#this is exactly that flavour of wild...and i like it

[mv1simp]

Earned It ♥️ - Part 2 of 2?

Max Verstappen x Wife! Reader

cause girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it, and you deserve it (the way you work it)

PART ONE HERE ♥️

Once you and your loving husband, Max, are finally ready to start trying for a baby, you face your next challenges as a couple navigating pregnancy. After a tricky conception, the two of you are ecstatic to now be five months pregnant. But lately, you can’t help but worry that your husband doesn’t find you desirable when you notice his behaviour changing. You have no idea how wrong you are until Max finds out about your insecurities…and is determined to prove you so very wrong.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, goddamn where do I even begin with this one, BREEDING KINK GO BRRRR, size kink, dom! Max, pillow princess! Sub! Reader, lots of emotional pregnancy hormones and max being the perfect husband, explicit mention of pregnancy and infertility struggles, 7K WC

Resting your cheek against your hand, you stare at your husband, who’s too focused on his current task to notice his pregnant wife’s annoyed expression. The 6 foot blonde Dutchman in question is dutifully serving up a perfectly balanced dinner for you, all macros and vitamin groups carefully counted as per the personal nutritionist he’s hired. Setting down the plate of smoked rosemary chicken breast, garlicky herb potatoes and sides of sautéed broccolini in front of you, Max stands back to admire his work. You can’t resist a petty Stop looking so proud, I know you hired someone to cook this.

Max pouts rather adorably at you. Surely it counts if I still paid for it, right schat? Rolling your eyes moodily at his antics, you stab a potato with your fork and munch on it, unable to resist the pleased hmm that escapes you at how flavourful the meal was. Noticing your reaction, your husband uses it to try gain your good favour again. You like it, schat? I taste tested five different cooks before I chose this one, he makes the best chocolate brownies, exactly how you like them with double fudge!

He tilts his head earnestly, looking the very picture of a cute golden retriever with his sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde locks. You sigh, putting your fork down. Normally, your darling husband’s devotion has your heart fluttering and cheeks flushing. But not today. No, today, your husband had gone too far - and you were going to make sure he made up for his mistake. When he nudges you to resume your eating, you needed the extra energy after all, you pointedly choose to ignore him. You instead pat the heads of your two Bengal cats and dog, Arlo, who curiously weave in between your legs hoping to get a taste of the fragrant dinner.

Groaning, Max slumps against the dining table in the seat next to you, his own plate ignored. I know why you’re upset, schatje, Max admits, conceding defeat. Finally, you mutter, picking your fork back up to resume dinner. You were mad, sure, but doesn’t mean you weren’t also going to eat the delicious dinner now that he had started his confession! It’s about today, isn’t it? Your husband continues. When you came into the paddock and I started creating a scene? I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I’m being too paranoid with your safety but I had to tell those reporters to fuck right off!

You put your fork back down and stare at Max, your brows scrunched in bewilderment. He continues talking, completely unassuming of his wife's growing annoyance as he explains. The "scene" that your clueless husband was referring to had been your attendance at the Monaco Grand Prix earlier that day. The paparazzi had gone positively wild at the rare sight of the retired World Champion with his arm around his obviously pregnant wife - whom he very rarely brought to F1 events for her own safety these days. He still attended races regularly, given how he coached and managed his own racing team now - but that certainly didn't mean he was going to make his beloved wife suffer the stuffiness of the paddock. But you’d insisted on coming to this particular race, pleading at him with puppy eyes, matching your shared golden labrador Arlo’s identical ones as you held the dog up to double your bargaining power. If your friends and family said Max Verstappen was whipped for his wife before, then they'd say he'd ascended into stratospheric levels of devotion once you became pregnant. He could never say no to anything you asked when you flutter your thick lashes up at him.

So even though he hated the idea of nosy reporters and fans getting up in the space of his adorable pregnant wife, he conceded by taking the self anointed role of your bodyguard. He certainly looked the picture of an ominous guard dog, smiling fondly down at you when you chattered to him or tugged his swollen bicep to pull him towards some food - and then icily glaring at anyone who tried to get too close to his wife. Everyone respectfully maintained their distance, scared off by the Dutch Lion. But towards the end of the race, some of the reporters hadn’t been able to resist coming in close when you’d taken your pearl buttoned cardigan off in the heat. The flowy cream-coloured long sleeved, short dress you wore underneath showed off your gentle baby bump. Paparazzio's eyes gleamed at the hot commodity, their hands twitching to their cameras to snap a highly demanded picture. Your husband’s overzealous efforts during the entire pregnancy to buy out publishing companies before anything could reach print and affect your privacy had left the F1 gossip pages begging for a rare photo of Max Verstappen’s pregnant wife.

So when Max turned to speak to one of his old race engineers, some of the reporters eagerly came a bit too close to you. They startle you with the mic suddenly in your face, asking if you were far along enough to know the gender and had you thought of baby names?

Max notices immediately, of course, his metaphorical guard dog ears swivelling in the direction of the intrusion to his wife’s peace. He’s about to interrupt when someone stumbles at the back of the group - a very common occurrence e in the crowded paddock. Unfortunately, that results in the reporter’s mic nudging against your pregnant stomach.

It hadn’t hurt, just a brief push, really! You were just caught off guard and slightly stumbled back yourself, a hand on your belly instinctively. The reporter is already sincerely apologising to you, and you’re waving them off, saying it was not a problem-

But your husband most certainly isn’t on the same page. He steps in front of you, his tall and broad frame completely blocking you away from the frenzied group, and uses a broad sweep of his muscled arm to push the reporter back. You watch in awe as he snarls at the group, reminding everyone of why his nickname was Mad Max, telling them all to fuck off or he’ll have them banned permanently from the paddock.

So this was the apparent scene that your passionate husband thought was the source of your ire, and was earnestly trying to apologise for now. He'd thought you were upset with him hovering over your shoulder, and making a dramatic scene. But he had no clue how wrong he was about the way you truly felt.

Sure, his protectiveness was something you’d talked about a few times - but that was because of how over the top Max had gotten with his security measures when he found out you were pregnant. Anyone who visited your home who dared to so much as politely cough was immediately tossed outside and told to come back when they didn’t have pneumonia. All of your meals were carefully preplanned and cooked for you, and the new motion activated aircon was always running at the right temperature for "optimal blood flow to the baby" (That's a scam, Max you told him blandly, I'm literally a doctor, trust me.) He wouldn’t let you lift anything heavier than your phone for weeks until you'd triumphantly opened a medical textbook to show him the chapter on importance of exercise in pregnancy. But he would still sometimes grab things off your unsuspecting hands after eyeing them dubiously. Your protests fell upon deaf ears - Seriously baby, I love you, but I’m strong enough to carry my own purse - I specifically took the pink Chanel bag today to match my fit!

You’d drawn the line when he had broached the topic, quite early in the pregnancy, of you taking time off your demanding schedule as a doctor and department head of the Emergency Department. But he’d quickly conceded when you firmly told him there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home, bored out of your mind when you were capable of working the first 2 trimesters at least - even 2 and a half?

It was almost comical how rapidly the blonde Dutchman’s face paled at the idea of his heavily pregnant wife running around the overcrowded hospital. So he hastily agreed to your compromise of working the first 5 months, albeit sulking rather cutely. You'd had to gently remind him to ease off, that the baby wasn't due for months, to which he replied that was good because he needed time to install the 12-point alarm system inside the house. You'd rolled your eyes fondly in response, but run a reassuring hand through his blonde locks, making him exhale and lean into your comforting touch. He nuzzles his face into your neck as you rubbed gentle circles to diffuse the tension in his corded back muscles, enjoying the way he’d almost purred contentedly like a cat. You’d reminded him gently to look after himself, too, and not you and his future child. I’m here to take care of you both as well, liefje, you say warmly.

So yes, you suppose one could say Max had been having some trouble…relaxing during your pregnancy. And why he now thought you were frustrated with his overprotective tendencies again today at the Monaco Grand Prix. But the idiot was being completely oblivious to your true feelings.

Because the truth was that you’d found the way he’d defended you fiercely, both in words and action, extremely attractive. And you’d wanted him to know that too, blushing as you look up at him in awe, biting your lip as he guided you into the car to drive you home with a clenched jaw. There was something about seeing your already gorgeous husband look ready to go to commit manslaughter to protect you that made him even goddamn hotter. By the time you'd gotten back home, you were ready to drag him to the luxurious Californian King bed and beg him to have his way with you. You’d always had a very active sex life as a married couple, sure - but this past year it had gone to new levels when you were trying to get pregnant. It was so exciting to tease out new sides and interests in each other, even after so many years as a married couple.

And now that you were finally pregnant, you found yourself thinking about Max’s gorgeous smile, his big and strong shoulders that led to swollen biceps, his broad chest and thick, muscular thighs that you loved to sit on. You had all the usual food cravings in your pregnancy that your husband would be up at odd hours to go get - including a 2 hour drive to a neighbouring Italian town for a tub of strawberry gelato you insisted you needed that very same night. But the strongest craving by far was your desire to have Max on top of you, inside you, fucking you during the warm, lazy afternoon and then again in the cool night and then repeating it all in the morning with sleepy sex to start the day off. And you were sure Max would have no reservations about fulfilling this particular craving of yours - after all, your husband normally went feral at invitations to have sex, with your coy suggestions and sultry eyes and teasing smiles.

So it had been very unexpected that for the last month or so, Max had stopped having sex with you completely. You’re not sure when you first noticed it, because he did a great job of distracting you at first - initially redirecting you to some other interesting activity when you’d flutter your lashes up at him. And when that failed, he wouldn’t hesitate to make you quickly reach bliss with his gentle, experienced large fingers or his skilled tongue playing with your soaked pussy. He knew just how to tease you for long enough that when you finally went over the edge, you would happily fall asleep cuddled against his warm figure, completely satisfied. His strong embrace would hold you protectively against him, running circles along your swollen stomach as he watched over you as you fell into deep sleep.

But as the desperate need to properly get railed by your husband grew as more days passed, you knew you had to do something about it - or risk going crazy from the intensity of your horny pregnancy cravings. You hadn’t realised how much he’d been redirecting your attempts until today, when you came home from the race. Max still looked furious, scowling about how those reporters needed to learn some goddamn respect in an annoyed tone. Meanwhile, you had moved onto plotting far more pleasurable activities - starting with smiling sweetly up at you husband as you took a seat next to him on the sofa. He sighed, tension easing from your comforting touch, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wrapped a muscled arm around you.

He was still yapping about some media circus or other when you’d teasingly moved your hand over his bulge, playfully squeezing and seeing if your desires would finally be satisfied by something very thick and hard of his. Max stilled at your ministrations, relaxed body tensing again, gently burying his face into your curls as he took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Giggling as you felt his cock respond to your touch within seconds, you took that as an invitation to slide a small h down the front of his jeans. You knew your husband must be as pent up with sexual frustration at you, and you couldn’t wait to return his favours. As you tuck your dark curls behind your ears in anticipation, bending at the waist towards his lap, you're rudely interrupted by your now rather large tummy in the way. You instinctively winced at the uncomfortable stretch across your bump, which was getting larger each week and catching you off guard in inconvenient times like this. Pouting in annoyance, you swayed your hips back to accomodate the swell of your waist. Then you lowered your head to Max's impressive semi erection, parting your eager lips widely, pink tongue darting out-

When Max had placed a gentle hand over yours and pulled you away from his pants, gently but easily manhandling you upright. You blinked, confused, as he kissed you sweetly instead, cutting off your questioning mumbles with a swipe of his tongue to make you moan. You'd gotten lost in his kisses for a few seconds when he’d got a phone call from his lawyer. His eyes lit up, and he gave you a final, chaste kiss before taking it with a sorry, schatje, why don’t you rest for a bit? You watched him, flabbergasted, as he stood up to go over to the kitchen and animatedly discuss filing a restraining order against SkySports. Why on Earth did your husband seem more interested in fighting some standard, run of the mill paparazzi rats than getting his dick sucked? Your doe eyes narrow in suspicion as you eyed his oblivious figure. This was extremely unusual, as normally Max would be tripping out of his pants in excitement if you offered your mouth up to him. His recent avoidant behaviour finally all came together then - and you realised that for the first time in your marriage, Max didn’t seem interested in having sex with you. It was the longest dry period you two had ever had.

