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pucksandpower · 8 days

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Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

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soberscientistlife · 1 month

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I'm pro-choice & pro-life.

I'm pro-Barbara who found out at her 20 week anatomy scan that the infant she had been so excited to bring into this world had developed without life sustaining organs. I'm pro-Susan who was sexually assaulted on her way home from work, only to come to the horrific realization that her assailant planted his seed in her when she got a positive pregnancy test result a month later. I'm pro-Theresa who hemorrhaged due to a placental abruption, causing her parents, spouse, and children to have to make the impossible decision on whether to save her or her unborn child. I'm pro-little Cathy who had her innocence ripped away from her by someone she should have been able to trust and her 11 year old body isn't mature enough to bear the consequence of that betrayal. I'm pro-Melissa who's working two jobs just to make ends meet and has to choose between bringing another child into poverty or feeding the children she already has because her spouse walked out on her. (Maybe one of those is a minimum wage job at Hobby Lobby, and she can't afford birth control because her employer went to the Supreme Court to make sure her insurance plan doesn't cover it.) I'm pro-Brittany who realizes that she is in no way financially, emotionally, or physically able to raise a child. I'm pro-Emily who went through IVF, ending up with SIX viable implanted eggs requiring selective reduction in order to ensure the safety of her and a SAFE amount of fetuses. I'm pro-Jessica who is FINALLY getting the strength to get away from her physically abusive spouse only to find out that she is carrying the monster's child. I'm pro-Vanessa who went into her confirmation appointment after YEARS of trying to conceive only to hear silence where there should be a heartbeat. I'm pro-Lindsay who lost her virginity in her sophomore year with a broken condom and now has to choose whether to be a teenage mom or just a teenager. I'm pro-Courtney who just found out she's already 13 weeks along, but the egg never made it out of her fallopian tube so either she terminates the pregnancy or risks dying from internal bleeding and horrific pain. I’m pro-Renee who developed eclampsia and in her third trimester and had to terminate her pregnancy or else she and her much loved baby would die. Also pro-Lorraine who found out two weeks before her due date that her baby’s heart wasn’t beating anymore, and had to be induced so she wouldn’t develop a life threatening infection. You can argue and say that I'm pro-choice all you want, but the truth is: I'm pro-life. Their lives. Women's lives. You don't get to pick and choose which scenarios should be accepted. It's not about which stories you don't agree with. It's about fighting for the women in the stories and the CHOICE that was made for them, by them. Women's rights are meant to protect ALL women, regardless of their situation - or how big their bank account is. Because, let's face it, rich people's daughters and mistresses (yes, even the ones who voted for anti-abortion bills) will always be able to find safe abortions. They did before Roe v Wade. Most poor women will still get abortions too, whether from centuries old, unsafe home methods or from opportunistic untrained, unsafe people. Roe v. Wade didn't create abortion. It ended poor, desperate women and girls dying from them and making decisions about their lives.

Author Unknown

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larkandkatydid · 1 year

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A new category of takes that are almost correct but don't really make sense because they forget two important things about the George W Bush era:

That Islamophobia was wildly popular at all levels of American culture from jokes on sitcoms to NYT Opinion Thinkpieces about how Muslims were inherently violent, inferior, un-American, etc or pondering the many, many morally justified reasons to humiliate or (oftern literally) strip women who wear hijab.

That an obsession with virginity was incredibly powerful and had seeded the culture with a wide variety of sick little rituals. It was common to see "purity rings" given to girls by their father's displayed in dorm rooms and most pop stars from Brittany Spears to Jessica Simpson were publically proclaiming their virgin-until-marriage beliefs.

