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charlie-lec-stories · 4 months

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A lovely mess // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Summary: Four times Charles overreacted to becoming a father and one he actually failed to react. Or Charles being a mess through the best and most scary adventure of his life.

Warnings: None, this is pure wholesomeness.

Author’s Note: This one was inspired by some stories my own dad and uncle told me about the times they had their first children. Yes, some of those stories are based on things my father did when him and my mom were expecting me hahahaha. Rate: PG

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Every man reacts differently to pregnancy, but the most common response is just simply becoming a mess of a human being. And because of that, Charles, for once in his life, could be considerer an average man. He had been exceptional his whole life: excellent student at school, talented in arts, languages and sports, remarkable people skills and loved by everyone. People assumed that he was going to be an exceptional father too, and he knew he was committed to the role since day one, but none of that made the experience less scary. The monegasque had always want kids, he had always pictured himself growing old with a woman he loved and raising a bunch of little humans. When he knocked up his girlfriend he was definitely not planning on becoming a father so soon in his life, but he was happy nonetheless. His history with his girlfriend was kind of complicated too, her family didn't like him much, or more precisely the fact that Charles' job made her travel around the globe, away from her family all the time. He knew that he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone in his life, he knew that every time he pictured himself in the future, that future was shared with her, but it would be a lie if he'd say that the pregnancy didn't complicate things. His in-laws weren't too happy when they found out and Charles' mother was kind of worried about the whole situation. But Charles and his girl loved that little "accident" more than life itself and they actually never cared too much about anyone else's opinions. He convinced his girlfriend to move in with him and she also agreed on keep traveling with him until she ultimately had to stay home for the baby's safety.

"Is six weeks really that bad, Amour? I mean, maybe you're jet lagged or something". Charles nervously wondered from sitting at the bottom of the bed, his girl anxiously pacing around the room.

"That's not how periods work, Charlie". She was trying to stay calm and not bark at him, but that was a difficult task.

"Then let's buy a test and find out". He got up and started walking to the door when she grabbed his arm.

"Wait! You can't just go to a pharmacy and buy a test!". She looked at him like he was insane.

"Why not?". If there was someone humble enough to always forget he's rich and famous, that was Charles.

"Because you're Charles fucking Leclerc, that's why!". She let go of his arm and ran her hand down her face, exasperated. "The press is going to have a field day if you do that".

"Shit, you're right". He sighed and his shoulders sunk. He could see her shaking, scared and stressed and all he wanted to do was give her answers so she could get some peace of mind. "I'm sorry, Amour, I just don't know what to do".

"Let's call Lorenzo, maybe Charlotte can buy it for us".

He watched her take care of everything: call his brother, open the door for him and Charlotte, explain the situation, decide over test brands with his sister in law, drink loads of water, all while he sat on the couch, his mind running faster than he had ever drove his Ferrari. How could she think so clearly even with how scared she was? What would he do if the test was positive? What if she didn't want to keep the baby? Why was he feeling so sad with the mere idea of the test turning up negative? Was he really ready to be a father? There were so many questions and so little answers. He could hear Charlotte walk out the door and his girlfriend go their room, he clearly felt his older brother sit by his side on the couch, but he just couldn't move. Lorenzo said something Charles never caught, too drown inside his own head.

"I really want this baby, Enzo". Was all he let out and his brother just squeezed his shoulder.

Charlotte came back pretty fast, a paper bag with at least five different tests for his girl to do. The older woman explained the younger which ones were more effective so they could compare the results later. The possible future mother lock herself into the bathroom while the other three waited outside. Charles felt like he waited for an eternity before she came out with the five little white sticks. She placed them over a napkin on the coffee table and Lorenzo set the timer. Now, they had to wait again. She was sitting on the same couch he was before, looking at everything but the tests in front of her, so he sat down and took her hand in his, hoping for the contact to be enough to ease her thoughts. He wasn't exactly the epitome of calmness and the sweat that covered his hand made it hard to grip at. She looked at him and smiled, she knew that he was going to be there for them, no matter what, but she was still scared of what he would think, she still needed to know if he really wanted this. Still, she refrained from asking and simply rested her head on his shoulder, searching for comfort on his scent. She had her eyes closed when she suddenly flew to the other side of the couch while Charles' loud yelp filled her ears.

"What the fuck was that?". She looked around, trying to find what could have startled him so much to trow her like that, but all she could see was Charles clumsily trying to grab one of the tests while his feet barely kept him up. She had never seen him so uncoordinated in the two years they had been together. His fingers had a mind of their own and his legs were trembling.

"Two lines, this one has two lines". Charles, who had been quiet and petrified for the past hour, was mumbling like a madman as he showed his brother one of the tests. In the background, the alarm set by Lorenzo started ringing and they all looked down at the coffee table, searching for the lines of truth. Charles grabbed the the tests smiling wide as he showed them to the others. "THEY ALL HAVE TWO LINES". He was hyperventilating, his whole body shaking and Lorenzo couldn't help but let out his loudest laugh as he watched his younger brother loose the little bits of sanity he had. "CAN YOU SEE IT, BABY?!". He shoved the sticks into his girlfriend's face. "It's a baby! We made a baby! Putain de merde! I'm going to be a Papa!".

"Yes, Charlie! I see it!". She said sharing his enthusiasm. But then she saw him go pale really fast. He walked backwards a few steps and Lorenzo caught him from behind before he could fall butt first on the ground.

"Okay, I think you need to process this rollercoaster of emotions while sitting on the couch, Cha". The older Leclerc helped his bother to sit down next to the now confirmed future mama. There, Charles took her hand and smiled, a high-like expression covering his eyes. He may be scared, but he had never been happier.

If Charles' reaction to the pregnancy was that chaotic, it was a sure thing that the following nine months would be as well. Before the first trimester was up, he had already brought another house to move to, where the baby could have their own room and a playroom. He brought every piece of Ferrari merchandizing he could find on the internet, he didn't even care if it was original or not. Was it pretty? Yes. Was it Ferrari? Yes. Then he was buying it. His girlfriend even went to the extent of taking away his cards and threatened with getting rid of wifi to make him stop. He didn't, took her extension in the middle of the night and kept binge-shopping for his baby at 4 am. He brought furniture for the bedroom and the playroom, and then he found his biggest rival till the day. A rival he wanted to beat more than Max Verstappen: a crib. She wasn't even showing and he was already putting a crib together, or let's rephrase it, fighting with the crib and losing pathetically.

"Cela n'a aucun sens". (This makes no sense). He complained while he tried to attach what was supposed to be 'Part B' to 'Part 3.1'. Why there was a part 3.1, he didn't know and was too stress out to try and figure it out. He growled, he literally growled when the whole crib came crushing down in front of him. "Je déteste cette merde". (I hate this shit).

"Charlie? What's wrong? I heard a loud noise". He looked at the mother of his child and all he could feel was embarrassment. "Are you alright?".

"Yes. I'm fine". He answered from the floor, looking at his lap. He wanted to cry, but he also didn't want to upset her.

"Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?". She sat next to him on the floor and searched for his eyes, but he kept looking away from her. "What is it, Charles?".

"I-". He tried to start talking, but he was cut off by his own sob. She quickly made him turn towards her, looking for injuries, but he seemed to be physically fine. She saw the tears running down his face and did the best she could to wipe the away. Moving to sit on his lap, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself flat against him, trying to get as close as she could. He cried on her shoulder, soaking her his hoodie and crushing her with his arms around her waist. They stayed like that for a while, until Charles stopped crying. She scratched his head to calm him down and after some time, he did. In a painfully soft whisper, he admitted his fear to her. "I'm going to be a terrible Papa".

"Don't say that. We both know that's not true". Shushing him, she pulled away and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Is this about the crib?".

"I've been fighting this crib for four days. Our baby is going to sleep on the floor and it's all my fault". She laughed and for a moment, she regretted it, seeing the hurt in his eyes. She calmed down and pecked his lips.

"Charlie, our baby has barely formed their ears yet, you have more than enough time to figure this out". He didn't look convinced at all.

"But what if I don't?". She smiled at him.

"I know you will. Do you want to know why?". He nodded and she ran her fingers through his hair to move it away from his face, so they could look into each others eyes and make him believe her. "Because you already are the best Papa in the world, Charles".

