from her stuffed pussy as she pants heavily, her face flushed and satisfied. Julie grins, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“You’re a fucking machine,” she whispers against your lips.

Belle laughs, her voice hoarse. “Machine? More like a damn Christmas miracle.”

—

The room smells like sex and sweat, heavy and warm, and you’re sprawled across the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Natty and Julie are curled up on either side of you, their naked bodies pressed against yours like they’ve been there forever. Natty’s thick curves fit snugly against your side, her head resting on your shoulder, while Julie’s toned frame stretches lazily, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your chest.

In the corner, Belle is by the mirror, her dress half off as she scrubs at her skin with a damp washcloth, muttering under her breath about soot and chimneys.

“Should’ve come through the damn door,” she grumbles, glaring at the streaks of black still clinging to her thighs.

“You think?” Julie calls over, her tone dry.

Belle shoots her a look through the mirror but doesn’t respond, focusing instead on her task.

You exhale, finally finding your voice. “Okay, I gotta ask. What’s life like for you guys? The whole elf thing. Is it like a Christmas movie, or is that just marketing bullshit?”

Natty snorts, her fingers trailing lazily down your stomach. “Marketing bullshit. Total propaganda. Santa’s a businessman; he’s gotta sell the magic.”

Julie props herself up on one elbow, smirking. “Don’t get us wrong, it’s not all bad. But it’s not sugar plums and caroling 24/7, either.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing between them. “So, what’s it actually like?”

Natty hums thoughtfully, her thumb brushing over your skin. “Busy as hell, for starters. Prep for Christmas is a year-round thing. You think it's just one day, but getting all those gifts ready for billions of kids? It's insane. And the logistics? Nightmare. Planning routes, checking lists twice, dealing with weather issues, and making sure every kid gets exactly what they want. It’s a year-round hustle.”

Julie nods. “We’ve got divisions for everything: toys, logistics, reindeer care, candy production… Don’t even get me started on the gingerbread sector. Those guys are intense.”

Natty chuckles, nudging you with her hip. “And you know that shit about elves being tiny? Total lie. We’re all like this—” she gestures to her body, curves and all, “—which makes squeezing into some of those old workshops a pain in the ass.”

Belle pipes up from the mirror, still scrubbing at a stubborn patch of ash on her shoulder. “And don’t forget the quotas. Everything’s gotta be done yesterday. Santa’s nice and all, but he’s also a hardass when it comes to deadlines.”

You blink, trying to picture Santa as a stern boss, pacing around with a clipboard and barking orders. “So, he’s not the jolly guy in the red suit?”

Julie laughs. “Oh, he is. But don’t let the ‘ho-ho-ho’ fool you. He runs a tight ship. You miss a deadline, and you’re stuck in snow-shoveling duty for a week.”

“Snow-shoveling duty?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

Natty groans dramatically. “The worst. Endless piles of snow, freezing your ass off while the rest of the team’s inside drinking hot cocoa. It’s brutal.”

Belle, finally satisfied with her cleanup, turns from the mirror, her dress hanging off her shoulders as she walks over to the bed. “And don’t even get me started on reindeer maintenance,” she says, flopping into the armchair nearby. “Those things are divas. You’d think they’d be grateful for the magical oats, but no—Prancer once kicked me because the oats weren’t warm enough.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” you say, grinning.

“It’s not all bad,” Natty says, shrugging. “We’ve got a pretty tight-knit community. Lots of parties, good food, and the sex—” she winks at you, “—is legendary.”

Julie smirks. “And it’s not like we don’t have perks. Free housing, endless candy canes, and when Santa’s in a good mood, he throws these massive celebrations. Think Mardi Gras, but with more glitter.”

Belle laughs. “And more eggnog. So much eggnog.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “I had no idea the North Pole was this wild. I always pictured it… cleaner. Quieter.”

Natty leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Stick around, and maybe we’ll take you there sometime. Show you the real magic.”

Julie hums, her fingers sliding lower on your chest. “But for now, you’re stuck with us. And I’m not hearing any complaints.”

Belle smirks, settling into her chair and crossing her legs. “Not a bad deal, huh?”

You glance around the room—Natty’s warm body pressed against you, Julie’s teasing fingers, Belle’s playful grin—and you can’t help but smile. “Not bad at all.”

The warmth of Julie and Natty pressed against you, their soft bodies against your sides, has you stirring again. It doesn’t take much; their scent, their touch, the memory of the last couple of minutes—it all combines into a haze of arousal that has your cock stiffening between your legs. You glance down, half-laughing at yourself, already semi-hard just from lying there with them.

Natty notices first, her hand brushing lightly over your stomach before trailing lower. She grins when she feels the slight twitch of your cock. “Look who’s ready for round three,” she teases, her dark eyes glinting with mischief.

Julie hums, her fingers joining Natty’s, stroking your chest lightly. “And here I thought we wore him out.”

You chuckle, your breath catching slightly as they touch you. “I guess you underestimated me.”

But your attention shifts to Belle, still perched on the armchair. She’s been quiet, watching, her cheeks flushed pink. “Belle,” you say softly, holding out a hand. “Come here.”

Belle hesitates, glancing between you and the other two before standing. As she approaches, the soft light of the room finally reveals her fully; she’s petite, with small, perky breasts that barely contain their youthful firmness. Her tummy looks soft to the touch, with a gentle curve that accentuates her femininity. It's not flat or toned but deliciously smooth, and only adds to her overall cuteness, making her appear even more delicate and enticing. Her tight, rounded ass complements her figure perfectly, making your cock twitch with anticipation.