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henbased · 6 months

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— OC INTERVIEW

got tagged by the loveliest @corvosattano tysm x

and look at me! doing a tag thing. turns out i don't like doing quizes for ocs. that's a lot of reading.

tagging: @adelaidedrubman (dont mention the contract im getting to it), @thespiral, @unholymilf, @florbelles, @8bitpizzacoupons, @braindancer, @necro-hamster (obligated), @vvindication, @orionlancasterr, @fourlittleseedlings, @princehendir, @meatcrimes, @aceghosts, @josephslittledeputy, @jackiesarch, @strangefable, @strafethesesinners, @shallow-gravy, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @inafieldofdaisies, and um! idk whose done this ive not kept up with the tag games </3 YOU!!! reading this. if you want to. i don't have a banner <:'3

Name: brittany seed

Nickname: brit <- call her only that

Gender: somewhere between a teenage girl and a woman and a shambling decaying corpse

Star Sign:

Height: i think i settled on 5'9". don't quote me on that

Orientation: the token straighty

Nationality/Ethnicity: joseph seed's daughter whose accent is a mix of georgian and boston

Fave Fruit: not apples

Fave Season: there's faults to be found with them all

Fave Flower: pressed and dried ones

Fave Scent: marlboro cigarettes

Coffee, Tea, or HC: monster energy drinks

Average Hours of Sleep: anywhere between 1 and 18 #sleepissues

Dog or Cat Person: neither. brit and animals don't really get along (they DO NOT like her) (her vibes are OFF)

Dream Trip: not driving from boston to montana in a spur of a moment decision with everything she owns. maybe like idk. hanging out with the gang of jackass. me too girl.

Favorite Fictional Character: [ throws dart and squints ] uhhh alice cullen twilight. sure.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: she would prefer at least one but she understands thats generally a big ask

Random Fact: her birthdays coming up :3x

#📌#oc: brit seed #[ waves ] hiii im. existing again #i know ive been spotlighting brit a lot but jude is in my head all the time #its just brittime its her birthday month cmonn shes jujst a birthday girl

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thekoppologist · 6 months

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Spiffing Sniffers

Okay, so you know how Brittany likes mentioning the fact she smells the fruit? (Examples: Insect Condo, Disguised Delicacy, Seed Hive and Alph dislikes the smell of the Portable Sunset) But, have you also noticed she has no nostrils, and we've never actually seen any of the Koppaites sniff anything in-game?

Here's my explanation: Koppaites don't smell things via sniffing them in the traditional sense, rather via inhaling deeply around what they want to smell, basically sniffing with their mouths. It also explains why they always seem to have their mouths open a little bit.

There are a few implications of this, such as the fact when Charlie got out of the Phosbat, Alph and Brittany just had to grin and bear the stink since there was no other way they could breathe, Koppaites being incapable of sneezing and Brittany violently inhaling in the presence of fruit.

So, what's their nose even for? Well, I believe it's more akin to feelers than a regular nose, used for investigating objects of interest further and social interaction, perhaps they would give something a little tap with their noses before properly investigating it, or maybe shoving it into soft things because it feels nice.

#koppai #speculative biology #special interest #pikmin

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strawberrybobamilk · 10 months

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Cut Here (Part 1)

So it's been a while I've been wanting to write a Trevor Philips origin story fanfic, but I never had the motivation to do so, until now that I came up with some ideas and experimented (so sorry if it's a bit crappy and all over the place), so here is my take on our most beloved psychopath's backstory. Probably gonna make it a multipart fic and eventually upload it on AO3 (once I get ahold of my pc again). Any feedbacks and suggestions are welcome.

TWs: S/A and abuse.

1967

Betty Philips was coming back home after another night shift. Another night, same thing. Stripping and dancing for the entertainment of those drunk perverted low lives. When she was younger and moved from England to Canada along with her family in 1943, her parents promised her things were gonna be better, everything was going to be fine and dandy... and now, twentyfour years later, this is what she ended up doing for a living... and a shitty paycheck as well.

She was now walking back home, down the dimly lit streets, a cigarette in her mouth and soft wind caressing her red hair; her thoughts were interrupted when she suddendly felt herself being dragged in a dark alleyway by some unrecognizable man, pressing one of his hands on her mouth. She instinctively tried to scream, her voice coming out muffled by that pesky hand; the cold steel of a blade now threatening her neck.

"Try making another sound and you're dead, alright?" the mysterious voice behind her spoke. She nodded with tears in her eyes. "Good". Fear took her again when she heard the sound of a zipper behind her, but due to her survival instincts she did her best to keep calm and let him have his way.

Some days after that dreadful night, Betty discovered she was pregnant. With that monster's kid. She tried to kill it in all the ways she could: drinking more, smoking more... but nothing. That baby survived to everything.