You couldn’t stop the swirling anger, hurt, and now very pressing sexual frustration at your husband’s behaviour. You’d already started to hate the body dysmorphia the pregnancy was giving you, with the extra weight you’d gained and the chubbiness around your stomach and hips and ass all accentuating your already curvy figure. You could always rely on your husband to make you feel desirable, though, with the way he fucked you like it was his dying wish on Earth.

But not anymore, apparently, you think dejectedly, as you tune out Max’s misguided apology about his Monaco Grand Prix debacle. You interrupt him, unable to bear the tension any longer. Max, liefje, you begin, voice soft as your earlier pettiness dissolved to give way to vulnerability. I'm not mad about how you defended me today. Your husband looks at you intently with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, patiently waiting for you to go on. You take his large, warm palm into your smaller one, and slowly run your fingers over his skin, calloused from years of professional racing. You're suddenly feeling shy with how focused he is on you, but your pent up feelings can't go on like this. I - I was more, well, I thought it was really hot how you pushed everyone off me, you confessed, still looking down at your intertwined hands. And then when you looked so mad when you yelled at them - you bite your lip at the memory. When you finally meet your husband's eyes again, you find a cocky gleam in his eyes as he noted the way you pressed your thighs together.

Oh, schat, did you get all wet and bothered at seeing me protect you? Max's voice deepened as he teased you with a knowing smirk. You swallow, nodding at his dirty question, your earlier defiance completely gone as you look at him almost pleadingly with desire in your doe eyes. He pulls your smaller frame into his broad chest with a tug from his strong arm around your waist. And as you find yourself on his lap you're breathily telling him how much you want him, need him-

He hmmms approvingly as he gives you a deep kiss, saying he was sorry the two of you'd gotten interrupted earlier, he was very happy to continue where he’d left off. Purring into your ear and making you gasp, he asks you if you wanted his fingers or his tongue first?

You desperately tell him you only wanted one thing - No, no foreplay, I’m so wet already, ju- just need you, Maxie, you ask brazenly as you run your manicured hand down his toned front and just over the waistband to his sweats. And to make sure he’s absolutely certain about what you were asking for, you boldly tell him you wanted his cock, inside you, right now!

Max flushes at your heated demand and it sends a flutter through your aching core. You love being able to catch him off guard! But just when you think you’re finally getting what you want, he slows his wandering hands down and gently murmurs that he’ll make you cum on his thigh first then, schat-

And there it is again - the cold sting of rejection from your husband as he once again hesitates to properly fuck you. Why do you keep doing that? you ask directly, trying to keep your voice steady but your hurt tone still comes through when your lips tremble. You knew how this would go - he would just overstimulate the hell out of you with his thigh and make you cum more than once, exhausting you before you could even get to feel him buried inside you the way you needed him the most. It’s what he’s been doing this entire month.

Max blinks at your abrupt mood change, his expression surprisingly too difficult to read despite the years of marriage you share. Scatje, he says soothingly, trying to reassure you, that’s not it, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable-

You glare at him now. You do know him well enough to pick up on when he was lying to you - he’s always been horrible at that, after all. You cut him off by suddenly standing up and stalking off to your shared bedroom, saying that you were going to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. It’s a bit dramatic of you, sure, but you can always blame it on the pregnancy hormones - your new favourite excuse. You almost slam the door when your husband calls out that you had barely eaten dinner, his deep voice laced with concern.

Puffing your cheeks as you reply you'd eat later, you slowly close the door instead, feeling guilty that Max was so caring towards you even when you were being dramatic about not getting laid. Changing into a comfortable satin nightdress, you end up sinking into the plush bed, suddenly tired from the overthinking and sexual frustration that's been building up within you. Maybe you’re being unfair on Max, you think sleepily. Maybe he was just caught up in his own worries and anxieties and that’s why he couldn’t focus on anything else - like your normally positively sinful sex life.

After all, he had good reason to worry - because despite your excitement at finally being on the same page about the next stage of your marriage, actually getting pregnant had been far from easy. Of course, you hadn't expected it to happen straight away, knowing it would take a couple of months at least. Your medical textbooks stated the average couple took around 6 months, even! If anything, you and Max were glad for the time you had to thoroughly fuck each other, long and hard. Every fleeting touch, stolen gaze over a dinner with friends would result in you both practically ripping the clothes of each other and rolling around in the Egyptian cotton sheets. Soon you barely even made it to the bedroom - with him taking you in the entry corridor of your home, obscene noises filling the air as his hips unwaveringly pounding into your dripping cunny and you desperately moan his name from where he had you pinned against the wall. It was thrilling, this new rush and desire for all your lovemaking to result in an actual baby.

You'd unlocked a breeding kink of Max's that he hadn't truly realised the extent of - until he saw you cooing at his baby niece who was being rocked in her Uncle Max's arms. Looking down at the scene of his pretty wife smiling at a child who looked just like Max made the Dutch Lion unable to resist the temptation of having you right there. He'd handed his niece back to his sister and attempted to appear subtle as he all but hauled you off upstairs from the rest of the family barbecue. You'd been confused but as soon as he led you into a small office, locking the door behind him, you recognise the dark gaze he hungrily eyes you with. Even you'd lost your normally sensibilities when your husband acted like this, and you willingly spread your soft thighs for him to bury his raw, aching cock into. He fucked you on the wooden desk, a large palm clamped over your drooling lips to keep you quiet. You must have cum at least twice from the way he murmured darkly how good you were going to look pregnant with my child, that's right, gonna be a good vrouw for me and take all my cum, yeah?

So 6 months practically flew by, the two of you thoroughly enjoying yourselves. But when it hit 7 months, and suddenly you couldn't help but notice how all your friends and cousin sisters and in laws seemed to be getting knocked up. It seemed everyone you knew had become pregnant at the drop of the hat - your childhood best friend, your favourite coworker - and even your neighbour's cat, after her and your household cat Jimmy had a rather scandalous affair themselves. Although you'd try to fight it, you couldn't stop the sinking feeling of guilt, of feeling like you weren't good enough for Max, for your future family. It chipped away at your confidence everytime you would tell Max that you were on your period, like clockwork on the same day each month. And your husband remained as considerate as ever, tactfully not asking if you were late this month unless you brought it up yourself - even though he knew your cycle like his own steering wheel by now. You felt too overwhelmed to talk about how much of a failure you felt to Max, who had remained the perfect, devoted husband.

But you hadn't been able to hold it together by 8 months, because this was when your period was finally late. You kept holding your breath, waiting for it to come the next day or the day after - but it never did. And two whole weeks past, and for the first time you let a bubble of hope rise in your chest. Max kept looking at you curiously, noting how you seemed a little happier for this time of the month than usual, but waited for you to come to him yourself. And you almost had that weekend where you were attending yet another friend's gender reveal party, and had seen Max bend down on a knee to sign something for one of the excited kids who spotted the ex Redbull champion. You'd been unable to resist grinning at the sight of multiple toddlers swarming the 6 foot Blonde who handled them rather impressively. He's going to make sure a good father someday, your friend giggled to you by your side. You hmmed in agreement, finally feeling excited about the possibility of you two becoming parents for the first time in weeks.

So that evening, when Max had gone out to meet some of his mates, you committed fully to the bubble of hope and brought a pregnancy test. But after those five minutes were up, your world came crashing down again as the lines read negative out to you. You're not sure how long you ended up sitting on the cold bathroom marble, staring blankly at the stick, your mind running a million miles a minute as you anxiously overthink, But it must have been quite a while, because you're only distracted when you hear Max's knock on the bathroom door, and his worried voice saying Schatje? I'm coming in, you aren't replying-

And as soon as your husband walked in, his soft, blue eyes taking in the heartbroken expression on your face and the pregnancy test at your feet, you couldn't hold it together anymore. Max's own heart broke at the sight of his wife bursting into tears, sobbing and confessing how much of a failure she was, how this is the only thing he wanted and she couldn't give it to him, how she was so sorry-

He'd gathered your shaking, petite form into his comforting embrace and ran soothing motions all up your back as he murmured reassurances to you that it was okay, he was here and you two would get through it together like you always did. When you'd finally managed to stop sobbing, now just sniffling, he wiped the tears off your face as he firmly told you that none of this was your fault, and you had nothing to blame yourself for. It was all just a matter of time and luck, and at the end of the day he didn't care about what happened in the future - what truly mattered was that you were happy.

You'd nodded shakily, doe eyes rimmed with red as you let him carry you to bed. He held you extra tightly that night, until you'd fallen asleep in his arms after crying yourself to exhaustion. You had started feeling better by month 9, with some of the heavy expectation you'd put on your shoulders easing off now that you'd opened up to Max about how you'd felt. Your late period had already come and gone, but you didn't find yourself falling apart at it like last time. Taking it as a promising sign, your husband insisted that the two of you take a week off and relax of the Sicilian coast.

You finally felt like yourself for the first time in a while again, closing your eyes and enjoying the sun beating down on you, drying you off after the refresing swim you'd had in the turqoise waters. Max emerges onto the deck himself, shaking his hair and making you laugh as your dog Arlo does the same next to him. Truly, he was such a golden retriever, all tall, blonde and handsome. You couldn't help but feel your heart swell with gratefulness that you'd found the perfect husband to complete you. Grinning at the sound of his wife's genuine laughter, Max plops down next to you, resting his soft locks comfortably on your plush thighs as he snoozes.

And that evening, when you two made love, it felt different somehow. The months of high intensity, filthy and desperate sex had been fantastic, of course. But there was just something about the slow, sensual pace of Max's lips moving their way down your bare waist, his intense blue eyes watching you closely as he buried his head in between your thighs, right there on the yacht deck. You moaned as your small hands entangle in his golden hair, and let yourself get lost in the dizzying waves of pleasure without any thought of needing to get pregnant.

You taste different, your husband murmurs suddenly, his husky Dutch accent sending shivers to your throbbing core. You flush at his words, comfortable enough with him to swat his head with your thigh, indignantly replying that No wife wanted to hear that from her husband when he's going down on her-Oh! Fuck!

Your protests are cut off abruptly as he gives your dripping pussy another teasing lick, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. I didn't say different is bad, he counters smugly, enjoying the sight of rendering you speechless with his tongue. You always taste good, schat, but right now - he presses that large, Dutch nose of his that you adore right into your dripping pussy - you taste even sweeter than normal...like honeydew.

Of course, Max had always enjoyed eating you out your whole relationship. But that week on the Sicilian coastline, he seemed even more entranced than usual, wanting to have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, saying that you just tasted sweeter and sweeter each time. Not that you were complaining, of course - he definitely knew what he was doing when he deftly untied your bikini strings to bury his face in between your soft thighs. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that you'd realise just why you tasted so different to your husband. When a bout of vomiting that you'd returned back to Monaco with and thought to be a tummy bug from dodgy seafood didn't stop, you realised that you'd somehow missed your period that month, too. The vacation Max had planned for you had certainly gotten your mind off trying for a baby a little too well, it seemed - so much so that you’d stopped tracking your cycle.

So when your husband finds you on the bathroom floor for a second time, staring in shock at a pregnancy test in front of you, he immediately is at your side. He hugs you tightly again, making you secure in his embrace and stroking your curls as he tells you please don’t cry again, schatje, I can’t bear to see you like this, it’ll all be okay, we can try other options or always adopt-

You laugh, still in a state of disbelief, the noise muffled against his muscular chest. No, no, Max, I’m actually okay this time, you say as you pull away, smiling up at him. Oh, he says, blinking at you with worry, not looking convinced. Are you sure?