He won against the crib just in time to catch up with the worst part of the cravings period. They were into the fourth month of pregnancy and the little bump was proudly starting to show. Charles couldn't keep his hands away from it. He was constantly touching the bump, kissing the bump, talking to the bump, even scolding the bump whenever he saw some discomfort tinting his girlfriend's face. In the paddock he practically forced her to go everywhere with him and on interviews he answered every question while looking at her. He insisted on people staying at least ten centimeters away from her and he even took upon himself the task of preparing every meal she ate, just to make sure that it was safe and she didn't get food poisoned. He checked places' and foods' temperatures, chairs' and couches' safety, if her shoes were properly tied (at least 20 times a day), the only thing missing was him wrapping her on bobble wrapping. He safety proofed the every hotel room they stayed in so she wouldn't 'accidentally hit the bump against unknown furniture in the dark'. At some point, she had to put a stop to the madness, specially when Charles' newly-daddy paranoia messed with her cravings.

"Amour, what are you eating?". He asked when he caught her hiding with Lando and Max behind the Red Bull garage, a massive greasy half eaten hot dog on her hands. Lando was opening a mayonnaise sachet with his teeth and Max was feeding her french fries with his bare hands, all three of them sitting on the floor. It wasn't exactly the most sanitary situation, but the fuzzy feeling she felt inside her chest thanks to that hot dog made it all worth it. Charles could swear he had an aneurysm just by the sight of it all. "Where did you get that?".

"Uhm...". Her and Lando looked at Max, waiting for him to answer, since he was the one who brought it.

"Well... It's from a professional, I can assure you that, Charles". The monegasque frowned and Max swallowed, scared, just to find out his mouth was completely dry. He wasn't an easily scared guy, but something about Charles' over-protective-dad mood just terrified him.

"And where's the professional's place? Can you show me?". Max, still sitting on the floor, looked at everything but Charles.

"Oh, you see-".

"It's from the stand outside of the paddock". Lando blurted out, followed by him covering his mouth with both his hands and the three of them heard Charles growl.

"Max did you just feed my pregnant girlfriend a hot dog from a dirty street-stand? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THE PERSON WASHES THEIR HANDS-"

"They definitely don't, I mean, they don't have where to".

"Lando, you're not helping me, mate". Max advised, not moving his eyes from the fuming Charles above him. Then the pregnant girl decided to intervene.

"Charlie, babe, it's okay. I asked him to buy it for me". Charles then looked at her, his gaze softening a little, but still angry.

"Amour, you know that's not good for you". He walked to her and hooked his arms under hers to help her off the floor.

"But the baby wanted it". Max still followed Charles, afraid of what the future father could do to him for messing with his unborn baby's diet. Lando stayed very still, hoping to make himself invisible. "I was just craving this so bad! And you never let me have this type of food. The baby is fine, I promise".

"Don't do that face, it's not fair". He complained when she gave him her best puppy eyes. She didn't stop, and he finally dropped the attitude. "Okay, maybe we can make some room for a hot dog once in a while. But you have to keep eating healthy, we don't want the little Tifosi to come out malnourished".

"Yay!". She squealed and hugged him tight, the hot dog almost falling from her hand. Charles hugged her back and then directed his gaze towards the other two drivers.

"And you two". Max and Lando looked at him wide-eyed. "This better be the last time you pull off something like this. Did I make myself clear?".

"Yes, sir". Both said at the same time and got up from the floor.

"Okay, go on. And think about what you did". They nodded their heads, Max handing the girl the fries and then walking away with Lando.

"I like you daddy-voice". Charles shrugged at her comment.

"Amour, don't call it that or I won't be able to use it without laughing".

Charles' paranoia got better. He calmed down a little, but then the fear of being a bad father came back. Around the seventh month, already knowing they were having a boy, Charles found himself with insomniac. At the beginning of the pregnancy he was scared of not knowing what to do to take care of a baby's basic needs: bottle feed, change diapers, help him to sleep, and things like that. But as the date of the delivery got closer, Charles' fears shifted to the more existential type. What if he was unable to guide his son through life? What if he failed on teaching him good values and a strong sense of ethics? What if he ended up raising a spoiled kid, arrogant and narcissistic? What if he couldn't make his boy happy? What if his kid hated him? Those questions kept him up at night, turning over and over on the bed, and cold sweat covering his body. He would walk to the baby's room and look at the painting his girlfriend did on the walls, the name 'Jules' written on lilac on a clear sky, over the race track so carefully crafted. What if his son didn't want to race cars? What if he was forcing him to do so when he wasn't even born? Sitting on the rocking chair, he would look out the window, the yachts at the bay clearly visible from there. What if his son didn't like Monaco? What if his son would rather adopt his mother's nationality and culture over his? The dark sky adorned with shinny little dots would look back at him without answers.

"Charlie? Why are you up, love?". He heard his girl's sleepy voice call out to him from the doorway. He smiled at her, his eyes glossy as he fought the tears that wanted to escape.

"Just thinking, Amour. Don't worry". He gave her his best smile, but she could read his real feelings underneath it. "Go back to bed, I'll join you in a minute".

"I think we love each other enough to cut the bullshit, babe". She walked further into the room and stopped in front of him, her big belly at his face's height, and he couldn't help but reach forward and kiss it. "What is it?"

"It's... it's just a lot and it's late. Don't worry, really-"

"Charles, I'm not sleeping until I'm convinced that you're alright". He sighed, and pulled her to his lap. The weight was a little bit more than what he was used to, but he loved that, it made it impossible for him to overlook the fact that his baby was there, with them. He made her rest her back against his chest and rocked he chair, hugging her tight against him and resting his chin over her shoulder. They both looked out of the window and she patiently waited for him to tell her what was going on inside his mind.

"I'm scared. I feel this huge responsibility over Jules". She smiled, loving whenever they talked about their baby using the name they choose for him. "I just want to be a good Papa, but I'm so scared of messing up, of making the wrong choices, of using the wrong words, of leading him in the wrong direction. What if I don't raise him right? If I'm not a good role model?"

"Well, you're not alone in this, Charlie, I'm with you till the end of the line. Like Bucky and Steve. I know that we'll be alright. I just know it". She sounded so sure of herself. He wished he could be that sure about everything.

"How do you do it? How do you manage to always be so sure and composed?". She laughed and he felt the baby kick under his palm, he always kicked when she laughed.

"I've been the least composed person and you know it, Charlie! I break down crying at least five times a day. You've seen that! You're the one who comforts me every time". He laughed softly, that was true, those had been some pretty crazy seven months. A true rollercoaster of emotions. And they still had two more months to go. "I know that we'll be alright because we're already asking ourselves these questions. Because we care about Jules so much that we truly take time to think things through. We are going to be alright because we love our baby and we both know we will always do the best we can for him. We won't let the bad choices from our parents be repeated and we'll make sure to copy the best from them to give to Jules. That's why I'm so sure". She turned to look at him for a moment. "I trust you to be the dad of my baby because I know how great of a human being you are, Charles".

"I love you". He said, feeling a lot better. He kissed her tenderly, and then another kick was felt under his hand. "Thanks for being here for me, Amour".

"Always, just as you had always been for me". She nuzzled her nose against his. Another kick and they both laughed. "Let's go back to bed, Papa".

The two months passed by in a blink. Charles asked Ferrari to give him a leave of absence for the first two races of the season. He wanted to be world champion, but he would rather be there when his son was born. Ferrari let him take his time, but Jules decided to be born at eight and a half months. It seemed like he couldn't wait to meet his parents, because everything happened so fast that Charles had barely had any time to react. They were having lunch at his mother's house, and he was having the best time. His girl looked amazing, all radiant and happy, her belly covered by a cute but comfortable dress, his sisters in law both touching the belly and fighting for godmother duties. Lorenzo and Charlotte were definitely the chosen ones, but they hadn't tell anyone yet, after all both Lorenzo and Charlotte were there for them when they needed them. His mother was showing him little clothes that she had crocheted for Jules and his brothers discussing which one was going to be the 'responsible uncle' and who the 'funcle'. Arthur was definitely unable to be the responsible one, so he was already chosen to be the 'funcle'. Every conversation was cut short when the faint voice of the future mama rang through the air.

"Charlie". Her shaken voice called out, and he turned around to see what she needed. There was a wet patch under her and she was grabbing her belly, a painful expression on her face. "I think my water broke".

"The baby is coming!". Arthur shouted excitedly, but Charles' brain just stopped functioning. He saw everyone running around to grab things, Charlotte and Carla helping his girl out of the house and towards his car, Lorenzo grabbing the baby bag the carried around just in case since the beginning of the last trimester, Arthur pushing him outside and his mother speaking, but he just couldn't move. H was petrified. He felt like his blood pressure had dropped in a second and if it wasn't for Arthur behind him, he would have certainly fallen to the ground. His mother took his car keys out of his pocket and then they pushed him on the back seat, next to his girlfriend. Her hand crushing his brought him back from his outer-body state and he was able to react, turning to face her and running his other hand down her arm, doing his best to sooth her.