"Oh Betty I'm so happy for you! Who is the lucky man?" her friend Brittany would comment, making Betty cringe at her hand touching her swollen belly.

"Oh huh... I'm a single mother I guess... i-it was a mistake..." Betty replied.

"Oh..." Brittany walked away with a disgusted expression. This baby truly was a mistake.

On 14 november 1967, the waters broke and Betty got recovered in urgency to the nearest hospital. The pain she felt while giving birth to the child, the hatred she felt in hearing it crying, the disappointment she felt when hearing the nurse commenting on how healthy it was, meaning the abuse of alcohol and smoking truly did nothing.

"Congratulations ma'am, it's a boy!" the nurse said happily, holding the wailing baby and gently giving him into Betty's indifferent arms. Betty looked at him with a mix of rage and disgust, saying nothing.

The nurse awkwardly said "Huh, Mrs Philips... have you planned a name for him?"

Betty couldn't care less. She gave him the first name she could think of: "Trevor".

"Uhm, alright. Trevor Philips is it then!" the nurse smiled.

In the meanwhile Betty was thinking: she'd never seen again the unknown man in the shadows who assaulted her, and police would have never believed a dirty stripper's claims. But she had his baby now. By pure mistake. She was gonna get revenge like this: she couldn't make that man suffer, but she could do that to his seed, and make that seed understand how much of a literal mistake he has been.

Days and weeks passed. Trevor spent his days alone in his baby crib. Betty never cradled him nor gave him affection, she just fed him and changed his diapers, just to make him stop his annoying crying. Meanwhile, Betty started dating a man, Simon; a truly fantastic man, with a drinking habit but tons of money: he'd buy her jewelry and clothes, and she loved that and was happy with him. After a few time, she got pregnant again, and this time with Simon.

1975

Betty was in the living room sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, smiling at her son Ryan while he was reading an Impotent Rage comic, and Simon was just mindlessly watching TV on the couch and taking sips of Pisswasser.

"Mommy mommy look!" the voice Betty hated the most yelled; it was Trevor running happily towards her.

"What is it Trevor?" she said, not even looking in Trevor's direction. Not that Trevor minded, he was used to that anyway. But this time she was finally gonna be proud of him.

Trevor took out a handcrafted paper plane: "Look! My plane!"

Betty turned around unamused: "A plane?"

Ryan took his attention away from his comic and laughed: "You call that a plane?!"

Trevor ignored him and stayed focused on his creation with pride: "Yes a plane! When I grow up I'm gonna be a pilot and fly on these!"

Betty took her eyes away from the plane and returned smoking: "As if you're ever gonna be something big in your life...". Trevor's smile fell.

"No mom you're wrong!" Ryan yelled. Trevor's eyes went big: Ryan taking his defense for once? Ryan snatched the paper plane from his hand "Trevor's right! He's gonna fly on these indeed, just like this!" Ryan's hand tightened around the plane, crushing it in the process and reducing it to a ball, and threw it on the floor "Booom!!". Of course not, classic old Ryan.

"RYA-" Trevor stopped in his tracks when he saw dad turning his head to him with a glare like an owl preparing to attack his prey. He knew what that glare meant, it was the first sign that a beating was coming. Simon was kinda like a big silent monster; he never spoke to Trevor, he only beated him up when he was "misbehaving". He only heard him speak when he occasionally yelled at mom in one of his drunken fits.

"R-Ryan please..." Trevor spoke in a quieter voice now, doing everything he could to hide his anger.

Ryan made a fake grimace and started yelling "Mooom! Trevor is being mean!", as he was hugging Betty's legs.

Trevor was feeling terror taking over himself now "No! I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"First you disappoint me, now you make your brother cry, is that how you thank your family for everything we do for you, you ungrateful brat?" Betty looked at him with dark eyes "...Simon... it's time we teach him a lesson...".

Trevor was now laying on his bed; his whole body was aching and trembling, tears and snot running down his face as he was hugging his pillow. It was the only thing he could hold onto, sometimes he wished the pillow could hug back. His tears stained face was turned to the window as he observed that beautiful starry night sky. He didn't care what Ryan said, or what his mother said. She is right about everything but not about this. Someday, he was going to make his dreams come true. He was going to become a pilot, the best one the world has ever seen. He was going to be free, flying in that wonderful sky.