You nod, unable to control the ecstatic grin that appears on your lips. Yes, liefje. I’m positive. And then your husband sees the pregnancy test you hold up for him, the proof of your marriage’s perseverance over these past months as two lines. His jaw drops open, and you giggle at his expression. This is my third one today, it’s definitely real, Maxie. Finally processing the news, he laughs with delight, embracing you tightly again as happy tears filling his pretty ocean blue eyes as he tells you how excited he is.

So now, 5 months later and in the present, you suppose Max was still on edge with how fragile you’d been at the start of your pregnancy. But you’d been so stable and healthy throughout it, looking after yourself and of course having a very dedicated husband who watched your nutrition and daily gentle exercise like a hawk. There was no reason for him to still be concerned about your safety, you think sleepily as you sink against your soft pillows. Your mind drifts to sleep as your overthinking tires you out.

You wake up with a gasp sometime later, breathing heavily as you stare at the moonlit ceilingas the intense dream you’d been having replays again in your head. Hazy visions of strong hands holding you down as his wide cock fucked into you, a deep accented Dutch voice crooning in your ears that your sweet cunt treated him so well, it was just made to take him perfectly, hmm? You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it must only have been a couple hours when you turn the warm bedside lamp on and see your husband hasn’t come to bed yet. The stinging feeling of rejection fills you again, even though you knew Max was probably just relaxing with a video game out in the living room after the emotional rollercoaster you'd been hitting him with today.

But the pregnancy had definitely sent your insecurities into overdrive, and you’re starting to sniffle and you quickly try to muffle your sobs with a palm to your trembling lips. You can’t hide from your ever observant husband, though. A small line of light shines into the dim bedroom as Max cracks open the door, entering with a hopeful look and to ask if you were hungry yet.

At the sight of his teary, pregnant wife sitting up in bed, he’s at your side looking at you with concern. What’s wrong, scatje? He asks, an undertone of urgency in his usually calm voice. Are you hurt? In pain? Is the baby-

I’m fine, Max, we’re fine, you say through the tears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. I'm sorry I've been acting so crazy all day. God, I’m so stupid, I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this when you’re being such a good husband-

Hearing your self deprecating words, he reassuringly you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, calming down your anxiously beating heart. Tell me what’s happening, schatje, he encourages earnestly, validating that your feelings weren’t silly to him. Although you’re still shaking slightly, your breathing starts to settle as your brown doe eyes look up into his intense blue gaze. I had a dream, Maxie, you breathe, focused on him completely as flashes of the erotic wet dream you’d had return. I had a dream, and you were in it, and- you bite your lip as desire pools in your core - and you were in me, and it felt so, so amazing, and I don’t get it, why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?

Your husband’s eyes go wide in surprise at your question as you continue. Is it - you sniffle - is it because I’m too fat now? It is, isn’t it? You don’t find me pretty like this? Max is bewildered, not having guessed this was the reason why his wife had been feeling so upset today. He’s pulling you against his strong chest, rubbing soothing circles along your back to calm your jerky breathing down fully. Oh, my sweet vrouw, I’ve been ignoring where you needed me the most, hmm? His comforting, deep voice murmurs reassurances about how you were absolutely beautiful in the pregnancy, having already been the most gorgeous wife but now, you genuinely glowed. Remember the valet at dinner last week who walked straight into the revolving door when he saw you? Max jokes, making you giggle through your tears at the memory of the gawking young valet. Wiping your tears away with a gentle stroke of his thumb, his gorgeous blue eyes look at yours intently as he agrees that he’s been holding back lately. But given how quickly things in bed can get…a bit rough, Max says, cheeks adorably flushing and making you grin, he wanted to avoid anything that could hurt you and the baby. Especially because I don't think I can hold back once I start, because seeing you pregnant with my child has been driving me wild.

Your heart swells with love at your ever thoughtful husband. But his sweet intentions are not needed right now, and you tell him this as you wrap your arms across his broad shoulders. Maxie, you say warmly, your doe eyes blinking up at him with adoration, you know that having sex isn’t going to hurt the baby, right? Even when he didn’t believe your textbook, your literal gynaecologist said there’s no problem.

I know, I know, your husband says, his ocean blue eyes looking at you a bit helplessly. It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of hurting you in any way, the pregnancy was already hard for you at the start and I-

You cut his worried rant off by drifting your small hands across his swollen biceps, to his own large palms. Have you not found it hard to be apart like this, liefje? you ask him directly. Biting his lip rather sexily, your husband’s gaze lowers to where your juicy tits, already having grown larger as your pregnancy went on, bounced enticingly with every breath. You don’t miss a beat, guiding his warm palms from your waist to your delicate collarbones, where you help him slip your skimpy nightgown off your shoulders.

Max’s eyes go dark with desire, and you find a similar need throb in your pussy at seeing him like this. Finally, there your lion of a husband was, the one who acted like he would willingly go to war for one more night with you. You tell him, sounding breathless from how excited you are, about all the times you’d fantasized about him fucking you daily on the sofa, on the dinner table, even that time at dinner last week when he'd worn a fitted shirt and you’d considered begging him to have his way with you right there in the restaurant bathroom. Max groans from your heated confession, and you feel him rapidly hardening underneath you from where you’re sitting in his lap.

It’s been - he swallows, his hands now brushing towards your tempting chest to play with your swollen nipples - it’s been so fucking hard, schatje. You have no idea how sexy you look like this. God, I wanna fuck you so much that you end up pregnant again.

You laugh at his confession now, finally feeling at ease knowing he had been wanted you just as much as you had. You’ve been holding back on me, my dear husband, you tease, peppering his flushed cheeks with gentle kisses. You’ll make up for it tonight, please? Fuck me properly and make me cum around your cock? You finish your naughty demand with a playful grind of your damp panties against his now impressively hard erection.

Strong hands hold your thick hips securely to put an end to your games. You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband who’s looking more and more hungry by the second, and growls out that his sweet little wife was actually a desperate slut wasn’t she? You gasp excitedly at his dirty words, knowing you’d finally broken the last thread of self control holding him back. Max lifts you easily off his lap, pressing you back against him so his husky voice murmured right into your ear from behind. I forgot how addicted you are to being fucked by my cock. Been dreaming about it for weeks, like a good girl, hmm? You nod furiously, whining out yes, yes, please Maxie’s as your head spins in dizzying pleasure. The swell of your chubby ass rubs against his cockhead as Max easily yanks your lace panties off, joining his hastily abandoned sweatpants on the floor.

Rough hands palm your soft thighs, growling lowly that your ass had been getting so fat lately, it drove him mad everytime you bent over in your flowy minidresses. When you can’t resist grinding back on him invitingly again, he gives you a few gentle smacks and you yelp excitedly. Been wanting to hit it from the back so fucking bad, your husband breathes, as his hand doesn’t leave your ass after his third slap, instead grabbing the bouncing flesh firmly with his large, strong palm. M-Max! you’re so turned on at his dirty confession. You two barely need any foreplay, having already been on a frustrated edge for the whole month, and Max’s large cock easily starts slipping into your dripping hole. You’re comfortably laid out on your side, his toned chest pressing into your back and your combined moans mix as he sinks home into your welcoming cunny.

The position lets him easily thrust half his impressive length into you, controlling the slow pace so you only feel blinding pleasure without a hint of any uncomfortable stretch. I’m not gonna last, Maxie, it feels so good- Ah! Your desperate whimpers are cut off as his hands move to play with your lush, bouncing chest, the pregnancy having enhanced your curves. And these tits, schatje, they’re so pretty for me. You’ll be a good girl and let me fuck them, won’t you?

Your pink lips are parted as you pant in pleasure from his skilled fingers toying with your over sensitive nipples. Yes, Maxie, whatever you want, you whine desperately. You can even cum on them, okay? This time you’re the one making him moan with your words and his hips stutter as he pictures his creamy release dripping all over your large breasts.

He makes you cum then, when he slowly sinks a deep thrust in fully, letting you feel the wide stretch of his cock, making you gasp and throw your head back against his shoulder. Your breathless, high pitched whines are captured by his mouth as he moves his tongue languidly against yours, murmuring how good you did for him, the most perfect vrouw he could have asked for as he talks you through your mind numbing orgasm. He barely lasts a few seconds after you, letting out a Oh fuck! Gonna cum, schat- as your tight, warm pussy clenches around his raging erection and milking him for every last drop.

Heavy, content breathing fills the room as you both come down from your highs together. Your small hands intertwine with his as you smile tiredly at him, where he rests his flushed face against the swell of your chest. Did I satisfy your craving, schatje? Max says with a teasing smile, still breathless. You run your fingers affectionately through his damp, tousled hair. Not even close, baby you say, equally breathless. You know how strong my pregnancy cravings are.

Your husband laughs, the warm sound making you giggle as well. Challenge accepted, schat. Be careful what you wish for.

_____________________________________________

A/N: dedicated gentle husband max who switches up when you rile him up drives me FERALLLLLL hope it does for you too <3 Sooo many of you requested this im so glad you liked part 1!! thoughts on part 3 with soft dad max?? (Im writing this anyway regardless of what yall say ahahaha) 🫶🫶

[craftingcreatures]

Imagine, if you will, a swamp in southern Oklahoma in late November. All the foliage is brown and wilted. The sky is grey and overcast, and the wind blows briskly over the stumps of half-rotted lotus leaves, studding the surface of the reservoir. A thick fog rolls over the water - Trees emerge from the mist, standing on the far bank like huge, gauzy monoliths. Somewhere in the swamp, a duck whistles.

It's very quiet and peaceful. You could sit here for a long time.

The temptation to lose yourself in the wildness of it all is strong. But alas, that temptation must be shelved for now. You are here on a mission. Out there, hidden in the dreary marsh, is a small colony of American Alligators, and you are a young undergraduate ecology student, helping your professor collect data on them. And so, rocking hip waders and carrying a motion-detector camera zip-tied to a large metal stake, you step waist-deep into the frigid water and plunge the pointy end of the stake deep into the mud. You stop to ensure that the camera is positioned correctly, make some tiny adjustments - its lens is pointed at a patch of water which you know hides the entrance to an active Alligator den, and you're hoping to capture some videos of this year's babies interacting with their mother. You are not afraid - the gators are not used to people, and will avoid you.

Satisfied with your work and with hands numb from the cold, you step back and take a moment to appreciate the stillness of this wild nature-place. You breathe in the crisp, cool air, rich and organic with the scent of life. Something small and orange catches your eye, and you look up. A scrawny twig of a tree, barely taller than yourself, with leaves already lost to the oncoming winter, leans ponderously out over the water. A few orange-grey fruit, each approximately the size of a golf ball, hang in ones and twos from the branches.

Wild Persimmons.

In curiosity, you reach up and take one. It's soft and squishy, the thin skin splitting with just the barest pressure, revealing a bright golden-orange interior. You take a small bite.

It's delicious. Your teeth scrape the thin flesh away from the large seeds, and the flavour that bursts in your mouth - it's almost exactly like an Orange Creamsicle, sweet and creamy, far more gentle than the acidity of a citrus. There's only a thin film of pulp around the large, inedible seeds, but the flavour is so intense that it doesn't matter. You messily devour the persimmon, scraping each seed clean before spitting them into the bush, saddened that the ecstasy of this treat is over so soon.

But that was not the only persimmon on the tree. In eager anticipation, you reach for another - this one slightly less orange, the skin firmer and less prone to splitting - and take an enthusiastic bite.

You instantly regret it as your face implodes from the aggressive acridity of an underripe persimmon which sucks all the moisture from your mouth and leaves your tongue tingling. You do not take a second bite. Instead you toss the rest of the fruit into the water - let the gators have it.

American Persimmon

Also known as common persimmon, eastern persimmon, possum apples or sugar plum

[bangaveragewhitewine]

Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there. 