"It's okay, mon amour. Breath, breath with me". He instructed her and he started to exaggerate his breathing so she could copy her. She did and that calmed her down enough to count the seconds between one contraction and the next. "That's it, Amour, you're doing so good". He praised her and she smiled a little, her happy expression cut short by another waive of pain. She screamed and cried, sweat covering her forehead and running down her face, mixing with her tears. It was probably the most messy she had ever looked, but he had never seen her as beautiful as in that moment. "I love you so much". He whispered it, but by the squeeze she gave to his hand, he knew for sure she was saying it back. "We're almost there, hung on a little longer".

He almost carried her out of the car and into the hospital the second Arthur parked the car. Then, they found out that she was ready to deliver in that second. Jules didn't want them to keep him waiting, she was brought to the delivery room and Charles was given surgical gown so he could join her. Inside, the whole process was quick, in 30 minutes, Jules was crying on the doctors arms and Charles could feel his heart skip a beat. Wrapped on towel and with the small hat they had for him on, Jules was passed on to his mother, who took him instantly while she cried her eyes out. Charles, still on delay with reality, was trying to process the information. That was his baby, he was finally there, he could finally touch him. The doctor walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, Charles couldn't stop looking at his girl and little Jules. He heard a softly "go ahead, meet your boy", and that was enough for him to place a shaking and gentle hand on Jules' head. He ran his thumb over the soft little cheek and the tears started to fall. He felt his girl's hand wipe away his tears and heard her laugh softly. She just found funny that after overreacting about every little thing for the past eight months, Charles was barely able to react that day. He was a mess in that moment, but he was the perfect mess in her eyes. The most extraordinary mess. He finally smiled and reached down to kiss her head, then he looked at Jules.

"I am your Papa, Jules. I love you. I'm so happy to finally meet you".

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I hope you guys liked this one!

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader

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chrollohearttags · 3 months

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long winded ass post I contemplated not writing but did it anyways. read if you’d like or ignore lmao.

so I feel as though this kind of goes without saying but a lot has changed on tumblr and the vibe has shifted a lot, sadly, not for the better either :/ I thought about this for a while and although last week, I was not posting any new content due to the strike, I’ve decided to step away from writing in general after this month. I could sit here and go on a tangent about how it’s the ‘algorithm’ and ‘dying fandoms’ but to me, this boils down to the fact that I refuse to exhaust myself to be unappreciated + disrespected. That’s not to say I’m ungrateful to everyone who reblogs and comments on my works all the time because I am incredibly grateful! I love each of you and I look forward to reading your tags/thoughts. However, it’s not lost on me that the anime fandom in general is becoming shrouded in toxicity and many of us are being pushed away. We’re in an age where people are seen as content machines and not humans so others feel entitled to their art and feel no need to be kind, understanding or empathetic to that person’s feelings. I’m not wasting my time trying to teach people manners that they should’ve learned a long time ago. I refuse to share my craft with people like that. And to say the quietest part out loud: y’all don’t want black writers around, PERIOD. One scroll through the dash shows that much. As someone who’s written primarily for AOT (not changing btw) and specifically the black side of the fandom, it’s almost laughable at the extreme lengths that ppl have gone through to see it be erased. And I don’t mean getting fics hit with labels or reporting (that failed so they switched to plan B.) since I began back writing in 2020-21, it was obvious that it was the most popular among black girls and I remember ppl telling me to write for them. Hell, it’s the sole reason I even watched. Needless to say, I fell in love with the show and it holds a special place in my heart. However, I realized I didn’t need any of the original material. Not only that, in all the years I’ve been writing, it’s the first time I’ve seen so many black girls resonating and happy with a group of characters. It was the first and only time I’ve seen stories where I didn’t feel as though them being a black character was a hidden secret or toned down to appeal to others (no shade). It was in my face and proud, even if I didn’t personally resonate with the reader or concept of the story. It still felt good coming from a fandom where I was literally the ONLY black writer in it. Fast forward and I clearly see that now, it’s not welcomed. We could sit here and blame it on non-blk (yt) having the problems but that’s a load of bullshit and the only enemies we have are one another. It’s been other black writers who have littered the tags with discourse abt the same stupid topic to avoid new fics being seen. It’s been other black writers who have switched fandoms when they were no longer the ONLY ones bc coexisting is just too damn hard apparently. It’s been other black authors who have made it blatantly clear that they are only interested in seeing and creating stories that are palatable to other races so they won’t be perceived in a negative light or to be seen as one of the ‘good ones’. Even down to not using black reader tags or avoiding coded language. So much so, they are comfortable laughing at anti-black rhetoric being pushed on other apps so as long as their new favs are not the brunt of the joke.

I’m not here to tell anybody how or what to write. I’m not here to say you ONLY have to like one show but what I am saying is that i will NOT be spending hours and days agonizing over a fic for it to be minimized to a joke for a bitch on TikTok. I will not spend the little free time I have trying to crunch and finish a fic for it not do well but watch y’all pile in my mentions to argue over nonsense. And I won’t sit here and watch y’all purposely try to run other black writers away bc they don’t fit ur aesthetic. Fiction is fiction and whether you resonate with it or not, it’s expression. I’m a boring ass country bumpkin from the middle of nowhere, Florida who’s got social anxiety, chronically ill, neurodivergent and is in bed by 10:00. I don’t smoke, never had sex and I literally never leave the house unless I’m grocery shopping. I never have and never will live the life of any of my characters, even the most tame ones. But I write for EVERY black girl and want everyone of them to be seen. The one space where that seems to be allowed is obviously not welcomed anymore. Arguing and trying to defend ourselves against people who are committed to misunderstanding us is pointless. Minimizing us down to ‘baby mama’, ‘hoodrat’ fics, simply bc you no longer like certain characters (many of which you all were writing for not too long ago) is quite frankly clown and coon ass behavior. Watching y’all become enraged by tropes that are used by ever race, every fandom, etc but turning the blind eye bc it suits ur narrative is fucking hypocritical and laughable at best.

I’m not insecure in my writing. Never have been and never will be. I know I pour everything I have into creating the best work I can and it’s for that reason that I won’t allow it to be treated like trash. I have over 250 drafts in my Google docs and best believe, that’s where they’ll stay until I see fit. Although I know it’ll probably mean leaving the last place I have any sense of community and social interaction in general, it’s not worth coming on here angry everyday in defense mode. Its not worth getting out of my character over and I rather just not be around if it means I have to play mean girl. My mind may change and all of this will just have been me getting shit off my chest but as of right now, this account will be archived come February 28th. Thank you to everybody who’s supported me this far and gave me a safe space. I love all of you so very much and hope that we can enjoy the rest of this month together 🫶🏾 🤍

#cherry chats 🍒#tw rant #tw discourse #tw long post #happy black history month lmao #writing #fanfic writer

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mariposa-writes · 8 months

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Tears of Joy

Pairing: Captain John Price x wife!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Overview: John thinks you're pregnant, you don't agree.

CW: infertility, self blame, angst to fluff, john being an amazing husband

Author's Note: Please repost, comment, and like. It means the world to me! Let me know what you think and if there are any corrections i need to make. It's like 3am so I'm sure I messed up somewhere lol

Part 2

Price held your hair back, hand rubbing your back as you threw up in the toilet. This was the third morning in a row that you’d woken up and ran straight to the bathroom. After you’d brushed your teeth and took a shower you meet your husband John in the kitchen.

You scrunched your nose, “What’s that smell?” You asked, trying to figure out what John was cooking.

“Eggs and bacon.” He said as he placed a plate in front of you. You looked at it with uncertainty, before pushing it away from you. “Not hungry, sorry.” You mumbled, not wanting to hurt John’s feelings after he made you breakfast.

Truthfully the thought of eating right now made you nauseous. Which was weird considering you loved eggs and bacon. Actually you loved all things breakfast, you could eat breakfast for every meal.

It was one of the things John loved about you. “Do you want me to make you something else?” John asked, worry apparent in his eyes.

You could always figure out how John was feeling just by looking at his eyes. He showed more than he realized, and after being married for three years it was easy to read him.

You sighed, shacking your head no. “I think I’m just gonna go lay down, I’m still not feeling well.” You got up from the table, placing a kiss on John’s cheek before heading for your shared bedroom.

John watched you retreat to your room. He was starting to get more worried by the day. He found it odd that you were sick, considering that you never got sick. He’d known you for 5 years and only once had you come down with the flu and even then you pushed through, not letting it stop you. Until he basically forced you to rest and give your body time to recover.

He ran a hand down his face, not wanting to think about what could be wrong. After he cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher he went to lay down with you.

You were curled up in bed, as he climbed in next to you. Molding his body to yours, and pulling you close. His arm around your stomach. You nestled into him even more, just wanting to be close to your husband.