#grand theft auto #gta v #trevor philips #gta fanfiction

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citruscrisp · 2 years

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Guys the seed hive (papaya) has the best description of any fruit in the game given by Brittany.

#alph pikmin #pikmin alph #pikmin #pikmin 3 #pikmin brittany #citrus art

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askthekoppaitefamily · 4 months

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Britney, how do you treat the pikmin?

Brittany: We grew our own pikmin at home using something Olimar and I have been studying called "Pikmin Seeds". Supposedly they're seeds pikmin shed from their flowers as a way to clone themselves and can survive on other planets when planted in their soil. There's still more research needed to be done, however.

#charlie x brittany #pikmin au #pikmin 3 #pikmin alph #pikmin charlie #pikmin brittany #pikmin #ask blog #ask the koppaites

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afarcryfrommymain · 10 months

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Far Cry OC Tournament Round 2! Brittany "Brit" Seed v Cooper McCoy

Brittany "Brit" Seed (@henbased)

About: we all know about joseph's daughter, dead shortly after birth. well she lived. her name is brit. grew up in the system and bounced around homes until finally turning 18 and dropping out of highschool, and we pick up not long after, at most a handful of years. she's not doing so great. no job, a drug addiction, and some demons she's running away from on her high speed get-outta-dodge road trip she takes with her two foster sisters to hope county, montana, to see the dad she never knew and do a little soul searching. have an identity crisis. relapse. the concept of josephs daughter being the exact type of person edens gate preys upon is really captivates me. brit has a lot of the negative seed traits. she's mean. she's cruel. self-centered. but she's still so young, barely an adult and with hardly an idea of how to behave in the first place. traversing the world that has already deemed her a lost cause. and the cult is nice in the way society isnt, accepting, seemingly, and maybe for all the bad joseph has done (cult. murder. her dads a /murderer/), her bloodline has done, then maybe she really was always destined to be bad, so maybe there's nothing wrong with her but her blood, which is so much easier to accept (is it?). her style is what youd describe as "dumpster-diving goth", complete with bad smells and greasy hair. she learned how to apply makeup in a middle school bathroom with her fingers in bad lighting and never advanced beyond that.

Does your OC have anything to share?: brit's resilient. like a cockroach. you can't kill her and even if you do she won't stay dead, but in more of a 'shambling zombie' than anything that can be considered scary. ok well. a threat. well, okay, maybe she's both but held together by literal tendons you know.

Anything else we should know?: she has a fic called Of A Feather by @clab on ao3 if you'd like to read how shes mentally handling the whole cult-leader-father thing (spoiler: not well) [ photo of instagram user @krrowface ]

Cooper McCoy (@strafethesesinners)

About: Cooper McCoy is an ex-drug smuggler on the run from the law. He is hiding out in plain sight, pretending to be a sheriff’s deputy in Hope County, Montana. Through years of training and experience as the muscle for his drug smuggling gang, Cooper has honed his combat skills to perfection. He especially excels at hand to hand combat, and is much faster and stealthier than he looks. When he’s not fighting, Cooper is friendly, generous, flirty, and charming. Being half Australian and half Texan, Cooper is in love with the cowboy aesthetic.

Does your OC have anything to share?: “Come at me, partner”

Anything else we should know?: Cooper is just as likely to charm or seduce his way out of trouble as he is to fight. Though he won’t hesitate to react with extreme aggression if provoked. Cooper tends not to go for the kill unless absolutely necessary, preferring to incapacitate his opponents instead. Cooper is bisexual.

I meant to add this to round one but I posted those during finals week, so completely slipped my mind but Coopers art is by @iigo-art

#far cry oc tournament #far cry 5 #Brittany “Brit” Seed #Cooper McCoy

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tadpoledyke · 2 months

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For those of you who asked, here's the first of my lesbian knight fantasy short stories and I hope to write more.

Lady Deleilun, eldest daughter to King Meuric of Guineda. Rumours surrounded her as thick and tangled as the black locks that cascaded and bounced around her face.That her real father was a fairy king, a Kelpie, or some other terrifying otherworldly being. That she came from the peat bogs, birthed by the mud itself, and if one looked her directly in her deep brown eyes, they would sink into the ground where they stood, slowly engulfed by the warm earth. When a baby with skin like spiced mead is born to alabaster parents, people start talking.