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here. 

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring. 

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted. 

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall. 

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub. 

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them. 

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper. 

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck. 

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night. 

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs. 

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers. 

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…” 

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home. 

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming. 

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you. 

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips. 

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth. 

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes. 

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss. 

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy. 

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again. 

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet. 

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool. 

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?” 

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off. 

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…” 

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them. 

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday. 

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him. 

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’ 

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply.  An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing. 

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief. 

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth. 

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur. 

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver. 

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire. 

“Back. Pass me that cushion?” 

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together. 

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top. 

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip. 

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.” 

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers. 

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him. 

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right. 

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?” 

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss. 

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder. 

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck. 

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum. 

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different. 

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like 

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out. 

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap. 

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.” 

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour. 

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough. 

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself. 

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass. 

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates. 

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good. 

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful. 

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..” 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?” 

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk. 

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body. 

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck. 

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.” 

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too. 

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow. 

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck. 

“But you’re so comfortable.” 

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you. 

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face. 

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you. 

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate. 

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids. 

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile. 

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July). 

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner. 

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night. 

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again. 

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze. 

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave. 

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight. 

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you. 

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest. 

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun. 

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose. 

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes). 

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve. 

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him. 

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up. 

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair. 

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face. 

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family. 

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table. 

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down. 

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume. 

“Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?” 

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours). 

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation. 

You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle. 

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary. 

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.” 

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee. 

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?” 

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max). 

“The nice stuff? Syrup?” 

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?” 

“In the syrup?” 

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.” 

“Which one?” 

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.” 

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.” 

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now. 

“Magic word?” 

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand. 

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task. 

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down. 

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is. 

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table. 

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.” 

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips. 

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week. 

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer. 

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.” 

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup. 

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first. 

You smile to yourself and start plating up. 

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides. 

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves. 

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face. 

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth. 

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.” 

“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.” 

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste.  He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet. 

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s. 

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created. 

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face. 

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her. 

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls. 

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and  Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind. 

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep. 

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table. 

What a treat. 

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

[brutalfantasytarot]

Pick A Card Tarot Reading: Which Astrological Planet is Calling for You? ❤️‍🔥

study the images. which one are you drawn to most?

[left to right]

etsy.com/shop/brutalfantasy - for personal readings 🔮

pile one: death

pluto. god of the underworld. regeneration and rebirth. it's time to explore the depths of your psyche. the power of your unconscious mind. sex and art. work on your impulse control. butterflies are significant here - you're being called to connect with them. lotus flowers are significant too.

"there is something moon-soaked and dawn-flavoured about her.

something kissed by the wild and loved by lightning.

she, the goddess of storm hunting and wolves and moonlight magic. she, the queen of the forest, of womanhood more brutal than tragic."

pile two: nine of pentacles

jupiter. sagittarius. winning big. don't chase, attract. you do this by working on yourself. by changing your mindset. by beginning to act like how you would if you were exactly where you wanted to be. work with what you got. over-indulgence only throws your balance off.

"i started calling that girl back. the girl who loved living, the girl who danced instead of walked. the girl who had sunflowers and fireworks in her. i started playing music again, hoping she would come out. i started looking for beautiful moments to experience, so she would feel safe enough to show herself, because i knew she was in there. and she needed my kindness and effort to come to the surface."

s.c lourie

[daemon-in-my-head]

Durgetash Creator Asks - kinda personal tho

Your hottest Durgetash take. The kinda heat Gortash had to endure in HoH. (But be respectful about it fellas, this means everyone)

Romance, queerplatonic, eldritch horror? How would you describe the relationship these two have? This time without limitation.

Your favourite quirk about each of them. Whatever that may be. Durges vivisections and Gortash's fun experiments for the whole family? Something else?

Which one of them is the morally worse person? Your Durge or Gortash? Who's really just a sadistic little fuck and did they make the other one 'hol up' before?

If, by some twist of fate, you'd be stuck in a room with these two, what would you do? What would they do? Would anybody leave that room unhurt? Oh, both know you're responsible for creating Durge the way they are btw.

What's the most wholesome hc you have for them? Something they did, a particular approach at bonding, just them being disgustingly soft once? Some good old hand in hand vivisection?

Would Orins premature death have impacted them and their dynamic? How? Why? Why not?

How does each of them view death and dying? Does Gortash hold a similar approach to Durge or is Durges view on death a bit warped, to put it lightly?

Do they coordinate clothes? Yes, no and to what extent?

Realistically, if they got to have happily ever after after dominating the brain, who would be in charge of finances? Is it a shared venture, does Gortash handle all the money or is it Durge who knows best how to allocate funds?

Sceleritas my beloved, how exactly does he fit in there?

Which one of the other companions are the chosen of hell most likely to bond with in your opinion? What exactly would allow for that to happen?

What's your personal favourite flavour that you find yourself gravitating towards? Not necessarily what sort of stuff you publish or smth, but what you personally consume like a starving man in a desert and rotate in your brain? The kinky shit, the domestics, the gore and horror attached to them, star crossed lovers vibes?

Ask prev when u reblog, be nice, this isn't strictly romantic, bla bla bla yk what I usually put here. Basically, have fun, go wild, save a fading fandom or smth

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Seeing a lot of posts going around about reading over your own stories and loving it because you wrote exactly what you wanted to read. It made me think of this bit from Just Trying to Keep Up, which I think might be one of my most favourite things I've ever written:

It might be wild and too soon and all of the other arguments he’d been through with himself, but the one thing he was going to make damn sure of was that it was going to be romantic.

Tommy plotted and planned and reined himself in until he had the perfect evening in place.

The two of them went grocery shopping together that day—Evan hanging onto his back like an octopus as he read the list over his shoulder, knowing what was already in Tommy’s kitchen off the top of his head—and Tommy thought, ‘I love you.’

They drove back to Tommy’s place while Evan sang along to Carly Rae Jepsen, horribly off-key, throwing the pretend mic Tommy’s way at every stoplight—and Tommy thought, ‘I love you.’

He and Evan were cooking together, taste-testing the sauce, laughing, and Tommy felt the words hammering at his heart, trying to come out. He broke away from a tomato-flavoured kiss, staring at Evan, thinking ‘I love you’—at the same time those three little words echoed through the cozy quiet of the kitchen.

Tommy blinked. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Evan, who had been staring at him wide-eyed, melted into a slow, sweet smile. “No,” he said, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist. “I did.” He pulled him closer. “Why? Were you thinking it?”

“All the time,” Tommy said, nodding dumbly.

He let himself take the freefall as he finally said it too.

What's YOUR favourite thing you've written?

[rwrbficrecs]

The last of our monthly recs for 2023 ❤️ Every Day’s a Holiday (When I’m Near to You) by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: I loved every bit of this road trip fic. Henry has a crush on Alex and impulsively decides to join him on a road trip to Texas, which turns out to be longer than expected. The delicious yearning, only-one-bed situations, and funny road-trip pit stops made this a great story. I didn’t want to stop reading.

@heybuddy-drabbles: this ticked all my boxes honestly. The pinning, the yearning. The friendship they build while falling in love. And then the love, wild and unstoppable and so free. It was just perfect.

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard? by dollarstoreannabethchase (book-verse)

@dot524: A deliciously angsty Henry POV of key events in the book - lake house & storming of Kensington Palace. Broke my heart and put it back together again. The description of his depression and pain made me want to give Henry a hug.

Last Christmas by @celaestis1 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Enemies to lovers meets Christmas feels and found family. The establishment of every relationship, both romantic and platonic, in this fic is fantastic too!

Never Did Run Smooth by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@dot524: What a delightful ride! I loved the unique reality-show setup and the roommates/best friends to lovers pining from Henry’s POV. It had a few fun plot turns that kept me guessing and many scenes that made me grin like an idiot (e.g. a cake-baking contest and partner yoga with someone else). This isn’t exactly an undiscovered gem based on the number of comments and kudos — but I hadn’t read it, so I wanted to spread the word for those new to the fandom!

No Consequences by @anchoredarchangel (book-verse)

@thesleepyskipper: In this AU where Henry is still the Prince but Alex is a civil rights lawyer who works with Pez, the author has given us an incredible meet cute!! Alex pulls an Alex and shoots his shot for a selfie that turns out pretty well for him in the end. 😏 The author’s writing of Alex here is absolutely spot on AND hilarious. I still can’t believe this is their first published fic!!!

@zwiazdziarka: this fic has everything one could ask for: it's funny, it's cute, it's awkward, it's hot and addictive. I can't stop thinking about this version of Alex and Henry and their characterisation is absolutely perfect!

Made For Love by @candyspandemonium (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: AU where Henry and June are ice dancing champions and Alex has a lot of feelings about some guy stealing his sister. There are just so many good things in this fic - emotions, Alex being totally unhinged and not realising what it means, Henry as perfect fantasy, dealing with media and public opinion - and all that in nice scenery of ice rinks. Can't recommend it enough!

(Secret) Santa Baby by @indomitable-love (book-verse)

@dot524: Such a sweet AU about office romance between Alex and Henry and how a Secret Santa gift & being paired together on a project leads to something more. Heartwarming and made me smile… this writer’s characterization of Alex & Henry is always spot-on for me, no matter the universe.

The Royal Magician and the Ravens of the Tower of London by @bluflamingo (book-verse)

@suseagull04: The world-building in this fic is phenomenal! It's the perfect blend of magical realms and the real world, mystery and magic AU, and I love it!

could it be mad love? by @duchessdepolignaca03 (book/movie-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: actors AU, but also Henry is Alex's biggest fan and his awkward celebrity crush adds all new flavour to their relationship once they meet. The range of emotions fit in this story is truely amazing. There's so much tension and every moment feels like the one where it all can turn into a dissaster or something absolutely wonderful.

where every wish comes true by @hypnostheory (book-verse)

@heybuddy-drabbles: Neighbors!au + fuck buddies. Alex locks himself out of his apartment in a filthy costume and his neighbor and fuck buddie Henry takes him in. It's very funny and sexy!!

[dragontamer05]

Look Below for pictures (and slight description for those unfamiliar)

You can vote/pick one based on what ever criteria you want. Which one you like best/ think you'd like, Which one you know, anything.

The Poll isn't for anything in particular beyond fun and just in general wonder what people think of these.

Though feel free to say where you are from in the tags / or comments if you reblog.

Poutine

A classic. Fries smothered in Gravy with cheese curds. Total comfort food.

Nanimo Bars

Delicious three layer sweet treat- Wafer, nut and coconut crumb base, custard icing in the middle with a chocolaty top layer. So sweet but so good

Butter Tarts

As the name suggests a very buttery pastry. Butter Sugar Syrup and Egg filling (frequently made with raisins or pecans)

All Dressed Chips

A wild combination of flavours that sounds kinda gross (imo) but honestly tastes pretty good. ketchup, barbecue sauce, sour cream and onion, and salt & vinegar. (Seriously I don't know how but it works and they balance each other out)

Beaver Tails

Long/ stretched out pieces of Fried Dough that well look like Beaver Tails. Basically topped with anything sweet. Basically and elongated version of the similar fried dough treat Elephant Ears

Jos Louis

Delicious Chocolaty snack that are NOT the same as Moon Pies. These are very soft kinda cake like in texture - compared to a Moon Pies more like cookie sorta thing.

Smarties

No they aren't just "M&Ms" For one Smarties Came first- technically started in the UK but they're a pretty strong staple of Canadian Snacks so it gets a pass.

Maple Syrup on a Stick / Maple Taffy

Exactly as advertised, hot liquid maple syrup poured on a stick over clean snow (or just directly into spots made in the snow) once cooled and hardened you eat.

[timetraveltasting]

TEMPLAR BOAR WITH CAMELINE SAUCE (14th c.)