He traced patterns into your arm as you worked on falling asleep. “Babe?” He questioned unsure if you were asleep.

You hummed, letting him know that you were listening. “Do you think you could be pregnant?” He was hesitant to bring up the question, but it was eating away at him as he laid there with you.

“No.” You answered, already wanting the conversation to be over. You should’ve pretended to be asleep.

“When was the last time you had your period.”

You shrugged your shoulders, ever since you were a teen your period had been irregular. Your gyno had warned you that it might mess with your fertility, making it harder to have kids in the future. You’d warned John when you’d gotten together and again when things got more serious.

He told you that it didn’t matter as long as he had you.

Despite all that it didn’t make it any easier, every time you had to look at a negative pregnancy test. You knew John wanted and family and so did you and no matter how much John reassured you that it wasn’t your fault and he was fine with it just being the two of you it didn’t help lessen the sting.

After a while John started to notice the toll it was taking on you. After every negative you seemed to lose more and more of the light that shined in your eyes. He hated seeing how you seemed to be deteriorating no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

Eventually the two of you stopped buying pregnancy tests and dropped the subject all together. It’d been almost a year since you last took a test and John noticed how you seemed lighter without the subject hanging over you head.

“What if you just take one test?” John suggested. You heaved out a breath throwing the covers off of you.

“No, nothings going to change. It’s going to be negative.” He could tell you were growing irritated. He could tell you just wanted to drop the subject, but something about this time felt different. He had hope which was something he hadn’t had in a quite some time.

“Where are you going?” He asked, getting up to follow.

“A walk.” You said as you slipped on your shoes and a hoodie. “Don’t follow me.” You said before slamming the front door shut.

You knew it wasn’t fair to John, but you hadn’t thought about having a child in a long time. You’d given up on the idea. You knew it was just as hard for John, but he wasn’t the one that had to feel like a failure every time a test came back negative.

He never blamed you, but it didn’t matter. You blamed yourself and that was enough. Even the doctors said everything was fine, when John insisted on getting his sperm count checked.

You were the problem, you were the reason you would never have a family.

John should’ve married someone that could’ve given him children, not you. You were standing in the way of his dreams.

These were the thoughts that made it difficult to get through the day. You felt bad for being rude to John, but sometimes it was easier to avoid the problem than confront it head on.

You finally returned to the house once it started to drizzle. John was waiting on the porch swing, making sure you got back okay.

He didn’t say anything as you entered the house, deciding to stay put and give you your space. He wanted to comfort you, but he knew that sometimes you liked to deal with stuff on your own and when you were ready you would come to him.

A few minutes later the door was opening. You handed him a container with yellow liquid in it. “Here.” You handed him the container.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but if it’s negative don’t tell me and don’t bring the test in the house and after this I don’t want you to bring it up again. I’m sorry for being rude earlier, but it just hurts to much.” He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into his chest.

“Thank you baby, I love you no matter what.” He kissed you, “You know that right?”

“I know, I love you too. Now go.” You said ushering him off the porch. As much as you tried not to get your hopes up, you secretly hoped he’d tell you the results. You hoped he’d bring the test into the house and you hoped he’d get to bring up the subject again.

You were in the living room, tidying up while trying to keep your mind busy when John returned. You didn’t even have time to process that he was home before he was picking you up and spinning you in a circle.

He had the biggest smile on his face as he kissed you. Butterflies appeared in your stomach, you didn’t even have to ask if the test was positive. You could tell by his reaction, the whole world would be able to tell if they were watching the two of you. After what felt like hours he set you down, his arms still holding you close to him.

“It was positive.” He beamed, as he stared down at you. The smile he had on his face might’ve beat the one he had on your wedding day. You didn’t even have time to respond, before his lips were on yours again.

You hadn’t felt this happy in such a long time and it was like this weight was instantly lifted off your chest. He kissed you over and over again, before breaking away. “Oh my god, I have to tell the team!” He was so giddy that it made you want to cry.

The pure joy radiating off of him, brought tears to your eyes. “Wait, why are you crying?” He asked, instantly becoming worried. He wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t know, I’m not sad. I’m happy, so happy.” This time you kissed him, bring him down to your level. You pulled back, “They’re tears of joy.” You laughed.

This right here was everything you ever wanted.

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bobgasm · 8 months

Text

bleeding love | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 2050 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], period sex, menstrual sex, reader has their period, vaginal fingering, p in v, fluff, they’re a mess

summary: in which bob loves you no matter the day of month

author’s note: i hope u guys are filthy other wise this gonna be awkward

oneshot | masterlist

You held the heat pad to your stomach, lying down on the couch while you watched shitty movies and picked all the chocolate out of the pack of trail mix.

Bob had been gone for a week and was due back tomorrow, and of course your period had started two days ago. You’d had the usual cramping leading up to actually getting it, and then the cravings had hit you. So you’d stocked up on a few of your favourite treats, loaded up on painkillers, and toughed out the rest of the work week.

Until the weekend came around and you could slob around the place without a care.

You’d cried yourself to sleep. The painkillers weren’t helping the cramps, and you missed your boyfriend. Your heart ached, the waterworks had started, and they didn’t stop until you were fast asleep. Wearing one of Bob’s tees and hugging his pillow, trying to pretend it was him.

Waking on Sunday morning, your mood was slightly better. Mostly because you knew that Bob would be home just after midday, which meant you could finally cuddle and kiss him instead of his pillow.

The heat pad helped ease some of your discomfort, but not by much. The cramps were the worst part of getting your period, and you’d often be doubled over in the fetal position just for any kind of reprieve from the pain.

Today was one of those days. The painkillers were barely touching the sides, and it was too much admin to try and heat the pad again. So you were curled up in a ball on the couch, unable to even reach for the tv remote to change the channel. Tears burning your eyes and leaving a hot trail down your face. Nose stuffy from the hours spent crying.

You were in pain. You missed Bob. You just wanted to be coddled through the pain. Hell, you wanted the pain to end.

He’d never seen you like this. Your relationship was new, less than three months. The first time you got your period with him, he’d run out to get you supplies. Pads, tampons, painkillers and whatever else he thought would help. He’d come back with two bags worth of goodies because he didn’t want you to be without anything, but also wanted to make sure you were okay.

You’d cried over his generosity, and he’d been a little freaked out by the reaction. Telling you he’d return everything, because apparently that’s what he took your tears to mean.

You’d explained that it was so sweet he’d done all that for you, and that’s why you were crying. But he’d cocked his head and looked at you funny, proclaiming, “do guys not do that for their women when they’re menstruating?”

You’d had to explain that for a lot of men, the concept of a period freaked them the fuck out. Some of your ex boyfriends would avoid you for that entire week, since it meant you could have sex with them.

To which he’d replied, “sure you can. It might get a little messy, but that’s half the fun. Lay a couple towels down and you’re good to go.”

His blasé reaction hadn’t shocked you, not really. But it had stirred a fire burning low in your stomach. Hidden by the painful cramps, but it was there. Lingering. Waiting for him to bring it up again, or even act on it.

You always felt ten times hornier on your period, or whenever you were ovulating. In the past, you’d take care of your needs yourself whenever you were bleeding, since your exes were lesser men and refused to even talk to you during that time. So hearing that your new boyfriend, the one you were falling madly in love with, wasn’t completely grossed out by you during that week every month, caused desire to flow through your body tenfold. The only thing that could satiate it was Bob, and you had no idea how to ask him.

When he came home and found you curled up on the couch, barely able to move, he’d reheated your heating pad and handed you some more painkillers before taking a second to kiss you. Check in on you.

“How you holding up, bug?”

He’d pulled you into his lap and held you as you sobbed, softly rocking you back and forth while his hands rubbed your back or smoothed your hair. Pressing soft kisses to your forehead or readjusting your heat pad when it slipped.

“I missed you so much,” you choked out.

“I missed you too, bug,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. I tried to get back a couple days ago but it just wasn’t in our favour.”

“You did?”

He hummed. “I know you can’t move sometimes when the pain is too much, so you fall behind on taking painkillers or fixing your heat pad. It was killing me knowing you’d probably be curled in a ball crying because it was too much.”

You sobbed harder. Held onto him a little tighter. He was so sweet, and you were so fucking in love with him.

“Hey, I’m here now. Hopefully those painkillers will kick in soon, hm? Then I can get a proper ‘welcome home.’”

“I feel so gross and unsexy right now,” you told him.

“You’re the most sexy, beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he confessed. “I want you all the goddamn time. I’ve told you that before. I want you, now. Like this.”

“I’m on my period, Bobby.”

“I don’t care. I take care of my women, no matter what day of the month it is.”