She was never to be a reagent though. Seven years after Deleilun, when her hair was just beginning to grey, Queen Eira birthed twin boys, fair of skin and hair. Siors and Steffan would then grow up to fight. First for their father's affections, then the throne of Guineda.

This had left the young princess to spend her formative years in solitude. While the royal household slept, she would steal manuscripts to read by candlelight, curled up at her windowsill. On warmer nights, if she felt she could get away with it, she would ride into the woods on horseback with a dagger strapped to her thigh.

A lady of her calibre usually had plans of betrothment in the making the minute they procured their first blood. Often, even before that. Gangly, underdeveloped girls wedded to equally immature and awkward boys all for purse and politics. But the rumours around Deleilun kept suitors at bay. Every monarch for miles knew that no dowry was worth angering the faefolk.

That was until swordsmen on their patrols started to see an embodiment of Áine herself instead of an unrefined youth. The twigs in her hair were now more endearing than unkempt, and the whisperings of her beauty, political knowledge and charming manner were starting to outweigh any fear of fae curse. By the time Deleilun turned twenty, the proposals were coming in thick and fast.

Among the nobles from across the lands that tried, there was nobody who could spark even a flicker of interest in her eyes. With most noble ladies her age already married and bearing children, her parents were apprenhensive.

A windy autumn eve, three days to Mabon. The wine, simmered with honey and fruit of the season just as the princess liked, was flowing like water. Lords and princes from as far south as Brittany had displayed their skills with swords, bows and quills: reciting poetry in praise of their lands, themselves and the lady of their affections.

Then came the turn of Prince Cain, heir to the throne of the neighbouring kingdom. Twig-armed and squeaky-voiced, it seemed a miracle that he could even pick up a sword. With a smug smile, he began his verse.

Honor’d thy womb would be

to hold and bear mine fiery seed

Not a second did pass before Deleilun’s jewelled goblet clattered to the floor.

You wretched men with eyes like wolves!

With bile for blood!

Wine soaked into the hem of her dress, staining the soft white wool red as she strode across the court.

Where I see maiden you see meat!

You want not wives nor mothers!

Accursed is the woman who shares your bed!

Accursed is the daughter she shall then bear!

Cain reached for his sword but a steely gaze from one of his knights stayed his hand.

If you so think my womb be a coffer,

So help me God,

I shall see that it will never be filled.

this maiden betrothes herself

To the rich, wet soils

The wrinkled trees

The blossoming flowers, the babbling brooks,

sweetest of fruit that Guineda bears,

And the providence from which they come!

And thus, she shall never lay with a man!

I declare with all thee and God as my witness!

I will never lay with a man!

Meredydd inhaled sharply, trying their best to maintain a knight’s stoic expression. There was more poetry in the fair maiden’s outburst than there was in any of the verses the nobles had recited that night. And what a maiden she was too. A hallowed sight. Earth brown skin glowing with passion, fire behind her eyes and a single tear rolling down her plump rosy cheek.

This was the same girl who had regularly awoken them in the dead of night to steal candied ginger and almonds from the castle confectionery. These were more than simple midnight treats, though. They were currency to bribe the stable-hands with, should they be spotted trying to sneak her horse out.

Her face would flicker in the weak lamplight and Merydydd’s arms would ache. Sore from training, those arms would still labor. Hoisting the princess onto her horse, picking her up when she would Tumble into the creek. Over years of this midnight ritual, she had learnt to control her horse with just her legs, the way knights did to keep their hands free for weapons.

How long before I can hunt pigeons with you and the other squires then, Didkins?

We don’t hunt pigeons, your highness. You need a falcon for that and even father doesn’t have one.We shoot deer on horseback, sometimes boar and pheasant. All things you will be able to do when you stop snapping your bowstring at my arm.

Keep calling me that and I’ll keep doing it, Didkins!

She laughed and snapped her bowstring once more. And by God and all his divine creation, Merydydd could never forget that laugh.