She notices you staring and crosses her arms, pretending to be annoyed. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, and she huffs, climbing onto the bed awkwardly. Julie and Natty make room for her, shifting to the sides, and she kneels between them, looking almost shy.

“I’m not as… experienced as them,” Belle says, her voice quieter than usual.

Natty snickers, leaning against the headboard. “Yeah, no shit. That’s why you stayed in the armchair watching, isn’t it? You were scared.”

“I was not scared!” Belle snaps, glaring at her.

“Sure,” Natty says with a wink.

You reach up, cupping Belle’s cheek gently, and her glare softens as her eyes meet yours. “Hey,” you murmur. “You’re perfect. No need to be shy.”

Her lips part slightly, and you lean in, brushing a soft kiss against her mouth. She gasps softly, her body relaxing as she melts into you, her hands resting on your chest as the kiss deepens.

Natty chuckles behind her, and a second later, her hands slide around Belle’s sides, cupping her small breasts. Belle pulls back from the kiss, gasping as Natty’s fingers pinch and tease her nipples. “See?” Natty says with a grin. “I’ll help you out.”

Julie moves closer, her lips brushing against your neck before trailing down to your chest, her fingers dancing over your abs. “Don’t forget about us,” she murmurs, her tongue flicking over one of your nipples, making you shudder.

You look at the three of them—Belle’s small, trembling frame, Natty’s mischievous grin as she teases Belle’s breasts, Julie’s soft lips trailing down your body—and you can’t help but speak. “You’re all incredible,” you murmur, your voice thick with admiration. “The most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.”

Julie hums against your chest, her lips curving into a smile. “We’d better be. We’re yours now, after all.”

Natty nods, her hands still on Belle’s breasts. “Once we’re all pregnant, you’re stuck with us. Forever.”

You chuckle softly, your hand sliding between Belle’s thighs, cupping her wet heat. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you murmur, your fingers sliding against her slick folds. “Three perfect girls all to myself? I’ve won the fucking lottery.”

Belle moans softly, her hips jerking against your hand. “You better take good care of us,” she says, her voice breathless.

“I will,” you promise, your fingers brushing against her clit, making her gasp. “I’ll take care of you. All of you.”

Natty grins, her hands sliding down Belle’s sides. “We’ll hold you to that.”

You shift, lying flat on the bed, your hands on Belle’s hips. “Come here,” you say, your voice rough with need. “I want to taste you.”

Belle hesitates for only a moment before nodding, her cheeks still flushed as she straddles your face. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of your head, and she lowers herself slowly, her pink, glistening pussy hovering just above your lips.

You grip her hips, pulling her down, and she gasps as your tongue slides against her folds. She’s sweet and soft, her taste driving you wild as you lick and suck, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Belle moans, her hands gripping the headboard as her hips start to rock against your face.

Julie wastes no time, sliding down the bed to take your cock in her hand. She strokes you slowly at first, her eyes glinting with anticipation, before leaning in to wrap her lips around the head, sucking gently.

Natty grins, positioning herself behind Julie. “Let me help,” she says, her hands spreading Julie’s thighs as her tongue dips between them, licking along Julie’s folds.

The sensation of Belle grinding on your face, Julie’s warm mouth on your cock, and the sound of Natty’s tongue working between Julie’s legs is almost overwhelming. You groan into Belle’s pussy, your hands tightening on her hips as you pull her closer, devouring her like you can’t get enough.

Belle’s moans grow louder, her body trembling above you. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her hips moving faster. “You’re so… fucking good at this.”

Julie hums around your cock, her tongue swirling around the head as she takes you deeper. Natty’s muffled moans from behind her only add to the intensity, and you can feel yourself growing harder with every passing second.

Belle’s soft thighs frame your face as she rides your tongue, her sweet, pink pussy dripping with arousal as you devour her. Your hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as you flick your tongue over her clit, sucking it gently before dipping back into her folds. Every little gasp and moan she makes sends a jolt of satisfaction through you, urging you to go harder, deeper.

Above you, Belle’s voice trembles. “Oh, fuck… Oh, God, yes… That’s so fucking good.” Her fingers grip the headboard, her hips moving erratically as she chases her pleasure. “I can’t—oh, my fucking God—”

Meanwhile, Julie has taken your cock in her mouth, her lips stretched around your length as she works you with a fervor that leaves you trembling. She alternates between slow, deliberate bobs and deep, greedy sucks that have your cock twitching in her throat. Her tongue swirls around the head each time she pulls back, lapping at the precum that beads there before taking you deep again, her nose brushing against your pelvis.

Julie moans softly around your cock, her throat vibrating against you as she feels Natty’s hands spreading her ass cheeks from behind. “Natty—what are you—”

Her words cut off into a sharp cry as Natty’s tongue presses against her asshole, teasing the tight ring of muscle with slow, wet strokes. Julie’s body jerks, and her hips push back involuntarily as Natty’s tongue slips inside, swirling and licking with expert precision.

“Fuck,” Julie gasps, pulling off your cock long enough to catch her breath. Her hand strokes you in quick, firm movements as she groans, her voice trembling. “Natty, you’re such a—oh, fuck—such a filthy bitch.”