His mouth was on yours. Hot and hard and dominating. An urgency to his actions. Like this conversation had turned him on. And when you turned to straddle his lap, you felt just how much he was turned on.

Moaning as you tugged his hair, only pausing to take his glasses off before his mouth was on yours again. Tasting and sucking. Claiming.

You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it.

You moved to the bedroom to get a little more comfortable. He laid some towels down on the bed, and you slipped into the bathroom to remove your tampon. Arousal heavy in your stomach as your feet carried you back into the room.

He was quick to strip you naked and lay you down on the bed, mouth sucking and teeth nipping at your neck, collarbones, breasts and hips.

His fingers teased your slick folds as his mouth wrapped around your breast. Your back arching as two fingers delved into your heat, thumb rolling over your swollen clit.

His fingers hooked and brushed over your g-spot, and then his mouth was claiming yours again. Fingers working you up until your orgasm crashed over you and he swallowed your moan.

Your body alight with love and lust. Watching him with hooded eyes as he stripped and rolled a condom down his length. A proud look in his eye whenever he caught sight of you.

Spread out and leaking a mix of arousal and blood.

“So fucking sexy,” he rasped out, groaning as he crawled onto the bed. Resting his weight on top of you, pressing kisses along your jaw. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

You gasped as you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your clit, his lips molded with yours as he gripped his cock and entered you.

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned.

He chuckled lowly as he lifted your legs and prompted you to wrap them around his waist.

He was in no rush, but your body felt alive. Moaning and gasping as he slowly rocked into you, hands buried in his hair while his forehead rested against yours. Lips barely touching, but when they did it was a short, sweet kiss. He wanted to look into your eyes and enjoy every second of this, because it would be a regular thing if you enjoyed it.

“You feel so fucking good, bug,” he whispered breathily, not wanting to speak any louder for fear it might disrupt the mood. The soft, peaceful love making that was happening that was driving you both fucking wild. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too, Bobby.”

He loved when you called him by his first name in bed. Especially when the sex was soft and unhurried. “Making love” in the traditional definition wasn’t something you two did often, not in the slow, feel-all-the-emotions sense of the term. No. Every time you had sex you considered it love making, but this was different. More intimate.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Bobby.”

“Cum on my cock, bug. Wanna feel your pussy squeezing my cock,” he goaded. He always knew the right things to say to get you there.

“Harder, please. Fuck me harder,” you pleaded, hands sliding down his back and nails digging into his shoulders.

He rocked his hips a little harder. Thrusts feeling deeper. Your high building and building and building until it crashed down all over him. Heels dug into his ass as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, kissing you hard. Biting your bottom lip. Sucking your tongue into his mouth.

“Cum again for me, bug. I know you can. ‘m gonna cum,” he mumbled breathlessly.

You gasped as his thrusts grew a little more frantic. A little more desperate as he sought his own high. Grunting as he dropped his head into your neck. Your body tightened around him. Squeezing him. Your breathy moans hot against his ear. Nails digging into the flesh of his back, providing a little pain that you knew would get him there faster.

“BobBobBob.”

You chanted his name in time to his thrusts. And then you came undone, back arching and legs tightening around his waist. Squeezing him oh so deliciously until he pinned you beneath his weight and his cum spilled into the condom.

“Oh fuck, fuck yes, fucking hell,” he said, barely able to articulate his thoughts.

“That wa–,”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You held your breath for as long as you could, frantically blinking back tears. Trying to exhale, albeit shakily, and then he was looking at you and the first tear fell.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologised. “It’s too soon. Of course it’s too soon, I just…well, I am. And I couldn’t not tell you. Fuck, don’t cry, bug. I can take it back.”

You laughed through the tears and cupped his face. Legs still wrapped around his waist so he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t take it back,” you begged softly. “I’m just so fucking emotional right now.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, baby. Not at all. I’m in love with you too, Bob.”

“Don’t fucking scare me like that,” he chastised. “I’m balls deep inside you professing my love for you and you start crying. What was I supposed to think?”

“Don’t yell at me.” You sobbed.

“Hey, bug, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Fuck, we’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“I told you I was on my period.”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I’m sorry, bug. I’m useless at this, okay? I just want to make you happy.”

“I am happy, that’s why I started crying,” you sniffled, wiping at your tears. “Can we just…go have a shower and build a fort to cuddle in and watch movies?”

He smiled softly at you and gave you a sweet kiss. “Of course we can, bug. Why don’t you get started without me and I’ll clean up here before I join you, hm? I’ll let you wash my hair.”

You beamed at him before kissing him again, tongue licking into his mouth. He kissed you back, enjoying the moment a little longer before you unwrapped your legs and let him slip out of you. He scooped you into his arms, making you laugh as he carried you to the bathroom and set you down in the shower.

“What was that for?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” He cupped your face tenderly, thumb brushing against your cheek as you smiled at him.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fanfic #*bleeding love

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princessbunnib · 1 year

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König |Masturbation Headcannons|

NSFW Under The Cut

Author's Note:

These are very random because I just typed as things came to mind.

On my period which means I'm basically in heat. Here's some filthy König Headcannons.🤤

More König Smut coming. Been taking a break from COD so I can write for a different fandom. Also been taking a break in general. I'll post full smut fics again just wait patiently please. I love all of you♡

Where Does He Do it?

König masturbates at home considering that's always conveniently where he is when an erection accures.

How Does He Do It?

König doesn't have much toys that are for him only. He also isn't the one who goes to the sex store and gets them. You gifted him a fleshlight because you thought it would be extremely hot to know that he uses it.

He hasn't used it much but when he's really riled up- he'll use it and imagine he's fucking you while watching the lewd videos and pictures you've sent to him overtime. He had to buy many phones because he always ruins them by getting carried away when masturbating and accidently finish on them.

Either he come inside the toy for however many loads he can produce, or it's on his phone.

When Does He Do it?

König will masturbate whenever he has an erection like one does. Or other times when he finds himself missing you, he'll masturbate to remember your face until you come home. Although this has a downside, you usually come home to him needing the real thing rather than using a flashlight or his hands. Needless to say, whatever outfit you're wearing will be ripped off of you so he can fuck you.

How Does He Feel About Masturbation?

König doesn't have any negative opinions about this at all. If he needs to come but can't do it the way he usually does it, he will masturbate. He gets tense a lot and chews gum to sooth his nerves. But when he doesn't have any gum the next best thing is to come in order to control himself.

He doesn't tell you about his solo sessions. For all you know, he doesn't do it at all. Since he only does this when you're not home and is very discreet about it, you have no clue.

How Loud Is He?

For the most part König is quiet because his biggest fear is you coming home and seeing him in such a vulnerable state. But when he's on the verge of coming he will say any and everything remotely sexual that he can think of. Rather if it's him talking to himself or talking as if you're the one who's making him come.

"Fuck~ I need to remember how tight you are around my cock- I Miss Youu~ Come home to me already..."

"I'm gonna come- I'm gonna come- I'm so fucking desperate to come, please let me come~"

"Mommy~ mommy please- haah~♡ I'll be good- let me come... ughh fuck..."

"My fucking cock is burning- Coming... coming... coming... c-c-com-coming..."

Stamina

König's rest time is very short. When he's with you he'll do as many rounds as you'll allow him to. When he's alone, it's the same thing. He won't finish until the bottle of lube he's using Is atleast half empty. Or if he runs out of things to clean up his messes with.

Take A Load Off

He can come a lot. Because of his line of work he has to keep a balanced diet to maintain his physical strength. Daily workouts and a lot of healthy home-cooked meals he prepared himself.

Not only his body is healthy. His balls are too. He can produce a lot of come, therefore his creampies are no joke. When he plans on forcing himself to come a lot he'll use his flashlight to lessen the mess. Although it's a bit tedious to clean up the tog after. Not only he is big, his balls are too. They aren't just for show either. They're big for a reason.

His healthy liifestyle makes him have a higher sperm count. Which means that If you weren't on birth control, you would have definitely had a lot of his babies by now.

Take Me To Kinky Town

König has a lot of kinks already. There's some that you still don't know about unfortunately. He's only told you the ones he didn't think would make you think negatively about him.

Even though König can seem to be emotinaly fragile when it comes to your relationship with him, he degrades himself when he's masturbating.

Part of him reels guilty for coming without you. Why creampie a sex toy when he can give it to someone who will actually enjoy it.

The only time he thinks he deserves Praising is of you're the one doing it. He knows he has a praise kink but is too shy to admit it to you. You always like to make a fool out of him by asking him to do a simple task for you when you clearly are able to do it yourself.

He's always looking to be useful for you so he'll do it no matter how easy it may seem. Telling him he's a 'good boy' or just outright saying he's doing an amazing job will give him an erection in an instant.