This past Thursday, the Corpus Christi public holiday in my part of Germany, known here as Fronleichnam, gave me a little extra time to make another Tasting History dish: Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce. The diet, eating habits, and table manners of the Templars were governed by strict rules, including only eating meat three times a week (two meat meals on Sundays). This dish was one of those they would have eaten for one of their meat meals during the 14th century. The spices present in the sauce would have been accessible to them during the crusades, but Cameline Sauce did become a popular dish in much of medieval Europe eventually. This dish is based on two 14th century primary sources: Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris, a treatise written by an older man (as yet unnamed) to teach his 15-year-old bride how to run his household and please him, in every way (...yikes). The sauce, Cameline, is named as such due to the rich brown colour, which looks like the wool of a camel, also known as cameline. I chose to make this recipe next because I haven't made boar before, and the rich, silky, brown colour of the sauce made it look really tasty. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

I made a couple changes to the modern recipe below. I used boar goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, because it was the only form of boar I could find at my grocery store. The white wine I used (and drank with dinner) was a dry Riesling from the Mosel Valley in Germany. The red wine was a Bordeaux Merlot. I used saffron powder instead of threads, and I did opt to add the optional tablespoon of red wine vinegar. the white bread I used was a classic French baguette.

I also made a couple changes to the method. Because I used French baguette, which has quite small slices, I hollowed out about half the baguette (since baguettes are mostly crust). I also simmered the sauce for much longer than Max says to, because it wasn't quite the thickness I was looking for. Otherwise, I followed Max's recipe exactly, probably to the detriment of my boar. Because I had used goulash pieces instead of tenderloin, I probably should have adjusted how I cooked the boar to accommodate these smaller pieces. Unfortunately, I didn't, and as a result, I was left with very chewy, dry boar. Basically, the sauce was the saving grace of the boar! I served the boar and Cameline sauce with some green peas, garlic bread, and a glass of the dry Riesling wine.

My experience tasting it:

I already knew I had ruined the texture of the boar, but I hoped that the sauce would help. I warned my husband. Luckily, the Cameline sauce did a lot of heavy-lifting to bring some moisture back to the board. The sauce turned out wonderfully - a beautiful, silky brown. Flavour-wise, it reminded me of a jus, but more heavily-spiced. I was worried the Cameline sauce would end up tasting sweet due to the brown sugar and several spices that are more often used in baking, but in fact, the spices were well balanced by the taste of the wine and vinegar. The sauce also went really nicely with the peas, and I imagine would also have tasted good with potatoes or other red meats. My husband and I dipped the garlic bread in it as well, which was really tasty. It went alright with the dry boar, but I would like to use the sauce with another, more tenderly-cooked meat. We had leftover Cameline sauce, so we will probably try that again tonight. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Saffron

Templar Boar with Cameline Sauce original recipes (14th c.)

Sourced from Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel and Le Ménagier de Paris respectively.

“Sanglier: Fresh Wild Boar Venison. Cooked in wine and water and boiled again; eaten with Cameline Sauce.”

— Le Viandier de Taillevent, 14th century

“Cameline. Note that in Tournai, to make cameline they grind ginger, cinnamon, saffron, and half a nutmeg, moistened with wine then taken out of the mortar. Then grind in a mortar untoasted white breadcrumbs that have been soaked in cold water, moisten with wine and strain. Then boil everything and finish with brown sugar, and that makes winter cameline. In the summer, they do the same but it is not boiled at all. ”

— Le Ménagier de Paris, 14th century

Modern Recipe

Based on Le Viandier de Taillevent by Guillaume Tirel, Le Ménagier de Paris, and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Boar tenderloin

Olive oil for searing

Equal parts wine and water for boiling

1 thick slice of white artisanal bread without crust

1 ¼ cups white wine

¼ cup red wine

1 tsp ginger

2 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

Pinch of saffron threads

2 tbsp brown sugar

Pinch of salt

1 tbsp red wine vinegar (optional)

Method:

De-crust the bread and break it into small pieces. Soak the bread in water for a few hours, then pour in the red wine for the sauce.

Heat olive oil in a pot then sear the boar on all sides.

Remove it from the pot and boil equal parts wine and water, then add the boar back in and boil, covered, for 10-15 minutes or until fully cooked. Then let it rest.

To make the sauce, mix the spices and white wine. Strain the bread/wine mixture from earlier into a saucepan, then press the bread through the strainer.

Add the spiced wine mixture and bring to a simmer. Let simmer for 15 minutes, or until half reduced, then add the sugar and salt, and if you want, a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Simmer until thickened.

Slice the boar and pour the sauce over it. Optionally, serve with roasted chestnuts and wine.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Today I'd like to show all the Thoughts that we encountered in the game, but didn't end up Internalizing. I think that the more you see of these, the more of a complete picture you get of Harry.

GUILLAUME LE MILLION

Temporary research bonus: -1 Logic: Head in the clouds

PROBLEM:

Whatever happened to Guillaume Le Million, who -- with his amber mane and sparkling teeth -- beguiled the tattered remains of the nation? While you suffered and suffered, did he dematerialize in a cloud of cocaine dust? Or did he simply stand in the corner and melt into the slendering *New* lines of some starlit boîte de nuit twenty years ago? Spare a thought for his great ass too! Or wait... maybe he became a police officer in Revachol West! Hmm...

Completion bonuses: +1 Pain Threshold: Blood oxygen is boring All PSY learning caps raised by one

SOLUTION:

Bad news: Guillaume le Million did not become a cop. In '38 he went on a tour to the Hsin-Yao province in Safre, where he died of auto-erotic asphyxiation. His body was found hanging from a decorative dragon tree in his junior suite, amid drug paraphernalia, unwholesome objects, and the Sylvia Trainor single "Wonderland" skipping in the background. And yes, you can take this as a metaphor for Revachol in the Thirties. And also as a warning.

DETECTIVE COSTEAU

Temporary research bonus: -2 Conceptualization: An idiotic idea

PROBLEM:

Detective Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau -- when you say it, it feels like you're taking a bite of lemon meringue while sitting on the terrace of a seaside cafe. On a cool summer day. In Sur-La-Clef. It's everything you're *not*. You haven't created many things during your stay in Martinaise, but you've created this. A fancy, sophisticated name that makes you sound intelligent. And that no one seems to *acknowledge*. Don't you feel like you deserve a reward for coming up with something so special? And what would that reward *be*?

Completion bonuses: +1 Savoir Faire: This one sounds fancy, let's have this +1 Esprit de Corps: Yup, fancy, let's have this one too

SOLUTION:

Monsieur Costeau, the reward for coming up with your classy new name has arrived. What are the attributes Detective Costeau should gain in? *Obviously* Savoir Faire and Esprit de Corps. You know *exactly* what they do and what those words mean. They're *refined*. Like *you*. You have a ton of that fancy stuff. And if the world can't accept Raphaël Ambrosius is your name -- you will always be Detective Costeau to yourself. R.A. Costeau -- sophisticated culture-detective. Specializes in ancient things and art.

BOIADEIRO

Temporary research bonus: -1 Physical Instrument: Astra Country

PROBLEM:

It has been brought to your attention that there are men who live by the law of the land and the strength of their arms. Sunburnt, rugged, smoking men who explored the great rivery veins of upper-Magritte and tamed the Mundi wilds. Frontiersmen, cow-herders, philosophers -- the *boiadeiros*... with a gun in one hand and an unfiltered cigarette between their lips, these men made their own rules. What would it take for you to become one too?

Completion bonuses: -1 Esprit de Corps: Lone wolf Cigarettes give +2 INT

SOLUTION:

Smoking, Harry. It will take a lot of tobacco-smoking for you to become a *boiadeiro*. Twin cigarettes fused to your lips and one hanging out of your nostril. In these tame, cultured times, without the sky’s dome above your head, the only way to be a true Franconigerian individualist is to smoke a lot of cigarettes. Light one up immediately. The smell of coffee brewing over a fire pit, a chestnut-flavoured morning. Welcome to Astra Country.

I'm not sure we ever actually encountered cigarettes in the course of our playthrough. Normally, they give +1 INT at the cost of 1 Health -- this improves the effect.

MAGNESIUM-BASED LIFEFORM

Temporary research bonus: -1 Shivers: No shakes

PROBLEM:

It is generally understood that human beings are carbon-based organisms, fusing little carbon tubes together to form complex, mushy structures capable of thought, love, and locomotion. It is also known that these structures sometimes like to “take the edge off” by consuming ethanol, amphetamine, etc. In such cases, it is important to supplement your body with magnesium. Tired? Mag it! Down? Mag time! Liver damage? MAXIMUM MAG! Some people say magnesium doesn’t really do anything and you just need to quit. What do we tell them?

Completion bonuses: +2 Volition: Magnesium receptacle glands -1 Logic: No such thing, man

SOLUTION:

We tell them: HELL NO. You’re about to become a magnesium-based lifeform. The age of the primitive carbon-man is done. No longer must mankind rely on slow-working background radiation to take us further into our genetic destiny. This is the era of guided evolution, and magnesium is the key. You are the first of your species. The next step in human evolution. An advanced magnesium proto-man who mags it up, drinks it down, and sniffs it sideways!

A pretty useful Thought if you have low PSY.

BRINGING OF THE LAW (LAW-JAW)

Temporary research bonus: -1 Rhetoric: Weird jaw

PROBLEM:

Hey, so a little observation. It's all cool, man. Don't freak out, but every time you say “I am the law“ -- and you say it *a lot*, it's basically *hello* for you -- your jaw does this *weird thing*. It sort of shifts sideways, hanging off your face at a jaunty angle, while the word *law* sounds oddly guttural and low. It's... strange. You wouldn't notice it, but after saying you're the law eighty thousand times, the question *does* come up: why *do* you have Law Jaw?

Completion bonuses: Learning cap for Hand/Eye Coordination raised to 6 Succeed all Hand/Eye Coordination passives -1 Rhetoric: Jaw still weird

SOLUTION:

Okay, so. We now know why you have *Law Jaw*. Why you say *the law* in a weird manner, and why your jaw does that thing. You had polio as a child. You hadn’t gotten vaccinated. It must've been right after the Revolution -- not a lot of vaccine going around then. So you got infantile paralysis due to polio and this jaw thing is a complication from that. Admittedly, it’s not very funny. But you *overcame* it! This little infant survived and became a sharpshooting supercop. So: fuck you, polio!

This is a pretty useful Thought *and* it tells us something, in my opinion, pretty important about Harry.

ANTI-OBJECT TASK FORCE

Temporary research bonus: -2 Pain Threshold: Hurts!

PROBLEM:

Take a look at your hands. See how bruised they are? See those little scars? This is Exhibit A. The material world is holding you back. Containers, mailboxes, doors, chairs -- they are all your enemies. Always have been. Atoms themselves are in on the conspiracy, forming shapes and structures that you hate. You are energy stuck in a body. You are spirit trapped in matter. Break free! Beat up that lamp post! Let it know just how much objects *suck*.

Completion bonuses: Attacking physical objects heals damage +1 Pain Threshold: Thick skin All FYS learning caps raised by one

SOLUTION:

Behold: the Anti-Object Task Force has assembled. God's avenging angel, arrayed against the lower emanations of the Darkened One: shoe racks, tape recorders, motor carriages. And doors. So many doors. You're not just pounding it all to pieces. You’re *reforging* the universe. From the anvil of the heavens to the worms below. Indulge in it. Be bold. Have an *impact* on the shape of Creation. Out of the furnace of your rage -- a new reality! Also, you should trash your room *again*.

The first bonus here is not as useful as it sounds, because by the time you unlock this Thought, you'll have already been through most of the attackable things in the game. The rest is still pretty good, though.