A gentle tap on their shoulder brought the esquire back to reality. Most of the guests and the royal family had left the great hall. The torches were starting to dim, and nobody was bothering to top up their grease.

Merydydd. I am assigning you to Lady Deleilun’s quarters tonight. Inside. I know it is not customary but the King insists. After tonight…

The older knight trailed off, trying to find the proper words to describe the unspeakable

Yes, Sir. His Majesty is right to worry. Nothing men want more than a woman they can’t have.

Sir Ivor placed a heavy hand on Merydydd’s shoulder.

No blunders tonight, son. If the Lady is hurt her father will have my head.

Yes, Father.

It was just past midnight when Merydydd gently opened the heavy oak door to Lady Deleilun’s room. The first thing they sensed was the warmth from the fire, which bathed the whole room in a flickering orange light. A cool autumn breeze whistled through the gaps in the window shutters, made from beautifully carved deer antlers. Deleilun’s ladies in waiting cuddled up on a soft hay mattress on the floor, while the princess herself was fast asleep in her elaborate bed, lost within the pile of pillows, blankets and a soft bearskin for warmth. Her beloved tomcat Llew paced around the bed, yellow eyes alert to any vermin that may emerge from the walls.

The young soldier propped themselves up on the window ledge and gazed out over the castle grounds, determined not to fall asleep.

It was difficult. The fire was warm. The gentle rhythmic snores of all three ladies was comforting. Merydydd took to pinching themselves every minute or so to keep awake.

A sudden rustle and the sound of tiptoed footsteps made them start and jump from their post. They spun around, ready to draw their sword.

I thought sleep would have taken you by now, soldier.

Merydydd could not decide where to look as the firelight flickered delicately across her bare skin. The only thing that covered her was the soft veil over her hair, from which dark, curly tendrils emerged. The rest of it was in two long braids that fell over her chest.

It was hard to think of the chivalrous thing to do in this moment.

Lady Deleilun squinted a little, and then smiled softly.

Didkins?

Merydydd’s face only got redder as she approached.

Hand me that dress before I freeze my tits off. Where’s all that knightly chivalry?

She teased as her old friend rushed to grab the woolen robe she had pointed out.

Merydydd finally spoke.

Do you need the chamber pot, my lady?

Deleilun shook her head and turned around, motioning to Merydydd to lace her dress up.

They did, trying not to think about the way their fingers felt brushing against her soft skin.

I’m restless. I need to go to the chapel.

It’s not safe, your highness! There’s a reason I’m here.

Come with me then. You’re armed aren’t you?

Merydydd placed a hand on the hilt of their sword and nodded. Deleilun smiled and grabbed her Didkin’s hand before they could object. The pair crept from her room, tiptoeing down the stone steps and across a small stretch or garden to the chapel.

Deleilun knelt before the altar and quickly made a sign of the cross as Merydydd tried to light one of the old, half-melted candles. The castle had a few chapels and this one was the least used. Covered in moss and ivy, it was hardly appropriate for nobility, but she liked the solitude it provided.

He finally got a flame going and sat to the side, avoiding eye contact.

Merydydd’s training for knighthood had intensified in recent years, putting a stop to their midnight adventures. Deleilun remembered all of his complaints about the weapons the squires had to train with; purposefully made to be heavier than those used in combat. They certainly did his biceps good. The presentations of proposals had given her an excuse to look at him from afar. He had grown into a fine man of honourable stoicism.

What she saw now was the Didkin she was accustomed to. Bashful, boyish charm. Hair the colour of autumn leaves, tousled by the wind that brings them. Innumerable freckles dancing in the light of burning tallow. In contrast with his muscular frame, his face was still soft. Grey-green eyes wide, with beautiful long lashes that curled upwards like new shoots.

She sighed and turned her eyes back to the wooden cross. Symbolism of the Son of Man aside, it was a calming shape. So simple. Drawing the eyes in a repetitive motion.

Do you think I’ll miss out, Didkin? On copulation, that is.

He replied without looking up from the candle flame.

I wouldn’t know, my lady.

She raised her eyebrows.

Really? Young handsome squire like yourself?

His cheeks flushed at her compliment and he turned his face upward, away from the candlelight so as to hide it. Once it subsided, he turned to meet her expectant gaze for the first time that night.