Natty grins against her, her tongue plunging deeper as her hands knead Julie’s ass. “Damn right,” she murmurs, her voice muffled. “Now keep sucking him, Julie. I’m just getting started back here.”

Julie shivers but obeys, taking your cock back into her mouth with a loud, wet slurp. She’s even more eager now, her lips moving faster, her hand stroking the base in time with her bobs. The combined sensations of her warm, slick mouth and Belle’s pussy grinding on your tongue make your head spin, every nerve in your body alight with pleasure.

Belle’s voice grows higher, more desperate, as her movements become frantic. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, fuck, I’m gonna—”

You grip her hips tighter, pulling her down hard against your mouth as your tongue flicks over her clit again and again. Her thighs tremble around your head, and she cries out, her body shaking as her orgasm crashes over her.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Belle screams, her hips grinding against your face as you lick her through her climax, her juices dripping down your chin.

Julie moans around your cock, her mouth moving faster as Natty’s tongue works deeper into her ass, licking and teasing with an intensity that leaves her trembling. She pulls back with a gasp, her hand still stroking you as she throws her head back, her voice breaking. “Fuck, Natty, you’re gonna make me cum!”

Natty chuckles, her hands gripping Julie’s hips as her tongue plunges even deeper, her wet, messy sounds mingling with the obscene noises of Julie’s blowjob. “Do it,” Natty growls. “Cum for us, Julie. Let him hear how good it feels.”

Julie’s moans grow louder, her hand tightening around your cock as she strokes you harder, her other hand gripping the sheets. Her body shakes, her voice rising into a scream as her orgasm hits, her thighs clenching around Natty’s face.

“Fuck!” Julie cries, her body jerking as she cums, her hand squeezing your cock as she moans uncontrollably.

Belle slowly climbs off you, her thighs trembling slightly as she kneels beside you on the bed, her flushed face framed by messy blonde hair. She’s still catching her breath, her lips parted, her chest heaving, but the smile she gives you is soft, almost shy.

“You’re fucking amazing,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No wonder they can’t get enough of you.”

You grin, still tasting her juices on your lips. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

Her cheeks flush even deeper, and her eyes dart down to your cock—still rock-hard and glistening with Julie’s spit. She bites her lip, her gaze darkening with anticipation.

“You ready for more?” you ask, sitting up slightly.

Belle nods quickly. “Yeah.”

You guide her onto her back, spreading her legs gently as she lies beneath you. Her small, cute frame is stretched out on the bed, her soft tummy rising and falling with her breaths, her wet, pink pussy practically begging for you. You position yourself between her thighs, the head of your cock brushing against her entrance.

Julie leans back on the bed beside you, her lips curling into a lazy smirk. “Better not scare her off, big guy. She’s still new to all this.”

Belle glares at her but doesn’t respond, her attention fixed entirely on you as you lean over her. Your hands rest on her hips, your cock pressing more firmly against her slick folds, and she shivers.

But before you can push inside, Natty’s voice cuts through the moment. “Wait!”

You both glance up to see her hopping off the bed, her naked body moving with purpose as she heads toward the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Julie calls after her, annoyed.

Natty doesn’t stop, her voice trailing back. “I saw something in the kitchen. Be right back!”

The three of you exchange confused looks, but you shrug, your attention shifting back to Belle. “Don’t worry about her,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her softly.

Belle sighs into the kiss, her hands sliding up to rest on your shoulders as you position yourself again. But just as you’re about to push inside, Natty bursts back into the room, climbing onto the bed with something in her hand.

“I’m back!” she announces triumphantly, holding up a candy cane like it’s a trophy.

Julie’s eyes narrow, immediately suspicious. “What the fuck are you doing with that?”

Natty grins wickedly, crawling onto the bed and motioning for Julie to lie down. “Trust me, you’ll like this.”

Julie raises an eyebrow but complies, lying back and spreading her legs slightly. “You’re such a dirty whore,” she mutters, though her tone is more amused than annoyed.

Natty winks. “Takes one to know one.”

She leans down, her tongue flicking out to wet the candy cane before sliding it into her mouth, sucking it slowly. The sight is obscene—her lips wrapped around the striped treat, her tongue swirling over it like she’s giving it the blowjob of its life. When she pulls it out, it’s glistening, coated in her spit.

Belle watches the scene with wide eyes, her breath hitching. “Holy shit,” she whispers, her hands clutching the sheets.

Natty moves between Julie’s legs, guiding the candy cane to her ass. She circles the tight ring of muscle slowly, teasing it, and Julie’s body tenses.

“Relax,” Natty purrs, her other hand stroking Julie’s thigh. “You’re gonna love this.”

Julie groans, her head falling back. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“Shut up and enjoy it,” Natty replies, pushing the candy cane in slowly.

Julie gasps as it slides inside, her body arching slightly. “Fuck,” she moans, her hands gripping the sheets.

The sight is enough to drive Belle over the edge. She looks up at you, her eyes blazing with need. “Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I can’t wait anymore. Fuck me.”

You’re no different. Watching Natty work the candy cane into Julie’s ass, hearing Julie’s breathless moans, and seeing Belle’s flushed, needy face beneath you—it’s all too much. You position yourself again, gripping Belle’s hips as you push the head of your cock into her wet, tight pussy.

Belle gasps, her nails digging into your arms as you slide deeper, her walls clenching around you. “Oh, fuck,” she moans, her head falling back. “Oh—god—you’re so big.”