DATE OF BIRTH GENERATOR

Temporary research bonus: None

PROBLEM:

Your face looks like it’s 58 and your body feels like it’s 60. Your mind feels like it’s lived for one day or a hundred. Both longer than they ought to be, the day and the century.... But for how long, then, has this thing attached to your sentience walked the planet’s crust? Time to start racking those brains of yours, Elder One. When and where were you born?

Completion bonuses: Learning cap for Logic raised to 4 -1 difficulty to all Physique passives

SOLUTION:

You were born in the year ‘07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.

I believe you can talk about this with Kim once you have the answer.

ARNO VAN EYCK

Temporary research bonus: +1 Interfacing

PROBLEM:

The question won’t leave you – why did the melody line from a broken and discarded tape fit perfectly into a song played by some speedfreaks in a frozen tent? Can it be a coincidence? Maybe it’s the hand of the Man-Machine himself, in his attempt to craft a perfect song. Maybe Egg Head is actually Arno van Eyck in disguise!? Eyck? Egg? Hmm...

Completion bonuses: All white Motorics checks unlocked Reveals Arno Van Eyck gig posters in the world

SOLUTION:

Okay, so Egg Head is clearly not Van Eyck in disguise. Van Eyck is an Oranjese disc jockey -- but those people get around. Especially in Revachol, in the clubs on Boogie Street. Perhaps he stayed here for a short stint and discarded part of the song he was working on. Just threw it away. And then it ended up in the hawthorn tree. But why? Did he think it was *retrograde*? It wasn’t. Perhaps he caught a glimpse of the future and did not want for it to arrive just yet. Perhaps the city whispered the topline to him and he was frightened by it?

We've seen variations on this one before for other skill categories. The Arno Van Eyck posters give you additional orbs to click, which synergises nicely with Jamais Vu.

Egg Head also directly told us that his name was in reference to Van Eyck at one point, so that was not really much of a mystery.

SEARCHLIGHT DIVISION

Temporary research bonus: None

PROBLEM:

Missing persons cases just really get to you. It's hard watching people worry about their loved ones – the little nervous movements, the dark rings around their eyes from sleepless nights. And even if there are no loved ones waiting – you like to have all your ducks in a row, and it really bothers you when whole entire people aren't accounted for.

Completion bonus: +2 Perception: Clear-eyed pursuit of truth

SOLUTION:

You've sharpened your senses by being on the lookout for missing persons. Now you notice more of what's happening around you. Perhaps when you're done with this case, you can join the Searchlight Division of the RCM, and find every Revacholian that's ever gone missing without a trace (there is undoubtedly a backlog of such cases). Because you never know, a missing person could be just around the edge, barely out of sight.

ONE MORE DOOR

Temporary research bonus: +1 Half Light: What is behind it?

PROBLEM:

God dammit, it cannot be. A disgrace! That door on the coast... you remember the one, right? The one that leads to the abandoned supply depot? Why, in the name of all that's holy, does it not open? *Why*?! There *has* to be a way to get through that unopenable door. By gods, you're the police -- all doors are supposed to open before you. What will the others at the precinct think if you can't open a goddamn door? There must be a way.

Completion bonuses: -1 Half Light: No fear All PSY white checks unlocked

SOLUTION:

There is no way to open the supply depot door. Accept it. You cannot open *all the doors*. You have to integrate this into your character. Some doors will forever remain closed. Even if every single other door will open at one time or another, maybe to a key, or maybe to some sort of tool meant for opening doors... But this one will never accede to such commands. A realization crucial to personal growth. Crucial.

There will always be one more door.

HARDCORE AESTHETIC

Temporary research bonus: -2 Interfacing: Fuck grammar!

PROBLEM:

Not only have you internalized the Hard Core Aesthetic, you’ve also *contributed* to it. How harder-core could you possibly become? Low-core people come around you to correct your “typos”: it’s “Hardcore” here, “hard-core” there, “Hardorcore” in a third instant -- what’s going on? Those aren’t typos, man, that’s how core hardness works. If you don’t know “hard-core” from “Our Happy Hardcore,” what the fuck are we even talking about?

Completion bonuses: +1 Endurance: Really useful for doing drugs +1 Volition: Same thing, Hardman

SOLUTION:

Oh yes. Drugs. We’re talking about drugs. Let’s face it, these flirtations with the Hard Core Aesthetic have all been leading up to one question: Can I do drugs *harder* now that I’m a Hard Cop? And the answer is: yes. You can. You can do one more blast of pyrholidon and yellow shit-powder, you can even pull a ciggie and a lager on top of that. There. You’ve *truly* made the Hardcore your own thing now.

Despite what it says on the tin, this actually just gives you more health.

THE INSULINDIAN MIRACLE

Temporary research bonus: None

PROBLEM:

You were reminded of a poem, somewhere deep inside you, the translation of which you don't remember… "Nulla sarà cambiato della luce!” it begins. “Colori come grigio e marrone / Tutti stampati uno sull’altro / Trovai un vuoto / Una macchia Bianca / Gli altri guardarono / “Che bella giornata! Che bel tempo!” / Ma sentii la rotativa." You were reminded of it when you heard about the discovery of Insulinde. But what does it mean? And how do you know it by heart?

Completion bonuses: All white checks unlocked

SOLUTION:

It’s easy. You know the poem by heart because you were taught it at school. It is one of the Volta do Mar mantras repeated on the voyage that lead to the discovery of the Insulindian isola. And the words mean: “Nothing will be changed about the light! / Colours like grey and brown / All printed on top of each other / I found a blank white spot / All the others looked up: / ‘What a beautiful day! What beautiful weather!’ / But all I heard was the printing machine." What strange words to celebrate a new world.

You can only unlock this Thought when talking with Joyce after the confrontation with Ruby, making it a really useful tool if you have anything left to do in the game at that point.

And that's all the Thoughts that we encountered in our playthrough, aside from the ones we already saw in the game proper. We did also *technically* get to the point where we could have seen the Thoughts for the moralist and ultraliberal political alignments, even if we chose not to opt into them. So, I'll show those too:

KINGDOM OF CONSCIENCE

Temporary research bonus: -2 Half Light: Calm water

PROBLEM:

Heartache is powerful, but democracy is *subtle*. Incrementally, you begin to notice a change in the weather. When it snows, the flakes are softer when they stick to your worry-worn forehead. When it rains, the rain is warmer. Democracy is coming to the Administrative Region. The ideals of Dolorian humanism are reinstating themselves. How can they not? These are the ideals of the Coalition and the Moralist International. Those guys are signal blue. And they're not only good -- they're also powerful. What will it be like, once their nuanced plans have been realized?

Completion bonuses: Moralist dialogue heals 1 Morale Learning cap for Volition raised to 5 Learning cap for Logic raised to 5

SOLUTION:

The Kingdom of Conscience will be exactly as it is now. Moralists don't really *have* beliefs. Sometimes they stumble on one, like on a child's toy left on the carpet. The toy must be put away immediately. And the child reprimanded. Centrism isn't change -- not even incremental change. It is *control*. Over yourself and the world. Exercise it. Look up at the sky, at the dark shapes of Coalition airships hanging there. Ask yourself: is there something sinister in moralism? And then answer: no. God is in his heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

INDIRECT MODES OF TAXATION

Temporary research bonus: -2 Empathy: Cold blooded

PROBLEM:

First, if you have a side-bitch ideology cooking somewhere, don't sweat it. Fightin' indirect taxation for the Gossamer State is compatible with *all* creeds. It's cool like that. You're a cool anarchist now. Unless you don't want to be an anarchist. Whatever! Stuff this meal ticket in your eye-socket and let's see if we can steal some *love* back from the robber barons at the customs agency and the *banditos* at The Insulindian Financial Oversight and Competition Committee.

Completion bonuses: -1 Empathy: Thinks he's a hustler or something Ultraliberal dialogue options give +1 real

SOLUTION:

Turns out those Financial Oversight Committee gangsters stuffed millions of hard-earned dividends away in the last place anyone thought to look: the hearts and minds of everyday Revacholians! You need to spread that deregulation gospel to the *people*. Tell them about that foreign fare tax. Preach that 98% gross burden. Preach it, preacher man! Set the brothas free. Taxes are racist.

Even with those, there are still *eighteen* Thoughts remaining in the game that we didn't encounter - either because we didn't have high enough stats, didn't pick the right dialogue options, or chose not to put any points into fascism. Some of them are mutually exclusive with Thoughts we did pick, some require *really complicated* methods to find. A few of them give us some more interesting backstory on Harry and Kim that's worth hearing -- but I'll let you uncover that on your own time.

[wayfayrr]

just got home from work lol - a dq worker. i had an idea of Time reacting to someone who worked as a fast food worker, specifically dairy queen cause of the potential for a funny interaction: "oh yeah i worked for Dairy Queen™" "you worked for lon lon ranch?"

"no there is literally a company named Dairy Queen.. i sold ice cream.." and then starts a whole conversation on what the hell ice-cream is lmao.

gonna be very honest with you dq-anon hope you don't mind me calling you that I've only really heard of dairy queen through that one girl's tiktoks because they don't exist in the UK dvjcedfc one of my wives (@angry-trashcan) told me more about what they're like and I focused more on the ice cream/ customer service voice part of it - I hope you like it!

“So you've mentioned needing to get back to your own world for the sake of your job, if it's alright may I ask what just what it is?"

"hmm? Sure? it's not really private, the only reason I haven't talked about it is because it hasn't come up in conversation yet."

"I work at a place called Dairy Queen™ or at least I did, they might have fired me…"

Time looks like he's about to ask me a question, not that I can blame him. Our worlds are very different. I doubt he's heard of it ever before. Well, I know that because it doesn’t exist here.

"I don't think I've ever seen you at lon lon ranch before, well and the fact that you've already said you're not from Hyrule."

"... There's a company called Dairy Queen in my world. we sell ice cream."

There’s the look I expected from him, utter confusion. Hyrule really doesn't have anything in common with my own world, nothing I could compare to the chains anyway. How could the post-industrial era even hope to compare to a mediaeval land where magic actually exists?

“...Ice cream?”

Yeah, I shouldn’t have expected him to know what that was. Really though does Hyrule not have ice cream at all? It’s not hard to make; with magic, it can’t be too hard to make a freezer. 

“It’s well, it’s frozen cream with sugar and flavour? Honestly, I’m not sure the best way to describe it when I can't just show you. For now, I’ll just say that it tastes amazing and that you’re missing out.”

“Maybe you could show me some time then, we should be able to find the correct ingredients at some of the villages here and Wild has a spare ice rod or two to freeze it.”

“Keep the money for more important supplies Time,  it’s not that big of a deal.”

Here’s where I’d happily take bets with the others for if he was going to drop it or not, what with how he rarely drops lectures it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t drop it until I agreed with him. But he seems to have more respect for things that people don’t want to talk about with their past than accidents so who knows?

“Aside from that then, what is your work like?”

"It's work..? I mean the only real skills I picked up are accidentally tipping drinks on people and my 'service voice'."

Most of this is just going to be him all confused, isn't it? what I wouldn't do at this point to show him exactly what I mean…

"You haven't got any more questions have you?"

"... what was that?"

"well I can't show you most things are like where I work, but I can show you how I act around customers. So how can I help you sir?"

Laughing at his face was so easy at this point, the fear in his eyes at how much I can change my voice so easily, worse than it's been towards any monster he's faced on this journey. 

He’s more worked up about my voice than the shadow… 

“...please don’t do that again [name].”

“Come on Time, it can’t be that bad can it?”

“You - you can stop pulling that face Old man.”

He really does live up to that name, now I can’t help but wonder if ‘old man’ is Hyrule’s equivalent of boomer, from how they use it? How mean would it be to teach wind and wild what that means? Introduce Hyrule to ‘Ok boomer’. I’d just have to make sure time never learns what it means or that it's from my world.

“Can we just… just go back to explaining what ice cream is?”

“I think I would prefer to tease you more. But fine I can go back to trying to explain it better for you.”