He'll have to get away from you and take care of this 'personal problem' so you don't get any ideas and use this praise to your advantage just to get your way. If you tire him out with sex or any form of ejaculation, he'll be like putty in your hands for atleast two days.

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tippenfunkaport · 2 years

Text

Quick & Easy Way to Back-Up AO3 Fics in Bulk

It's always a good idea to back-up your fics periodically just in case your favorite fanfic site goes down. That goes for fics you wrote or your favorites to read (because we all know the pain of a fic we loved getting deleted right out from under us).

Here's a quick and easy way to do it!

Grab the AO3 eBook Download Helper bookmarklet.

(If you're not used to using a bookmarklet it's a link you drag to your browser's bookmark bar that executes an action once pressed. Better than an extension or script bc nothing's actually running so it won't slow down your browser!)

Once you've got the bookmarklet set up, you're ready to back-up your fics!

To download your favorites by other people, navigate to your AO3 bookmarks and press the bookmarklet. It'll give you a pop-up with a quick list of easy download links for all your favs! Download and enjoy forever mwahaha!

To back-up your own fics, head to your Works page and hit the bookmarklet for an easy list of the download links for all your own fics. Download to back-up to your local device!

A voila! You've now got your fics and favs downloaded to back-up using the means of your choosing!

There's only one downside to using this method: it can only do one page at a time. So if you have multiple pages of bookmarks or fics, you'll need to repeat this process for each page.

Note: You can also do this with someone else's bookmarks (as long as they are public) or author page which is great for when you discover your new favorite writer and want to load everything they've ever written or recommended directly into your veins (and by veins I mean eReader).

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic writing #fanfic woes #ao3 writer #a03 writer #ao3 author #archiveofourown #writeblr #fic writing #fandom writing #fanfic readers #writing tips #writer tips #i just learned how to do this myself and wanted to share in case it would be helpful to others

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it-was-funeral-grey · 1 year

Text

Rainy day procedure (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Extra 1 Part 5 Masterlist

Summary: The Grand Bazaar receives an unexpected visitor on a rainy night.

Warnings: explanation about periods including parts of the female anatomy, period shaming, misogyny, mentions of sanitary pads and tampons, female anatomy, rain, mentions of pooling rainwater,

Word count: <2.4k words

Inspired by:-

Author's note: yea, i've seen a lot of people being ashamed of their periods. and a lot of men who make fun of people on their periods, saying mean stuff. I hope i write it in a way that's ok and easy to understand i hope it isn't too ooc too

if i wrote anything regarding this wrongly do tell me!

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

The Grand Bazaar has a big problem when it rains.

For some context, the Grand Bazaar is underground. To enter, you go through one of the three tunnels, which begin above ground along Treasures street.

So, unfortunately, when it rains, these tunnels end up as a drain, leading rainwater to pool in the Grand Bazaar. To make things worse, the Grand Bazaar isn't an open-air area. This makes the place unbearably humid when rainwater pools.

Alas, today is one of these days. Outside, the rain pours. And once again, the tunnels serve as the city's drain. The wooden doors at the end of the tunnel are powerless to stop the flowing rainwater, leading to a stream of it once again spilling all over the floors of the Grand Bazaar.

People of the Grand Bazaar have been petitioning for years for the Akademiya to solve this problem but to no avail. The best the Akademiya did was install a small step at the entrance of the tunnels, which was wholly useless. At best, it only served to trip unsuspecting guests on their way in.

It wasn't a secret. The Akademiya hated the Grand Bazaar and what it represented. They thought the arts were a useless endeavour- a distraction from the pursuit of knowledge. So, they tried everything to get rid of them. Banning public performances, threatening to shut down the theatre, you name it, they've tried it.

But things have changed now. Ever since Nilou's performance at the Akademiya plaza and the whole scandal at the Akademiya, the attitude towards them has improved. Restrictions on the arts have been lifted, and old laws regarding performances have been abolished. Things are really looking up for artists and the Grand Bazaar.

"Maybe it's time we tried asking the Akademiya again," groaned Afshin as he carried his wares away from the door and the incoming rainwater. Afshin's stall, regrettably, is right next to one of the entrances of the Grand Bazaar. "A simple gutter. That is all we want."

Nilou can only sigh at his statement. Mr Afshin isn't wrong, but asking the Akademiya for help is scary. They have been eerily quiet about matters regarding the arts as of late- not imposing rules and restrictions, but not expressing their support either.

"We shouldn't!" retorts Jut. "Let's not bring any attention to ourselves. It's already a blessing that they've gotten off our backs."

"But that's precisely why we should be asking! We should strike while the iron is hot! Who knows when they will decide to impose all those rules again?"

"But what if they decide to do so after we ask? What if they think we're a thorn in their side by asking again?" Jut argues as the two make their way to the stage with large boxes in hand.

The stage is the only place safe from rainwater on days like this. Everywhere else, rainwater will pool, destroying produce and wares. In the past, the moment it rained, losses were inevitable, as merchants could not move their wares away fast enough. But ever since Nilou received her Hydro vision, this didn't become such a big deal anymore. She'll hold back the water until everyone finishes loading their wares onto the stage before letting to water flow naturally into the bazaar. Then when the rain stops, she'll guide all the water into a nearby river. This is the usual procedure for rainy days.

After the last merchant loads their ware onto the stage, Nilou relaxes her hands, letting the water burst through the flimsy wooden doors. Muddy water fills the bazaar, and Nilou sighs again. Clean-up is going to be painful, especially since the rain is much heavier than usual today.

Everyone working in the Grand Bazaar congregates on stage, using the high ground to escape the flooded floor. Nothing unusual from rainy day procedure. Everyone will sit around the stage, complaining about closing their shops early, chatting, or eating snacks. Or, more commonly now, debating whether to ask the Akademiya for help again.

It's just another rainy day. And rainy day procedure was carried out. No one is expecting anything. There's nothing to expect. No customers, no deliveries, no audiences.

That was until a splashing sound was heard from off the stage, followed by a string of curses.

"Hey! What are you doing? It's flooded down there!" Afshin suddenly exclaims. In an instant, everyone's head perked up, turning towards him.

Worried that someone was stuck in the water (although it's barely knee-deep), Nilou immediately puts down her slice of Tachin, bolting to the edge of the stage. Looking in Mr Afshin's direction, she sees-

"Mr Al Haitham?" to say Nilou is shocked is an understatement. Gently parting the water so that he has a clear path to the stage, she continues. "What are you doing here?"

Al Haitham hurries over to the stage, muttering a quick thanks under his breath. By now, everybody on stage has gathered around, watching the unexpected visitor walk up the slope.

"It seems that I've come at an inconvenient time," Al Haitham states, glancing down at his dirty boots in discomfort before looking around. "And it seems that all shops are closed for the day."

"You're drenched! Quick, someone get him a towel!" Someone calls out.

"No need," Al Haitham shoots back. "I'll be heading off now."

And then he turns and begins walking off the stage, leaving everyone stunned.

He's just gonna leave like that?

"Wait!" Nilou finally calls out. He stops in his tracks and looks back at the dancer. "Is there something you need?"

"Well, if all the shops are closed-"

"Now, hold on a second!" Now Jut speaks up. "All our stuff is here! We can still sell you things!"

Some merchants murmur in agreement as they stand up and walk over to their wares.

"You've already walked through muddy water," Afshin says as he pulls out his items from a box. "Whatever it is you're finding must have been important."

Al Haitham looks away for a moment before turning back to the stage. Walking towards the preparing merchants, he glances at their wares.

"I just need clothes-"

Immediately, the merchants begin showing him what they have. Perhaps because of the lack of customers today, everyone seems more enthusiastic than usual.

"I'll sell this to you for a thousand- no, eight hundred Mora!"

"Don't listen to him! I'll give you this and that for eight hundred Mora!"

"I don't need-"

"You said you wanted a shirt, right?"

"Not in that size, smaller-"

"Five hundred Mora for you, sir!"

"Now, hold on-"

Al Haitham is surrounded by hopeful merchants pushing items into his hands, yelling prices into his ear. It's clearly an uncomfortable position to be in. Nilou decides to step in when she sees Jut drop a bottle of spice all over Al Haitham.

"Let's not overwhelm him, everyone!" Nilou declares. "Let's all calm down, ok?"

Right away, the merchants sheepishly back away from the man, who is now holding back a sneeze. Gathering Hydro, Nilou sends a bubble of water towards the spice-covered man, who eagerly uses it to wash off the spice.

"As I was saying," Al Haitham sighs, washing off the spice on his arms over the edge of the stage. "I only need clothes. Sleepwear, preferably. And toiletries. Not textiles, not toys," He turns to glare at Jut. "And most definitely not spices."