“Fuck, you’re tight,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you bottom out, buried to the hilt.

Natty glances up from Julie, a wicked grin on her face. “Looks like someone’s having fun.”

Julie moans louder as Natty twists the candy cane slightly, her hips bucking. “Shut up, Natty,” she gasps. “Keep going.”

You focus on Belle, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, her tight heat wrapping around you perfectly. Her pussy is tight and wet, gripping your cock with every thrust as you pick up speed, your hips slamming into her with increasing intensity. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, her heels digging into your back as if she’s trying to keep you buried as deep as possible.

“Deeper,” she gasps, her voice trembling, raw with need. “Please, fuck me deeper.”

You oblige, driving into her harder, your cock stretching her, filling her completely. Her small body trembles beneath you, her nails clawing at your back as her head tilts back, exposing her neck. You lean forward, your lips brushing against her slick, salty skin, your teeth grazing lightly as you kiss her, your breaths hot and uneven.

“Fuck, Belle,” you murmur against her neck, your voice rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moans, her hands clutching at you, holding you close as your bodies press together, sweat and heat mingling as you fuck her. “I can’t… Oh, god… You’re so deep,” she cries, her voice high and desperate.

By your side, Julie’s moans mix with Belle’s as Natty continues to work the candy cane into her ass. Julie’s legs are spread wide, her fingers rubbing her clit in frantic circles as she rocks her hips against the sensation, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck, this is so dirty,” Julie groans, her eyes fluttering shut as her hips roll against Natty’s hand. “I’ve never… Fuck… No one’s ever done this to me before.”

Natty smirks, twisting the candy cane slightly, earning a loud, shaky moan from Julie. “No one’s ever fucked you like this because no one’s as filthy as us,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement.

Julie lets out a breathless laugh, her fingers moving faster on her clit. “Fuck, you’re right… It’s so fucking good.”

Belle’s voice pulls your attention back to her, her legs tightening around you as you thrust into her, your cock pounding her sweet, slick pussy. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

You press your forehead against hers, your bodies glued together as you move, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. Her small frame seems to mold against you, her soft tummy pressing into your abs, her breasts brushing against your chest with every movement.

“I won’t stop,” you promise, your voice rough, almost a growl. “You feel too fucking good.”

Belle’s moans are raw, unfiltered, her arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders as she buries her face in your neck. “Oh, god,” she cries. “I can feel you everywhere. You’re so fucking deep.”

Julie watches you both, her lips parted, her hand pausing briefly as she takes in the scene. “Fuck,” she mutters, her voice husky. “Look at you two. That’s so fucking hot.”

Natty chuckles, leaning closer to Julie, her hand still working the candy cane in and out of her ass. “You think that’s hot? Look at her face. She’s fucking gone.”

Julie laughs breathlessly, her fingers resuming their rhythm on her clit. “Belle, you look like he’s fucking you into another dimension.”

Belle doesn’t respond with words, only a loud, trembling moan as she clutches you tighter, her pussy clenching around your cock like it never wants to let you go.

The intensity builds with every thrust, every moan, every word. You’re driving into Belle with a passion that feels primal, raw, unstoppable, and she takes it all, her body arching, trembling, meeting your movements with frantic need.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur against her skin, your lips finding her neck again. “So fucking perfect.”

Belle’s only response is a choked, desperate cry, her nails digging into your back as she rides the overwhelming sensations.

Julie moans louder behind you, her voice thick with pleasure. “Keep going, big guy,” she urges, her breath hitching. “Fucking destroy her. She’s loving it.”

Natty laughs, her fingers teasing Julie’s clit now as she continues working the candy cane in and out of her ass. “We’re all loving it,” she says, her voice low and sultry.

The heat in the room is almost suffocating, bodies glistening with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and arousal. Belle’s moans grow louder, her body trembling against you as her nails rake your back, her pussy tightening around your cock with every thrust. You know you’re close, dangerously close, but you’re not done with her yet.

With a groan, you slide your hands under Belle’s ass and lift her, your cock slipping free for a moment as you shift positions. “Come here,” you murmur, your voice rough and commanding.

Her wide eyes meet yours, her cheeks flushed, and she lets out a shaky gasp as you pull her up into a kneeling position, your bodies pressed together as you sit back on your heels. She straddles you instinctively, her legs wrapping around your waist as you guide her down onto your cock again, the head slipping inside her slick, tight pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” Belle cries, her arms wrapping around your neck as she sinks down completely, your cock filling her to the hilt.

You groan, your hands gripping her hips as you press your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling. The intimacy of the position is electric—her small, soft body pressed against yours, her flushed skin against your chest, her pussy gripping you like it was made for you.

“Fuck, Belle,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

Her voice trembles, her fingers digging into your shoulders. “You’re so deep,” she moans, her hips rocking against you. “I can feel you in my stomach.”

Natty shifts, the air thick with the sound of her own ragged breathing as she pulls the candy cane free from Julie’s slick, stretched ass. Without pause, she rolls to her side, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire as she closes the distance between them. Her thigh slides over Julie’s, skin sticky with the mingling heat of their bodies. Her hips press forward until her wet, swollen pussy meets Julie's in a sticky, urgent clash. The friction sparks a shudder through both of them as she adjusts, their thighs tangling, bodies grinding.

"Alright, give me that sweet pussy, baby.” The sight alone makes your cock twitch inside Belle, and you can’t help but groan.