[amethystfallenangel]

soda (pilot kelson x reader)

You groan, swatting the fly away from the counter. It's too hot behind this counter, you've been working long hours at this gas station. Customers are rude, impatient and in a rush. And you're stuck here, forced to be professional and patient. You've even gotten bored of your phone, so you dash it onto the counter, huffing and leaning against the boxes behind you, opening one button of your t-shirt because of the unbearable midday heat.

Suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine outside and the squeak of tires. Here we go again, another frustrating customer to make this infernal wait even worse than it already is. You pay no attention to the two customers who saunter into the shop, laughing obnoxiously, but as they stumble to the counter, you grin slightly. They're quite young, around your age, if not one or two years younger. One of them has a shaved mullet and wild eyes, with a loose tank top and a stupidly wide grin. He's busy checking out the bubble-gum selection, commenting aimlessly on each flavour. His friend, however, seems unbothered, his downturned blue eyes staring at you softly. He has messy hair, the brown strands sticking out weirdly. He fiddles with the zipper of his bomber jacket, offering you a crooked smile. He speaks to you in a slurred, clumsy voice, as if completely faded.

"What soda do you recommend?"

You sigh, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, I don't know. Fanta, maybe."

He leans over the counter, clasping his hands, lifting his bushy eyebrows and gazing at you with his puppy-like eyes.

"You like citrus drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." His attempt at making conversation is terrible, but it's cute. You glance quickly at his friend, who is still rambling on to himself about the flavours of bubble gum.

"Citrus drinks suck. I prefer Coke, or Dr Pepper."

You nod blindly.

"Uh, yeah, we have Coca Cola too." You point to the fridges where the cold drinks are.

He narrows his eyes playfully, and then ambles off curiously, promptly returning with three cans of soda.

One Coke, one Dr Pepper and... a Fanta?

You tilt your head at him, a question in your eye.

His friend, who you later learn is called Jack, interrupts, still grinning.

"That's his way of asking you to hang out with us. Oh, I'll have the strawberry bubble gum too. Thanks, sweetheart." He places a 15 dollar bill on the counter, but before you can hand him his change, he skips away, whistling, back to the car, with his Dr Pepper and his bubble gum.

You're left with the droopy eyed young man, still leaning across the counter with a playful smirk. And of the soda, obviously.

You chuckle, twirling a piece of your hair from under your cap, as you lean across the counter yourself, your shirt a little too revealing for the young man not to smirk a little wider.

"So, soda boy, what's your name?"

"Why, you wanna buy me a drink?" he teases.

You chuckle lowly, glancing at your Fanta and his Coca Cola. Good come back. He's quite witty, clearly. And playful.

"Thanks for the soda, by the way," you hum. "I'm still on duty, though. I'm not sure I can hang out with you guys. I appreciate the offer, of course."

"We're in the nearby town till tomorrow, though," he croons, edging closer to your face. You shake your head, amused.

"That so? Fine, then. I could use a night out. You guys aren't serial killers or thieves or anything, right?"

He giggles, popping open his can and taking a sip.

"Would that make us more interesting?"

"Not exactly the word I would use. You still haven't told me your name by the way."

"Pilot. I'm Pilot Kelson" He holds out his hand comically.

"Pilot? That's an interesting name." You go to shake his hand, but instead he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back, looking back at you with a loud laugh.

"You're very bold, Pilot. Or maybe just completely high."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't mind. Pick me up at 6 tonight, soda boy." You grin and then place a quick kiss on his cheek. His jaw drops in a cheeky grin, and he winks as he walks away.

Your shift was boring. Two more smug faced truckers came in for a few beers, nothing special. When your shift ends, a car is already waiting outside, and as you leave the shop, jamming the door for the next person to start their shift, the car headlights are flashing wildly, Pilot and Jack waving their arms frantically out of the windows. You giggle at them being unnecessarily noisy, wondering what on earth you've gotten yourself into. Your Fanta is still in your bag.

"Hey soda boy," you joke, as you get in the back of their messy car. His friend turns his attention to you, eyeing you up and down greedily, but somewhat respectfully.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he says, his eyes sultry.

"Nice to meet you, Jack."

You drive to a lively, crowded bar. Inside, there are road stop signs and buffalo skulls as decorations. It smells strongly of whiskey, tobacco and steak pies. There are multiple coloured jukeboxes, pool tables, booths and flickering warm overhead lamps. You know this bar well, you used to come here with your old man way before he became a trucker. You smile to yourself as you lean over the sticky, heavy oak counter and greet the bartender. Jack already seems to be in conversation with a cute blonde in a leather skirt. The pair choose a bluesy rock song on one of the jukeboxes. You order drinks and Pilot follows you eagerly to a table, leaving his friend with the girl.

"So," you say, biting your lip in amusement, "why'd you ask me to accompany you guys anyways? And why are you leaving so soon?"

He chuckles lowly.

"Actually, Jack was caught screwing some guy's wife in Las Vegas. We're basically just on the run, cus' the husband was a raging psycho who sent some guys after Jack. Oh and I asked you cus' I find you hot. And funny."

You snicker, almost spitting out your drink.

"Talk about be bold."

"Yeah, Jack works as a pool cleaner, so he didn't really care about leaving his job."

"And you tagged along? That's wholesome. What do you do?"

He scoffs, seemingly lost for words, before chuckling again.

"I'm technically a drug dealer."

Your eyes go wide. Well, this sure is an eventful day.

"Oh."

He leans back into his chair, flinging an arm around the back of your chair. You can feel one of his fingers brush your back and it sends a chill down your spine. He's starts to draw lines and circles on your back with his finger.

"You don't think less of me, though, right?" he coughs, gazing at your soft features with his lazy eyes.

You turn your head to face him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your demeanour is calm, but you're a little flushed.

"No. I mean, you guys are a bit too wild for me, but I don't think less of you, no.

He smirks, the hand on your back sliding up to the back of your neck, to gently guide your head closer to him.

You playfully poke his stomach and he pulls back, groaning in annoyance, as he rolls his head back. Then, without a thought, you climb up onto his lap, so that you are straddling him. His head shoots up eagerly, his hands almost just as quickly moving to your hips.

You cup his cheeks as your noses almost touch.

"You're an interesting guy, Pilot."

"You mean 'soda boy'?" he laughs, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours.

You gasp slightly, widening your eyes at him.

"Okay, soda boy," you tease, "show some restraint. We're in public, remember."

He leans in close.

"Then let's go back to the motel," he grins.

Leaving the car with Jack, both of you rush out of the bar, walking with incredible speed to the grimy motel where the two troublemakers have been staying for the past two days.

You both stumble into the motel room, as you slam him into the door. His hands finds the hem of your skirt as he tugs as it. You giggle, throwing you bag onto the carpeted floor. You both almost tackle one another onto the floor, rolling around, unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He manages to pry open the rest of the buttons of your t-shirt, as his body presses flush against yours. As he is peppering your neck with hot kisses, he kicks your bag, and your unopened can of Fanta rolls out. Pilot turns around to look at it, with an amused smile, and with his head buried in your chest, he mumbles "I might have to help you finish that drink."

"I thought you didn't like citrus drinks," you manage to say, between passionate kisses.

"I wouldn't mind trying."

You tug at his messy hair and he groans, although not in annoyance this time.

This is by far the most interesting one-night stand you will ever have.

[bonesandthebees]

I was making myself london fog and, like every time I make it, it made me think of clinic and how its the reason I have discovered what has become my comfort fic

its just like the way I think about hat!crimeboys dancing every time I pass the laundrymat on my way to school

or how when on holiday we were trying flavoured honey in croatia and in my mind I went, just like the honey tubes tubbo bought in honey and tangerines

I keep getting reminded of your fics constantly in my every day life and it makes me so fond of all these stories that I will forever carry with me so I just wanted to say thank you and let you know how loved your stories are

I just made the ugliest happy sound at this I hope you know lol

this is so touching and sweet. and actually funny timing bc I was literally in the middle of rereading a random clinic chapter on my phone. I don't even remember why I started rereading it but I was like wow this fic was actually really fun wasn't it. I've also been wanting to sit down and properly reread honey and tangerines for ages now so I might do that soon bc of this :)

it seriously is so wild to think that you guys hold onto tiny details like that from my stories. that my silly stories have impact on you all and you hold onto it for years to come. It makes me so happy and means so much, you have no idea

(also I've had so many people say they discovered london fogs through clinic and love them now which is incredibly funny to me because I actually don't like london fogs at all. I wish I did I kept trying them for a while hoping I'd like them because it sounds exactly like a drink I'd love but it just was never my thing. so glad you guys all like them though 😭)

[saintsenara]

For the ship asks:

Walburga Black/Dumbledore,

Phineas Nigellus/Dumbledore,

Orion Black/Slughorn,

Orion Black/ Minerva Mcgonagall.

thank you very much for the ask, pal!

walburga black/albus dumbledore

i'm incredibly compelled by the potential carnage inherent in this. dumbledore is clearly a serial ghoster. walburga is clearly someone who can hold one hell of a grudge. he one hundred percent seemed really keen for all of three dates - and, whatever he says now, he definitely promised her that he'd come with her to alphard's experimental dance recital - before disappearing into thin air, owls unreturned, floo connection changed.

when they ran into each other a few months later, he said he'd been too stressed by trying to figure out the ninth use of dragon's blood to behave with human decency.

this is why her portrait is so riled up. she can handle having sirius back in grimmauld place. but not that dickhead.

phineas nigellus black/albus dumbledore

i also back this - but only in oil-paint form.

phineas, like all the portraits, has the opportunity to observe dumbledore without his mask in the months before his death, and therefore has seen him as the man he actually is, flaws and all.

as a result, we see in canon that he's not exactly deferential to dumbledore - which gives an interesting flavour to the dynamic - but that he is also, despite his inclinations to the contrary, nonetheless loyal to him. i quite like the idea of dumbledore finding himself tangled up with someone who seems even more wily than he himself is - otherwise known as the superior riddledore dynamic.

and i also just like the idea that the portraits have wild romantic lives which none of the castle’s living denizens ever bother paying enough attention to to notice.

orion black/horace slughorn

orion tries to seduce his way into the slug club. it fails [slughorn has a much prettier dark-haired slytherin to fill that role], but he is still forced to listen to slughorn describe a graphic sexual encounter he had with his father.

orion black/minerva mcgonagall

harry tells us in order of the phoenix that mcgonagall came to grimmauld place "looking very odd in a muggle dress and coat".

what he means by this is that she'd turned up at ten in the morning in this exact outfit:

after all, she needed to remind walburga who orion always called the one who got away.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Garden Flowers Part 6

All photos mine, unedited.

In order of appearance:

151. Canada Ginger (Asarum canadense) Not a ginger; the root just tastes like it. Flowers are springtime only and you miss them entirely if you don't get close to the ground!

152. Ohio Spiderwort (Tradescantia ohiensis) Was able to get her by calling up one of the plant places I order from directly during the COVID years. Their usual boxsets weren't listed as available so I asked if they ever would be that year, as a repeat customer, and listed the plants of theirs that I'd like and they put it together for me! She's a morning flower only, but she's stunning.

153. Harebell (Campanula rotundifolia) One of my very first. Grassy green foliage and cute little light blue bell-shaped flowers.

154. Panicled Aster (Symphyotrichum lanceolatum) Well behaved for an aster. When she starts growing onto the sidewalk I ease her back into the bed and she stays.

155. Smallflower Columbine (Aquilegia brevistyla) You can eat these flowers too but she's not quite as profuse as her taller red cousin so I'll wait before trying one.

156. Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) Considered much more well-behaved behaved than her cousin the common milkweed, and therefore favoured in garden settings, I find she's not nearly as fragrant, but her flowers are stunning. In spite of her name she's quite drought tolerant. And while she doesn't spread by rhizome (well-behaved), she does seed prolifically. But like her common cousin, her young pods, young shoots, and flower clusters are edible cooked!