It’s not that simple, Deleilun.

He whispered. She could not help but smile slightly at his use of her first name. Just as he used to do in the days when they would play in the paddock, muddy from spring rain. Running and tripping and rolling and wrestling, alongside the other children of the noble households and the hunting hounds.

You remember picking llygad y dydd for me? Almost every day, in the seasons that they grew. The little white ones?

He nodded.

You are a good man, Didkin. You always have been.

Didkin looked at the cross, then at Deleilun, then back at the cross.

There is something I must show you, Deleilun.

He sighed, voice quivering a little as he slowly crossed himself. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. He then stood up, kicked his boots off and started pulling his trousers and leggings off as well. Once those were off he gathered the clothing covering his top half, and lifted it up over his chest as his friend looked on, alarmed.

Goodness Merydydd what-

Look, Deleilun. Please just look.

Her eyes scanned his form, every curve and crevice more pronounced in the yellow candlelight. She was about to ask, what injury warranted the swaths of bandages around his chest, when her gaze landed in between his sturdy thighs. No phallus extended from the bramble bush of pubic hair.

Put your clothes on before you catch your death, you sheep’s dick.

Merydydd nervously put their clothes back on, never taking their gaze off Deleilun. She had turned back towards the altar, lips pursed in thought.

I’m sorry, your highness… I… should not have … I can explain …

Deleilun smiled slightly and shook her head

You can’t surprise me with much, Didkins.

Father’s mother, somewhat prophetic. Before she died, told mama she would birth a girl destined to be a knight… I suppose that’s me.

Deleilun turned to face them, grabbing both his hands.

Are you a girl though, Didkins?

Merydydd bit their lip as the princess continued

When I was born, so many thought, from the way that I looked, that I could never be my father’s daughter. Some people still fear that. Even I don’t know the truth.

He sighed.

The truth is I don’t feel a woman. But I am no man either: only as much man as it takes to pick a lady’s favourite flowers.

And teach her to ride? And handle a bow?

Deleilun added, smiling as she made little circles around his knuckles with her thumbs.

She giggled as she met eyes with the squire and pulled him closer. Merydydd smiled slightly, already feeling the rumoured pull of her peat-bog eyes.

#tales of guineida #fancy rambles #short story #butch femme

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rabbitcruiser · 17 days

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National Strawberries and Cream Day

Add the perfect mix of sweet and creamy to your celebrations this National Strawberries and Cream Day, which is held each year on May 21. Fresh strawberries and cream is a great treat to indulge in on a hot day. Plus, as these lovely red berries are in season in May, it is also National Strawberry Month.

History of National Strawberries and Cream Day

Strawberries have been traced back to the Roman Empire. Ancient Romans believed this fruit alleviated symptoms of melancholy, fainting, inflammation, fevers, throat infections, kidney stones, bad breath, attacks of gout, as well as diseases of the blood, liver, and spleen. However, food historians think the Greeks knew about strawberries even before this.

The fruit was also a symbol of wealth and luxury in Victorian England. As they were a perishable food, strawberries were only available in season, increasing their demand. After evolving into a luxury, they began to be served during afternoon tea among the wealthy.

History also tells the tale of how this fruit’s harvest and availability coincided with the Wimbledon tournaments, which is as much about strawberries and cream as it is about tennis. While we still don’t know exactly how this dessert became such an integral part of Wimbledon, some sources credit King George V as the one who introduced this delicious treat to the tennis tournament. Some believe the seasonality and popularity of these red berries played a part in it becoming Wimbledon’s snack of choice.

As for how this quintessentially British dish came to be, stories of its origin say Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, a close confidant to King Henry VIII, was the brains behind it. King Henry VIII’s court fed approximately 600 hungry lords and ladies twice a day. The chef there came up with the idea to pair sweet strawberries and clotted cream together in a dessert that did not require cooking, and voila, a delicious treat was born! Another version of this story says Cardinal Wolsey mixed these two ingredients at a royal banquet, and whatever the royals ate instantly became fashionable. It was even customary for newlyweds to eat strawberries and cream for their wedding breakfast!