“Fuck,” Julie mutters, her voice thick with arousal as Natty’s movements create delicious friction. “You really are a dirty whore, Natty.”

Natty grins, her hands gripping Julie’s thighs as she grinds against her, their slick folds sliding together with obscene wet sounds. “Oh, are you surprised, baby?” she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

Belle gasps, her hips moving faster as she rides you, her small body trembling in your arms. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice desperate. “Please, don’t stop.”

You grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements as you thrust up into her, meeting her rhythm with raw, passionate intensity. “I’m not stopping,” you growl, your lips finding her neck. “I won't stop until I cum inside that tight little pussy.”

Julie lets out a sharp cry as Natty’s movements grow rougher, her hips bucking against her. “Fuck, Natty,” she moans, her fingers sliding down to rub her clit. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

Natty laughs breathlessly, her body grinding harder against Julie’s. “You're not bad yourself.”

Julie’s only response is a loud, trembling moan, her back arching as the pleasure overwhelms her.

You glance between them, the sight of their scissoring bodies pushing you to the brink. Natty’s thick thighs flex with every movement, her hips grinding in perfect rhythm against Julie’s, while Julie’s fingers move frantically between them, her cries of pleasure filling the room.

Belle’s moans pull your attention back to her, and you grip her tighter, your cock plunging into her with deep, deliberate thrusts. “You’re mine,” you murmur against her neck, your voice rough with need. “All of you. You’re fucking mine.”

“Yours,” Belle gasps, her arms tightening around your neck. “Fuck, I’m yours. Just don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Natty groans, her eyes fluttering shut as her body moves against Julie’s, her voice dripping with lust. “This is fucking perfect,” she moans. “Keep going. All of us, together.”

The room is a mess of sounds—moans, gasps, the wet slap of skin against skin—and the heat builds higher, the tension coiling tighter with every second, the pleasure driving you all further, the desire to push each other over the edge growing stronger with every movement.

Belle’s trembling body rocks against yours, her pussy squeezing your cock with desperate, wet heat. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your cock throbbing inside her as her soft moans and whispered pleas echo in your ears. The heat between all of you is unbearable, the air heavy with sweat, arousal, and the raw, primal need that none of you can contain any longer.

You grip Belle’s hips tightly, thrusting up into her as she rides you, her small frame pressing against your chest, her legs wrapped around your waist. “Fuck, Belle,” you groan, your voice ragged. “I’m so close.”

Natty’s voice cuts through the haze, her tone teasing and full of lust. “Oh, yes,” she purrs, her hands gripping Julie’s thighs as she grinds harder against her. “That’s what I like to hear. Come on, big guy, she’s the last one. Fill her up. Make her yours forever.”

Belle gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders as she grinds herself harder against you. Her lips are inches from yours, her breath mingling with yours as she stares into your eyes, her gaze filled with desperation and raw need. “Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Please, make me yours. Breed me. I want to carry your baby.”

Her words send a shiver through your entire body, awakening something deep and primal inside you. Your hips buck up harder, your cock plunging deeper into her, and Belle cries out, her arms wrapping tightly around your neck as she clings to you.

Natty’s grin widens, her voice taking on a teasing edge. “Oh, she’s begging for it now. Look at her, desperate for you to knock her up.”

Julie moans louder, her fingers moving frantically against her clit as her hips buck against Natty’s. “Fuck,” she gasps, her head falling back. “He’s going to make her pregnant, and I can’t… Oh—god—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum.”

The symphony of moans, cries, and wet sounds grows louder, the intensity building to an unbearable crescendo. Julie and Natty’s bodies grind together, slick and desperate, their movements wild and erratic as they chase their pleasure.

Belle’s eyes lock onto yours, her lips trembling as she whispers again. “Please… Please cum in me. Make me pregnant. Make me yours forever.”

Her words are your undoing.

With a guttural groan, you bury yourself as deep as you can inside her, your cock pulsing as your release hits. Hot, thick streams of cum spill into her, and Belle screams, her body shaking against yours as she feels you fill her.

“Fuck!” you growl, your arms wrapping around her tightly, your bodies glued together as you pump her full, your hips jerking with each spurt.

The sensation drives Julie over the edge, her back arching as she screams, her fingers pressing hard against her clit. “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming!” she cries, her body jerking violently as her release hits, squirting all over the bed, her juices splashing against Natty’s thighs.

Natty gasps, her hands gripping Julie’s hips as the wetness spreads between them. “Goddamn,” she mutters, her voice thick with lust. “You’re a fucking mess, Julie.”

Belle clings to you, her breathing ragged, her body trembling as she feels the heat of your cum deep inside her. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and breathless. “Thank you, thank you…”

You hold her tightly, your chest heaving, your cock still twitching inside her as you press a kiss to her forehead. “You’re mine,” you murmur against her skin. “All of you. Forever.”

Julie collapses against the bed, her chest heaving as she laughs breathlessly. “Forever, huh? You’d better be ready to keep that promise.”

Natty chuckles, leaning over to kiss Belle’s cheek. “He’ll keep it. He’s got no choice now.”

The room falls into a warm, heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breaths and the faint hum of satisfaction that lingers in the air.

You look down at Belle, her eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and adoration. You can't resist the urge to seal this moment with a hot, passionate kiss. You lean in, your lips meeting hers in a fierce, claiming embrace. Your tongue delves into her mouth, tasting her sweetness, feeling her soft moans vibrate against your lips. Her body melts into yours, her arms wrapping around your neck as she kisses you back with equal fervor.