157. Wild Bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) She moves around. Died back in the area I initially planted her but has popped up in several places nearby and considerably further away. Her dried flowerheads still smell amazing after the winter if you give them a squeeze.

158. Wild Geranium (Geranium maculata) A beautiful plant from spring to fall. Her foliage is roundy in the early spring and then she has these wonderful pink flowers against the dark green of her leaves. After the flowers are done the foliage is still interesting, and then it turns red in the fall.

159. Sweet Corn (Zea mays saccharata rugosa) Not technically native to the area and can't survive the winter, but grown here long before colonization. She makes a rather handsome garden plant in my opinion.

160. Purple Poppymallow (Callirhoe involucrata) Just a strikingly beautiful groundcover for a dry area.

161. Smooth Rose (Rosa blanda) She doesn't bloom very often and suckers very slowly, but a non-aggressive rose is exactly the sort I need for property that isn't mine.

162. Anise Hyssop (Agastache foeniculum) Beloved of the bumblebees, and I like to use her in flavouring my pies.

163. Redroot Amaranth (Amaranthus retroflexa) Not pictured as I don't have pictures yet. Not sure if she reseeded this year. I rescued her from a fallow area and she has reseeded at least once, so we'll see.

164. Purslane (Portulaca oleracea) Not pictured as I don't have pictures yet. Also one I rescued from a fallow area. I don't know why so many people don't like purslane. She's a cute succulent groundcover in my opinion, and a nice snack too.

165. Crowfoot Violet (Viola pedata bicolor) Not pictured as I don't have pictures yet.

166. Mountain Laurel (Kalmia latifolia) The only one I planted without any known food use--it's poisonous--but purely because I saw a picture in David Attenborough's The Secret Life of Plants and always wanted one.

167. Wild Chives (Allium schoenoprasum) Beautiful flowers and tasty all around. What more could one want?

168. Field Thistle (Cirsium discolor) The parent of that field thistle, which appears to be dead in both halves, sadly, though her younger siblings are still alive. Her flowers are quite lovely and I do hope to see them in the garden next year if they don't get cut too.

169. Canada Milk Vetch (Astragalus canadensis) Interesting yellow-green flowers become deceptively inviting bean-looking fruits, but those don't have a known edible use. Other parts do, though.

170. Rattlesnake Master (Eryngium yuccifolium) I can't remember if she's named as such because she was used to treat snakebites back in the day or if her flowerhead kind of looks like snake's rattle. Anyway she's interesting.

171. Compass Plant (Silphium laciniata) Not pictured because she hasn't made a flowerstalk yet. Must be young. Her relative the cup plant has been flowering reliably every year.

172. Heath Aster (Symphyotrichum ericoides) Not pictured as I haven't got any pictures yet.

173. Rough Blazing Star (Liatris aspera) A very drought-tolerant blazing star species. Not quite as showy as dense blazing star but a nice tall plant for the back of a sunny garden.

174. Blanketflower (Gaillardia xgrandiflora) A hybrid with one parent native to here and the other out west. Not sure if she's fertile or not. Got her because I needed another plant for the minimum order and she looks nice enough not to be mistaken for a weed.

175. Graceful Cinquefoil (Potentilla gracilis) Flowering in her first year in the garden! She's hopefully going to form a groundcover in a relatively short period, over which her flowerstalks will sway in the breeze.

176. Pale Purple Coneflower (Echinacea pallida) Glad I got pictures before the landlord cut her. (:

177. Wild Savoury (Clinopodium arkansana) Not pictured as I don't have pictures yet.

178. Small-Leaved Pussytoes (Antennaria parvifolia) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

179. Common Yarrow (Achillea millefolium nigrescens) Not pictured as I haven't seen any flowers yet.

180. Red Elder (Sambucus pubens) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I know you always struggle to write about Suga Bpp but I'd really appreciate a review from you for D-day.

Sincerely, a follower who loves the space you make here.

Thank you for focusing on the music in the middle of the madness. I struggle with this a lot, but your posts always help.

Pls review D-day in any way you like or in that way you always do.

***

I'm losing my mind.

This album has put me in a high that hasn't come down since release. Overall, I rate the album a 9/10. I won't really get into the lyrics (Yoongi never minces words), but will tell you why exactly I think Yoongi is insane.

(Tsk... a problem)

We should all thank Yoongi. If I had his address I'd send him flowers and my nudes (me sitting pretty in a bucket of tangerines), for the blessing, the honour, the gift of J-hope Jay spitting the coldest bars of his entire career on HUH?!

His delivery??

Jesus.

Jung Hoseok, the man you fucking are.

There's no Korean rapper in the history of rap who has spit sicker bars, delivered so cold it feels like he just ripped eyeballs clean out their sockets.

(Son couilles est lourde)

HUH?! is the best song on the album

See, up until now, BTS had never done drill. And a part of me was always grateful because even on harmless boom bap beats, they been cutting niggas left and right. But Yoongi went there. On D-DAY, he went there. And Lord is it a revelation. Nobody should be surprised that D-DAY is now the highest selling rap album, in history. Yoongi is the first rapper to sell a million albums in a day in history. Not k-rap, not in Asia, but globally in the history of the genre - that was done by Min Yoongi with Jung Hoseok whipping up guts served cold on a platter.

If you're vegetarian or vegan I'm so sorry but this album is not for you. Because this album, HUH?! in particular, is an exhibit of cadavers split open and Hobi's delivery is of a man who didn't even bother washing his hands after doing what needed to be done. A man who doesn't feel a speck of remorse for the corpses left in his wake. Hobi's flow on HUH?! is psychotic. And think about what it means to have Hobi on a song like this to begin with. Yoongi said he hadn't done the genre before, and he trusted Hobi - who initially learned from Namgi but very quickly developed his own flavour and skills enough to earn the respect of his idol - Yoongi trusted his brother on that track and that alone nearly brings me to tears.

Then Yoongi follows it with Amygdala and I start actually crying.

(This was me on my third listen.)

Amygdala is the standout song on this album

The transition from drill rap to soothing acoustic trap is so beautiful, it alters your mind. It's so seamless. Everything about Amygdala cements Yoongi's genius as a force to be reckoned with among the greats.

(I love them)

When Yoongi showed Jimin this song in SOOP around the time he made it, he said he went through wild mood swings making it. And you hear it in his voice. When he screams so wildly he uses autotune to distort it, almost temper it, for our sakes and to drive home the point. The point being his pain, how overwhelming it was, how he decided to intentionally pull those memories out to process them. And he lets us hear the result. He lets us see the compassion he shows himself in that song.

Y'all...

*

Snooze

Yoongi's writing is the reason I fell in love with him. Just by the way. An Anon asked me this question almost 11 months ago now and I never responded, but Anon if you're reading this now, this is the answer to your ask. Yoongi's writing is what I think cemented him as my bias.

Have you heard/read the lyrics for Snooze yet? I cried when I first heard them. To think Yoongi made this for his brothers, for his juniors, for his fans, for anyone whoever hears it, for himself... that brought me to tears.

Repurposing the lyrics from So Far Away...

(I've been a mess since Friday)

With the context of the tragedy of the last week, I can't help but weep. I really hope these artists get the support they need, I hope the wider k-pop fandom quickly recognizes what is actually at stake here, and I hope you remember to always take care of yourself.

*

Woosung's voice on this track is perfection.

When it comes to vocalists, Yoongi has a type. It's my type as well, vocalists with a voice made for haunting rock anthems. The best examples being Jimin, Taka from ONE OK ROCK, Tyler from Twenty One Pilots, Adora, and now we can add Woosung from The Rose to the list.

The thing that gets me with BTS, is they could drop the pantie dropper album of the century and they'd still have substance to them. You don't get Ryuichi Sakamoto on your album, in his final years no less, if you haven't got a decent bit of substance to you.

Snooze is yet another song on the album that reminds us of the evolution of Agust D. It reminds us of why we're at this point, where we are in the timeline of his growth. It reminds us of why we should join him on the other side.

He doesn't let us languish too long in the feeling though, before moving to SDL - that groovy, sexy number that surprises me with how much I like it every time it comes up in my playlist.

[ I'm starting to ramble so I'll just say Adora on SDL makes me think they should get together.

The track is so good and Adora undeniably is the magic ingredient. And if we're being honest, Adora is his best female feature/adliber. We all know it. I'm just selfish and shameless enough to voice the desire we all have that they should always make music together. ]

*

Haegeum is where he repeats the pattern but we never learn if he's broken the cycle

I'll try to be ultra brief here.

Agust D is born of the anger, hatred, and pain Yoongi feels when looking at the world and at himself. He expresses his struggle with self-loathing, insecurity and greed in Agust D. Haegeum, meaning both to lift a ban, to say what had been suppressed, and a traditional Korean instrument he loves - Haegeum is the resolution before he reaches the acceptance he shows in People Pt 2. We hear Yoongi brutally criticize himself and his society while dissecting the system to get down to the root of what really ails us. K-pop stans have predictably made a ruckus about his lyrics referring to capital. And their criticisms yet again show why few people take k-pop and its fans seriously. Because exactly none, zero, zilch, not a single one of their criticisms are rational once the whole verse is viewed in full.

*

Haegeum is very much a read of himself as it is of anyone else. He confronts the shadow of him that represents those vices, and kills him. But just as it was in Daechwita, we don't know if that shadow will remain dead. Although in Haegeum it's clear Yoongi has grown and whatever shadow that remains is closer to Suga in likeness than Agust D, we don't know if the cycle is permanently broken. And that is how it is for all of us. We have to continue to evolve, to confront more complex versions of our shadows, each time better reconciling who we are to who we want to be, perfecting our characters.

Haegeum is a visual feast, somehow more vivid than Daechwita which is really saying something. It reminds me of Hong Kong neo noir films. It's cool Yoongi wrote the storyboard for the MV himself.

And as I've said before, Yoongi is messy killer. When I said this about him last year I got some of his akgaes in my inbox saying I should stop smearing the man. Lol. If you had any doubt before, after Haegeum it should be crystal clear.

He could murder you with chopsticks and look good doing it. Honestly, only Yoongi can tear down capitalism as well as Karl Marx does, looking 1,000x better.

*

*

In D-Day, SUGA gracefully ends the trilogy of Agust D. Yoongi has told this story of his wrestle with his greed, his anger and hatred, over the last 7 years, and his honesty and graciousness in how he concludes it in D-Day deserves a standing ovation.

I strongly encourage everyone to read Yoongi's Thanks To on the album. I'll post an English translation from Twitter below:

Credit: @/btsbaragi_jk

His sense of humour is one of my favourite things about him.

*

Yoongi has created a masterpiece. He worked so hard and it shows. His vocals on the album alone have elevated D-DAY to one of the best releases this decade. You can hear how much he has grown as an artist to the point I dare say he no longer has any obvious weaknesses. The impeccable production on D-DAY is a given. And to think he finished most of the album in 2020, but chose to wait for the rest of the guys to find their feet, for them all to decide on the timing for Chapter 2, to think he waited that long... sometimes, I wonder if people have a true understanding of the kind of group BTS is. Of the personal sacrifices each of the members in BTS have had to make.

When I see asks about this or that mistreatment complaint for this or that member, sometimes it pisses me off. Cause yeah, it sucks that Jungkook has to (possibly) serve now despite having 5 years more and being at his prime; I too hate that Jimin's sales were explicitly targeted, deleted without precedent, explanation, or accountability; I cannot for the life of me explain what the fuck happened with Jack in the Box's album roll-out, packaging, shipping, etc. But like, every member is making these decisions with their eyes wide open and taking these hits in stride with a team/company they say they trust. If Jimin trusts Bang PD with his career, on what basis could I begin to disagree with him?

Anyway I digress. D-Day is a gift. Pray you survive the live versions lol. And oh, about Yoongi (and the rest of BTS) being insane as I said initially, just listen to HUH?! again.