With that, some merchants go quiet and head back to their crates. Others stand in a neat row, offering items to the stern man one at a time.

"You mentioned you needed sleepwear? I have some here," the first merchant offers. "Two thousand Mora a set."

"That's fine," Al Haitham looks over the clothes. "Do you have it in a smaller size?"

"No, sir," the merchant replies. "Unfortunately, this is my last set."

"I'll take it."

Slowly, Al Haitham goes down the line, buying items. Sleepwear, snacks, room slippers, and then finally, toiletries.

"I'll also need sanitary pads or tampons as well."

"Eh?!" the last merchant exclaims. "Why would you need- I-"

"…Do you have it or not?"

"I do! It's just that- does your wife have no shame, sir? Making you buy her personal items?" the male merchant begins his rant.

"…Excuse me?"

"No need to explain, sir! I totally understand! My daughter does the same," the merchant continues, unaware of the glares everyone is currently shooting at him. "She complains that she's in pain or that she can't stand up for too long. But we all know it's just an excuse to skip out on work. Women, right? Such dramatic creatures."

The whole stage is silent, save for the sound of water flowing through the doors.

Now, Al Haitham isn't one to argue with others over a difference in opinion. It takes up too much time and energy. But this? He isn't going to let this slide.

"Wow, sir," Al Haitham begins, controlling his tone. But the sarcasm still slips through. "You clearly respect women."

"Well, I do have a wife and daughter! And I was supposed to study in Amurta-"

"Yet you still don't bother to learn how their bodies work," Al Haitham edges closer to the man. "Or perhaps you refuse to. Truly a disgrace to the nation of wisdom. And to all men."

"Why you-"

"Now, since clearly, no one has been able to stand your presence long enough to educate you, I will," Al Haitham is seething now. "You will hold all questions if any, until I'm done."

"Wha-"

"Periods are a natural, biological process that those born with a uterus undergo every month," Al Haitham begins, ignoring the merchant's sound of protest. "During this time, the uterine lining sheds and is passed out through the vagina."

The merchant's face goes completely red.

"Now, why are you so embarrassed?" Al Haitham asks with poorly concealed fury. "Those are just body parts. That also happens to be possessed by your supposedly beloved daughter and wife, no?"

The merchant does not respond. All around, other merchants and theatre workers murmur amongst themselves.

"Now, during one's period, it is not uncommon for muscle cramps to occur around the abdomen, back, and tighs," Al Haitham continues. "Other common occurrences are diarrhoea, mood swings, and fatigue, amongst many other things."

"But of course, it is different for anyone who goes through it. I've never experienced it, so I don't claim to understand how it feels- unlike some people," Al Haitham shoots him a death glare. "Neither do I claim that those who experience periods are faking discomfort because I believe in science and care about the wellbeing of the people around me. Unlike some people."

Al Haitham takes another step towards the merchant, nearly backing him up against the wall of the stage.

"Now, Mr Almost-Amurta, surely you trust science as well?" Al Haitham whispers. "Surely, you care about the women in your family?"

The merchant doesn't answer. He looks down at his feet, perhaps hoping that a hole will swallow him up and save him from the fuming man before him.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes! Yes, I do!"

"Then why," Al Haitham presses on. "Did you say such horrible and untrue things about them? Surely, you must know what they go through. Why the misogyny?"

"I'm not-"

"So shaming them about their period symptoms, which is something out of their control, and assuming that they use it as an excuse is not misogyny," Al Haitham rolls his eyes. "What else have you considered 'not misogyny' in your eyes?"

The man opens his mouth before closing it again. He's clearly at a loss for words.

"I suggest you grow up," Al Haitham tosses a bag of Mora at him before snatching his bag of items out of his hand. "And perhaps learn to listen to the struggles of those around you. Especially those you claim you care about. You don't need to be able to solve their problems. Just don't add to them."

With that, Al Haitham gathers his items, trying to fit everything in one bag.

"If you have any questions, I suggest you ask the women around you. Perhaps learn to listen to them. Archon knows you need to."

And off he went, walking off the stage with an astonished Nilou rushing behind him.

"Ah! Mr Al Haitham! Wait!"

"Yes?"

Al Haitham has a foot in the water before Nilou helps him clear a path.

"Ah, thank you."

"Mr Al Haitham, just now...with Mr Zar," Nilou doesn't really know what to say. "Um..."

"So his name is Zar." Al Haitham prompts her to walk with him. "Has he given you all trouble before?"

"Well, no," Nilou stutters out. "We never knew he was like that. He's usually so kind, I..."

"Well, now you know. I'll leave the rest up to you all then," Al Haitham replies. Looking at the water around them, he continues. "Does flooding like this happen often?"

"Only when it rains. Usually, it isn't this bad."

"The heavy rain?"

"Yeah. It's usually ankle-deep at worse. Today is bad."

"I see."

They reach the wooden doors, and Al Haitham reaches out to open them. The rotting wood doesn't escape his sight.

"I'll be fine from here."

"Ah, the rain is still so heavy. I can walk you to your destination!"

"No need," Al Haitham states. "You should head back to the rest. And your Tachin."

"Ah, so you saw that."

"Your concern for others is touching," Al Haitham replies, taking a step up the slope. "I'll take my leave."

"Watch your step! It's slippery!"

"I will."

"Bye!"

Nilou watches the man leave the tunnel before turning back and making her way back to the stage. Preparing herself for the awkward atmosphere that she'll be facing in the next couple of seconds, a question suddenly pops into her mind.

Huh, she wonders, as she hears shouts of disapproval from the stage, I wonder who he's buying all those stuff for?

Oh, she'll find out soon enough.

She, alongside many others, will have front-row seats to this new romance play that is currently showing. It'll be nothing like the usual romance plays Zubayr Theather shows on Tuesdays.

Prepare yourselves. The prologue is over.

Act I is about to begin.

Join the Taglist!

#alhaitham genshin impact #al haitam x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham #alhaitham #genshin x reader #genshin impact #hereandnow #nilou #genshin nilou

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usafphantom2 · 9 months

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Fighter pilot shares Top Ten Myths about 1-v-1 Air Combat

Hush KitAugust 6, 2023

10 things you shouldn’t believe about air combat

A lot of bollocks is talked about air-to-air combat, so in an effort to dispel some popular myths we approached former Air Warfare Instructor Paul Tremelling to separate the wank from the chaff. Paul is a former Sea Harrier, Super Hornet and Harrier pilot and author of this book. Over to Paul.

I’ll be honest with you. I may not have read the question which is a cardinal sin. Air combat could well mean just about anything to just about anyone. When asked for my thoughts my mind immediately went to 1 v 1. Usually assumed to only occur in the visual arena; sometimes termed Air Combat Manoeuvring, sometimes termed Basic Fighter Manoeuvres (following the usual trend for pointless rebranding), once upon a time called a ‘Dog Fight’ because ‘Cat Fight’ was already taken. That’s what came into the mind’s eye. Probably because (with the notable exception of watching a Leopard tank drive over a house one day) manoeuvring close in is probably responsible for the most compelling and exciting things my eyes have ever been asked to take in. It’s also responsible for significant periods of my eyes not working…

The idea of 1 v 1 combat is an amalgam of various threads. It makes sense that in a field where there could be a winner and a loser that there are grounds for competition. It makes sense that if one is interested in a certain technology or a given profession, then you might want to know what or who is the best at it. It makes sense from a historical stand point that one could get a relatively accurate idea about warfighting prowess in a much simplified event that closely resembled a sport. This is how we got jousting and in a historic echo this is probably why we refer to Air Combat Manoeuvring as ‘the sport of kings’; despite the very low propensity of the royals to actually give it a crack. All this combines to make 1 v 1 air combat a ripe breeding ground for all kinds of myths, misconceptions and outright lies – because the picture we have in our heads is of duelling knights obeying the rules of chivalry; going about their business to prove a simple point; probably in peacetime on largely similar mounts, on a flat field, in nice weather, both armed with the same long pole. This is a petri dish for nonsense because all sorts of things happen when lives aren’t at stake and when we try to make some incredibly complex terrain fit our ineptly simple map. 1 v 1 combat is actually about killing the opposition, who happens to be in an aeroplane. It’s about lethality, survivability, g, power, lift, speed, sensors and countermeasures. Air combat should really be viewed as jousting but where a knight is on the ground breathing his last having been shot by an archer (pun possibly intended) he knew nothing about…

A few myths for you to consider.