As you finally break the kiss, you rest your forehead against Belle's, your eyes locked onto hers, reaffirming your claim. "Forever," you whisper, and she nods, a small, content smile playing on her lips.

—

You wake up, but your consciousness seems to have stayed behind, trapped in some deep corner of your brain. Every muscle in your body aches, and your cock feels like it’s been through a marathon—probably because it has. The memories of last night flood back in vivid, explicit detail, and you groan, rolling over in bed.

But… the bed feels empty.

Your eyes snap open, and you’re greeted by nothing but rumpled sheets and an eerie quiet. No Natty. No Julie. No Belle.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “It was a fucking dream, wasn’t it?”

It’s not impossible.

Hell, it wouldn’t even be surprising. You’ve been alone for so long it’s no wonder your brain decided to gift you some kind of depraved Christmas fever dream. But damn, it felt real. The ache in your hips, the dull burn in your back—your body isn’t lying about how thoroughly you were wrecked.

You sigh, dragging yourself out of bed. “Maybe I’ve finally lost it,” you mutter to yourself. “Gone full-on crazy lonely dude. Great.”

Still, the smell of something cooking wafts up from downstairs, and your stomach growls. Dream or not, food sounds like the next logical step. You throw on some sweatpants and shuffle toward the stairs, your feet heavy on the creaking wood.

When you reach the bottom and turn into the kitchen, the sight that greets you makes you stop dead in your tracks.

They’re there.

Julie is in the living room, rearranging the pictures on your walls like she owns the place. Her sleek black hair is tied back, and she’s wearing one of your button-up shirts—too big for her but just short enough to make you gulp.

Natty's in the kitchen, humming to herself as she flips pancakes on the stove, her curves accentuated by the apron that barely covers her, tied loosely around her waist. It's the only thing she's wearing, as a matter of fact.

And Belle? She’s exactly where you’d expect her to be: sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by crumbs, shoving another bite of toast into her mouth. She is wearing one of your shirts. It's massive on her, but she looks so cute and cozy. Her blonde hair is a fluffy cloud of curls, falling haphazardly around her face. It's the most adorable thing ever.

They all turn to you at once, as if on cue.

“Morning, big guy,” Julie says casually, holding up a framed picture of you and your old dog. “You know this was crooked, right?”

“Good morning!” Natty chimes, flashing you a bright smile before flipping another pancake. “I hope you like breakfast. We kind of raided your kitchen.”

Belle waves with her toast, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “Mmrphning,” she mumbles, crumbs tumbling onto the table.

You just stand there, staring at them, your brain short-circuiting. “You’re… real,” you say finally.

Julie smirks, setting the frame back on the wall. “Of course we’re real. What, you think you hallucinated all that?”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” Natty quips, her tone playful. “Last night was pretty intense. Honestly, I’m impressed he’s still standing.”

Belle swallows her mouthful of toast and grins. “You do look like you got hit by a reindeer or two.”

You blink, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I… I thought I dreamed it. I woke up, and you weren’t—”

“—in your bed?” Julie finishes, arching an eyebrow. “Yeah, we figured you���d want to sleep in. You earned it.”

Natty plates a stack of pancakes and sets them on the table, her grin widening. “Plus, you looked so cute passed out like that. We didn’t want to wake you.”

Belle grabs a pancake with her bare hands, ignoring the fork sitting right in front of her. “So, are you gonna join us, or are you just gonna stand there gawking?”

You snap out of your daze, shuffling to the table and collapsing into a chair. “This is insane,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “You’re real. You’re actually real.”

“Yeah, we established that,” Julie says, sitting down across from you with a cup of coffee. “Now eat. Natty went all domestic goddess for you.”

Natty grins, sliding into the seat next to you and piling your plate high with pancakes. “Don’t get used to it,” she teases. “Breakfast is the only thing I know how to make.”

Belle smirks, her mouth full again. “She’s not kidding. I saw her almost burn water once.”

Natty glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re one to talk, Miss ‘I Eat Cereal with a Fork.’”

You chuckle despite yourself, cutting into your pancakes. “So, this is my life now, huh? Three elves living in my house, eating my food, rearranging my furniture.”

Julie shrugs, sipping her coffee. “Pretty much. We’re pregnant with your babies, remember? You’re stuck with us now.”

Natty leans in, resting her chin on her hand. “Admit it. You love it.”

You glance around the table at the three of them—the sly smirk on Julie’s lips, the playful sparkle in Natty’s eyes, Belle’s adorable, crumb-covered grin—and you can’t help but smile.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I really do.”

The pancakes are incredible, fluffy and sweet, though the company is sweeter. You shovel another bite into your mouth, glancing between the three of them as they eat—or, in Belle’s case, inhale—at the table. It feels surreal, the warmth of their presence filling the space that, until now, had always felt too empty.

But then Julie sets her coffee down with a soft clink and fixes you with a look that’s somewhere between regretful and serious. “Look, we need to talk,” she says. "There's something you need to know.”

Your stomach flips. “That sounds ominous.”

Natty smirks, nudging your thigh under the table. “Relax. We’re not breaking up with you or anything.”

Belle, mid-bite, chimes in with her mouth full. “We’re pregnant, remember? Well, probably pregnant. Anyway, you're our man now.”