National Strawberries and Cream Day timeline

1509 The First Time this Dish was Served

According to rumor, strawberries and cream are first served together by Cardinal Thomas Wolsey at a banquet during Henry VIII's reign.

1550 Its Popularity is Going Strong

Tudor traveler Andrew Boorde publishes an ode to this dish, saying, “Rawe crayme undecocted, eaten with strawberyes or hurtes (whortleberry, bilberry) is a rurall mannes blanket. I have knowen such blankettes hath put men in jeoperdy of theyr lyves.”

Late 18th century First Cultivated Garden Strawberry

What we now call the 'garden strawberry' is first cultivated in this period, in Brittany, France.

1877 Offered at the First Wimbledon Tournament

200 spectators at Wimbledon court are offered strawberries and cream.

2012 Tesco Launches a New Sandwich

British retail company Tesco launches a strawberry and clotted cream sandwich, made of slices of berries between two cream-layered pieces of white poppy seed bread, with a dollop of strawberry jam — this is no longer on the market.

National Strawberries and Cream Day FAQs

Is there a National Strawberry Day?

Each year, on February 27, America celebrates National Strawberry Day.

What months are strawberries in season?

As it is grown in varied locations around the world, strawberries are said to be in season from January to November.

Are strawberries hybrid?

A strawberry is actually a multiple fruit that is many tiny individual fruits embedded into one. Cultivated strawberries, which are hybrids of two parent species, can adapt to different weather and growth conditions.

What is National Strawberry Ice Cream Day?

National Strawberry Ice Cream Day is celebrated on January 15, to pay tribute to one of the choicest flavors of ice cream.

How To Celebrate National Strawberries and Cream Day

Make it, of course!

Read up on the history

Learn the different ways strawberries can be used

Cook a special strawberry and cream dessert your way. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, or even tea. If you want to mix things up further, you can add a little granola for texture, drizzle some chocolate sauce on top, flavor your whipped cream with amaretto liqueur, or even sprinkle some brown sugar on top. You can even channel your inner chef and create a trifle with alternating layers of strawberry, cream, and sweet pastry.

This day gives us a great chance to learn more about the strawberry and how this tempting treat came to be. Reading about the stories that (maybe) led to the creation of this dish, we see how cuisines from around the world can eliminate boundaries and borders.

Preserves! Jams! And much more … this one fruit can be turned into many versatile dishes to satisfy every sweet craving you ever had. Save some for celebrating National Strawberries and Cream Day, while the rest can be used in multiple different ways, as per your needs (or the demands of your taste buds).

5 Fun Facts About Strawberries

The only fruit with seeds on the outside

They herald the spring

They give your workout a little boost

They help your teeth look good too!

They are all over the world

A single strawberry has around 200 seeds, and each one has the genetic potential to become a new variety — that’s why breeders can develop so many varieties.

Strawberries ring in the spring season — in a way, they are the first fruit to ripen during this season.

Strawberries are rich in nitrates, and a study shows people who ate such foods before exercising burned 100 more calories than those who did not.

The fruity acids in these berries help remove stains, which can help whiten your teeth.

These berries are grown around the world and boast more than 600 variants.

Why We Love National Strawberries and Cream Day

Ode to the versatile fruit

This day promotes in-season eating

It makes us happy

We use this day as another excuse to worship this summer fruit. Refreshingly sweet (and sometimes a teeny bit tart), strawberries mixed with clotted and sour cream are a match made in heaven. We would happily celebrate every day as Strawberries and Cream Day if we could. Not only do they tickle our taste buds, but strawberries also bring us so many health benefits. From boosting immunity to increasing HDL (good cholesterol) and lowering blood pressure, strawberries provide us with an array of health benefits.

This day is celebrated in a month when these berries are in season, promoting sustainability and better consumer habits. Not only is in-season produce better for your health — a strawberry grown in May tastes much richer than one artificially ripened in another season — it also helps fulfill your body's needs as per the season's requirements. Plus, buying local is great for the environment, too. Think of how much fuel emissions you are reducing when you buy food that did not have to travel very far to get to you!

Popping these sweet and sometimes tart red fruits into our mouths is tantamount to a taste of happiness. Really! Strawberries are very rich in vitamin C, which is responsible for the production of endorphins in our brain, the hormone that makes you feel happy.

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