You laugh nervously, but Julie doesn’t budge, her tone calm but firm. “It’s about what happens next. The logistics.”

“Logistics?” you echo, frowning. “What logistics? I thought we just… lived happily ever after or something.”

Julie snorts, crossing her arms. “You think the magic world works like a rom-com? Cute. No, there’s rules. Bureaucracies. Red tape thicker than Santa’s thighs after cookie season.”

Belle raises a hand, still chewing. “Which is always, by the way.”

“Okay, back up,” you say, setting your fork down. “What rules? What are we talking about here?”

Natty sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s complicated. We’re technically under North Pole jurisdiction, which means we can’t just pack up and move here full-time. There’s laws against it. Something about maintaining magical secrecy or whatever.”

“Plus,” Julie adds, “having a half-human, half-elf baby is already bending the rules. Some of the North Pole council isn’t exactly thrilled about it.”

You blink. “Wait, what? The council knows?”

Belle grins, finally swallowing her mouthful. “Of course they do. They know everything. They’ve got this creepy snow globe that shows them all the important stuff. Like Santa’s version of the NSA. We're in trouble now, but it's for a good reason.”

“That’s terrifying,” you mutter.

“It’s efficient,” Julie counters.

“But what does that mean for us?” you ask, glancing between them. “Are you saying you’re just going to leave?”

Julie hesitates, glancing at Natty, who takes over. “We’re not leaving you. But we can’t stay full-time, either. For now, we’ll have to visit. Weekends, holidays, that kind of thing.”

“That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Hey,” Natty says softly, reaching for your hand. “It’s not forever. Once the babies are born, we’ll have more leverage. Interracial babies in the magical world are rare, and they’re considered kind of… important.”

“Important how?”

Belle pipes up. “Well, they’re supposed to be, like, bridges between worlds or whatever. Diplomatic symbols of unity. It’s a whole thing.”

Julie rolls her eyes. “Which is ironic, considering how much the council hates dealing with them.”

Natty nods. “Yeah, but it works in our favor. They can’t exactly ignore us when the kids come along. We’ll push for a reassignment so we can all live together.”

“Reassignment?” you ask, feeling like you’re still two steps behind.

Julie leans forward, her tone all business. “Basically, we’d petition for you to come live at the North Pole. It’s rare, but it happens. Usually for special cases, like this one.”

“You’d really want me to come with you?” you ask, your voice soft.

Natty grins. “Duh. You think we’d go through all this just to ditch you?”

Belle nods vigorously. “We’re a package deal now. Besides, you’d love it at the North Pole. Endless hot cocoa, magical reindeer, zero commute time—it’s awesome.”

Julie smirks. “And cold as hell. Better invest in thermal underwear.”

You laugh despite yourself, the weight in your chest lifting slightly. “So, what happens until then?”

Natty squeezes your hand. “We’ll make it work. We’re not going anywhere, not really. And who knows? Maybe we’ll even get you on the Nice List permanently.”

Belle snickers. “That’s a stretch.”

Julie shoots her a look before turning back to you. “We’re serious, though. You said you wanted a family, handsome, well now you've got yourself a big one. You’re ours now, and we don’t take that lightly.”

The warmth in her voice is undeniable, and you find yourself smiling. “You’re mine too, you know.”

Natty grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Damn right we are.”

Belle, already reaching for another pancake, grins around her fork. “Better get used to it, lover boy. Three elf girls are no joke.”

—

The pancakes are history, coffee mugs bone dry, and sunlight floods the kitchen, casting everything in this weirdly golden, almost-too-perfect glow. Julie, Natty, and Belle are still parked around the table, eyes pinned on you like you’re the main event.

Julie’s the first to break the silence, her voice calm but carrying that no-bullshit weight. “Alright,” she says. “There’s one more thing we gotta hash out.”

“More bureaucratic bullshit?” you ask, half-joking, half-dreading.

Natty leans into her palm, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Nah, not this time. This one’s about you. What you want.”

Belle tilts her head, her blonde hair catching the light. “Yeah, like… this whole setup? It’s not exactly your typical ‘happily ever after.’ Magic babies, council breathing down our necks, all of us living together—it’s a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

Julie leans forward, her eyes dead serious but with a softness underneath that makes you pay attention. “We need to know if you’re really in this. Like, all in. This isn’t some fling or a one-night thing that spiraled out of control. This is real. It’s us. It’s a family. Forever. And if you’re gonna bolt or start second-guessing once we start building this life, we need to know now. Because if you’re not solid… it’ll wreck us.”

The word “wreck” just sits there, heavy as hell, daring anyone to argue with it.

You take a moment, looking at each of them. Julie’s got that sharp, take-no-prisoners look softened by something way more raw. Natty’s smirking, sure, but there’s a flicker of doubt behind it. And Belle, sweet Belle, is practically radiating hope, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of the shirt.

“I’m in,” you say, no hesitation. “For all of it. The magic, the council, the chaos. But mostly, I’m in for you. For us. For this family we’re building. Whatever it takes.”

Belle’s lips part in surprise, and her eyes well up slightly. “You mean that?” she whispers.

You nod, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Of course I mean it. I’ve spent enough Christmases alone to know what I don’t want. And what I want is right here.”

Natty’s grin returns, bright and full of mischief. “You realize we’re not exactly the poster-perfect family, right? You’ve got a dirty-mouthed toy-maker, a bossy logistics queen, and a cookie-devouring disaster. Not to mention the kids we’re about to have? That’s a circus waiting to happen.”

You chuckle, glancing at Belle, who’s already looking at the fruit bowl in the corner of the kitchen. “It’s not normal, no. But normal’s overrated anyway.”

Julie’s lips twitch into a faint smile, and she tilts her head. “You’d really give up your life here for us? Your home, your routines, everything you know?”

You shrug, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Home isn’t a place. It’s people. And I don’t need routines—I need you. All of you. Even Belle eating me out of house and home.”

Belle laughs, her cheeks pink. “You’d miss me if I didn’t.”

Natty leans closer, her eyes glinting with amusement. “And the council? The North Pole? That’s a whole different world, you know. It’s not just hot chocolate and snowball fights. You sure you’re ready for that?”

You meet her gaze, unwavering. “I’m ready for anything, as long as it’s with you.”

Julie lets out a soft breath, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “Well, shit,” she mutters, a smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

Natty snickers. “Guess we’re stuck with him now, huh?”

Belle squeezes your hand, her grin wide and genuine. “Good. I like being stuck with him.”

Julie rolls her eyes but smiles, reaching out to rest her hand over yours. “Then it’s settled. You’re ours, big guy. Welcome to the weirdest family you’ll ever know.”

You laugh, your chest warm, full, complete. “It’s a family,” you say softly. “And that’s all that matters.”

Natty leans back in her chair, her grin wide. “Weird or not, it’s ours. And I have a feeling we'll be very happy.”

Belle beams, looking at everyone at the table with a certain enthusiasm. “Same.”

Julie claps her hands. “Okay, enough of the sappy shit. Let’s toast to this insanity.” She grabs the pitcher of orange juice and starts pouring it into the mugs around the table.

Julie lifts her mug, her voice low but steady. “To family. The unconventional kind.”

Natty raises her cup, her grin wicked. “To the craziest family of the North Pole.”

Belle lifts her juice, her eyes sparkling with the sunlight and something more. “To us.”

Julie locks eyes with you, her voice calm but full of unshakable resolve. “To family. The kind that doesn’t play by the rules.”

You raise your cup with a laugh. “To family.”

And for the first time, it feels like the holidays aren’t just another lonely season—they’re the start of something real. Something yours. Something forever.

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[renthony]

In Defense of Shitty Queer Art

Queer art has a long history of being censored and sidelined. In 1895, Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray was used as evidence in the author’s sodomy trials. From the 1930s to the 1960s, the American Hays Code prohibited depictions of queerness in film, defining it as “sex perversion.” In 2020, the book Steven Universe: End of an Era by Chris McDonnell confirmed that Rebecca Sugar’s insistence on including a sapphic wedding in the show is what triggered its cancellation by Cartoon Network. According to the American Library Association, of the top ten most challenged books in 2023, seven were targeted for their queer content. Across time, place, and medium, queer art has been ruthlessly targeted by censors and protesters, and at times it seems there might be no end in sight.

So why, then, are queer spaces so viciously critical of queer art?

Name any piece of moderately-well-known queer media, and you can find immense, vitriolic discourse surrounding it. Audiences debate whether queer media is good representation, bad representation, or whether it’s otherwise too problematic to engage with. Artists are picked apart under a microscope to make sure their morals are pure enough and their identities queer enough. Every minor fault—real or perceived—is compiled in discourse dossiers and spread around online. Lines are drawn, and callout posts are made against those who get too close to “problematic art.”

Modern examples abound, such as the TV show Steven Universe, the video game Dream Daddy, or the webcomic Boyfriends, but it’s far from a new phenomenon. In his book Hi Honey, I’m Homo!, queer pop culture analyst Matt Baume writes about an example from the 1970s, where the ABC sitcom titled Soap was protested by homophobes and queer audiences alike—before a single episode of the show ever aired. Audiences didn’t wait to actually watch the show before passing judgment and writing protest letters.

After so many years starved for positive representation, it’s understandable for queer audiences to crave depictions where we’re treated well. It’s exhausting to only ever see the same tired gay tropes and subtext, and queer audiences deserve more. Yet the way to more, better, varied representation is not to insist on perfection. The pursuit of perfection is poison in art, and it’s no different when that art happens to be queer.

When the pool of queer art is so limited, it feels horrible when a piece of queer art doesn’t live up to expectations. Even if the representation is technically good, it’s disappointing to get excited for a queer story only for that story to underwhelm and frustrate you.

But the world needs that disappointing art. It needs mediocre art. It even needs the bad art. The world needs to reach a point where queer artists can fearlessly make a mess, because if queer artists can only strive for perfection, the less art they can make. They may eventually produce a masterpiece, but a single masterpiece is still a drop in the bucket compared to the oceans of censorship. The only way to drown out bigotry and offensive stereotypes created by bigots is to allow queer artists the ability to experiment, learn through making mistakes, and represent their queer truth even if it clashes with someone else’s.

If queer artists aren’t allowed to make garbage, we can never make those masterpieces everyone craves. If queer artists are terrified at all times that their art will be targeted both by bigots and their own queer communities, queer art cannot thrive.

Let queer artists make shitty art. Let allies to queer people try their hand at representation, even if they miss the mark. Let queer art be messy, and let the artists screw up without fear of overblown retribution.

It’s the only way we’ll ever get more queer art.

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