10. It��s all about the jet ‘God doesn’t play Top Trumps’

This is of course nonsense. We know that it’s nonsense. We even prove to ourselves that it’s nonsense by using phrases such as ‘if flown by equally talented pilots’ when comparing aircraft to show that we understand human ability has to come into the equation at some point. So how do we get ourselves into this irreconcilable piece of the Venn diagram? It’s because we have favourites. Usually based on some bias or ignorance. Which is fine – we probably mean that it’s mainly about the jet. We can probably agree that the aircraft as a weapon system is critical, but the weapon system is the aeroplane, the cueing system, weapons, the sensors, the countermeasures, other stores and the fuel load. All of which can vary dramatically from mark to mark, country to country, unit to unit and day to day.

9. These jets can always take a pounding ‘Fragile jetsculinity’

Think about an aircraft’s construction. How much of it is unnecessary? Probably very little. Unnecessary stuff costs money and adds weight. I take the point that people build in redundancy into warplanes such that they can take damage. Some warplanes can take one hell of a beating. The A-10 springs to mind. The Super Hornet had so many redundant systems that learning them was a pain. But what do you actually want a weapon fragment or 30mm (or so!) piece of metal to do? Hit something vital. How many flight paths are there through a warplane that a 30mm hole can take without hitting something? Not many. How many jets can take a missile hit in the cockpit area and survive with an intact pilot? Not many. Think about it from a weapon designer’s standpoint. He/ she wouldn’t really be earning their pay if it couldn’t crack the one job it had. Obviously things change. In World War 2 aircraft being full of a whole heap of nothing could, and did, take hundreds of rounds on occasion. The point is simple. One shell can be enough. Particularly in modern aircraft. I lost a friend to an accident that to the best of my knowledge was caused by ingestion of a single pebble – a 30mm shell is going to do more damage than that. Even if a single shot isn’t fatal – it could lead to one that is. The obvious corollary to this is that pretty much no weapons deliver a perfect kill per shot. Some fail on the rail, some in flight…and that’s before we get into weapons launched a little outside max range, a little inside minimum range or with a little too much alpha or crossing rate…those ones may not won’t work at all!

Buy The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes here, and support Volume 2 here.

8. Rear hemisphere guns ‘Mauser bowser’

The gun is dead handy. It is a very effective weapon so long as you can use onboard sensors, aiming symbology, skill and luck to get your bullets into the same bit of sky as an enemy. There is a myth, or at least a very clear but erroneous picture in our minds of guns kills being scored from the rear hemisphere. Of course they are and of course that is common in training. Why? Because training rules prevent you from executing a head sector shot for reasons of collision risk and because ‘slashing’ guns kills are hard to validate on tape. A kill is a kill.

Credit: Syairazie Sabiyar of Malaysia Military Aircraft Photograph

Every head sector pass is a guns kill begging to be taken. Invariably in training we will brief something along the lines of ‘Take pre-merge shots but only post merge shots to count’. This is due to the need to get into the training but in so doing we are making things significantly artificial as a good game’s a fast game and if someone’s trying to kill you then removing them sharpish is a great idea. Removing them before the fight’s even got going is a brilliant idea. I’d dearly like to engage in Basic Fighter Manoeuvres but not quite as much as I’d like to gun you in the face. The same is true of the slashing or waiting guns shot.

This involves thinking or suspecting that the enemy is going to fly through your HUD and firing with the correct amount of anticipation such that they and your deadly shot string arrive at the same time. As above…it may only take one.

7. Medium range weapons ‘Bring a cricket bat to a boxing match’

1 v 1 combat can obviously be practiced at any range you want – it just gets a little more fruity as the range decreases. This means fights can be made to fall into two buckets – beyond and within visual range. Our vision of 1 v 1 tends to be within visual range. This division is straight forward but has a number of draw backs as rules and exceptions appear neatly stacked. For example: If I know exactly where an enemy aircraft is because I can see them with my own eyes but we have yet to manoeuvre aggressively in relation to each other – has anything changed spectacularly from a second ago when I knew exactly where he was because my radar was kind enough to tell me? No. Obvs. Just because I am manoeuvring visually with an opponent does that mean that my medium range weaponry is useless? No, of course not. Some medium range weapons are truly fearsome in the visual arena and actually (think about it) have more energy than their shorter range cousins so may turn out to be the weapon of choice. It is more than possible that your medium to long range weapon is useless in a short range fight because no-one told the designer that you’d like it to work there…or the designer took the presence of the short range weapon as an excuse to over look that part of the envelope. It’s worth checking. Long and the short of it (see what I did there) it’s worth checking because your medium range weapon might well be the weapon of choice.

6. Flares work ‘Who flares wins?’

Yes of course they do. Sometimes. Do they work all of the time? No, they are clever but so are seeker heads. RF countermeasures work as well. Sometimes. They may even accidentally cause a weapon to detect a target that isn’t there and prematurely detonate. But that’s a bit of an outlier. I’m sure that most readers of this would understand that Infra Red Countermeasures don’t work at all against guns and RF guided weapons. I speak as someone who deployed IR Counter Measures against a Surface-to-Air threat that I knew was a visually aimed gun…but doing nothing felt weird. Doing something, as it turned out, felt stupid. I never really got it straight in my own mind whether or not to use counter measures pre merge – on the grounds that in my small and camouflaged aircraft, not moving relative to the enemy – I would also be unleashing dazzlingly bright magnesium. As a wise USAF head said to me one day ‘Better to be seen than be dead’. That’s true, but it’s also true that if you’re not seen they may find it harder to kill you. The counter-counter argument is that weapons are so damn fast these days that holding onto your flares until you see a launch may produce sub-optimal results. Countermeasures may work. It’s not guaranteed and one thing we can all agree on is that they will definitely run out! Shall we just leave it at that?

5. Opinions ‘Zero G contract killers’

I wanted to put this first, but thought better of it as you may give up at this point and at least you’ve read half the article. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Neither does mine so don’t get upset. What matters is the science, the context and the pilot’s ability. Too many people feel the need, or exercise the right, to talk about 1 v 1 combat without knowing what excess power is, what instantaneous or sustained turning rates are, what the actually weapon engagement zone of a specific weapon is or what sensors the platform can use to throw what shots. We’re back in that silly part of air-to-air top trumps and assignment of fighter capability based purely on what somebody said at an airshow. My brother went to a wedding once. Just about as relevant to the conversation as most opinions. Opinions need to be based upon facts. Facts to which one has actually applied conscious thought and refined with experience. Then you get an opinion. And it may still be bow-lacks.

4. It’s academic ‘If LERX could kill’

It won’t be. I was speaking to a wonderful senior officer from the USAF the other day and he co-located the nail and the hammer’s head very well. We agreed that despite the various air fleets of the free world spending years airborne and billions of pounds of aviation fuel in training – when the fight comes, it’s not going to look like an academic set up. We’re not going to charge at each other from doctrinal ranges. 1 v 1 is highly, vanishingly, unlikely to occur from being in parallel fuselages, at an agreed height and speed, confirming that both aircraft are ‘Tally’ before executing an outward and then inbound turn. Simply never going to happen. The reason we do it is the opposite. We train and train and train because when 1 v 1 happens it will be ad hoc, no notice, unscripted, unusual and fleeting. We need to be able to cope with that and the best way to do so is to give the young warriors of the free world every single opportunity to see just about every sight picture there is – so that when we do actually get into a 1 v 1 they fight and win. Quickly. By killing their opponent. If you ever hear anyone start a sentence comparing jets with the words ‘Well in an academic set up…’ feel free to get on with your pint.

3. It’s uncomplicated ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’

By this I mean that there is a myth that one can separate 1 v 1 combat from everything else that’s going on. Air Combat is necessarily complex in itself. It’s complicated by everything else. Even if there were no other fighters knocking around, or SAMs playing you’d still have to think about distance from home plate, the weather and other factors. No real point winning the fight and crashing on the way home for lack of fuel. Actually that would be a really good way of getting a Martin-Baker tie and ensuring that you were wined and dined by the weapon manufacturer for ever. This point also talks to the environmentals that no aircraft designer can really account for. From a visual perspective what is the effect on both aircraft of having cloud around. Does it seduce IR weapons? Can it mask a fighter for a critical second? How about looking down over farmland, would that suit a particular camouflage scheme. Is it better to be up in the crystal clear blue stuff or down in the industrial haze? It’ll all depend on your system, proficiency and sometimes just a preference. It may sometimes be similar, but it’ll always be different. We’ve all been in situations where we simply cannot see the other aircraft despite knowing exactly where it is – and we’ve all had the reverse, the lucky spot on a canopy glint. We’ve all tried to run for home and been shot. We’ve all shot a runner. At least one USAF kill in GW1 was down to the enemy fighter flying themselves into the ground. They all count.

2. It’s protracted ‘Time ain’t on your sidestick’

I actually fell out with a USN buddy over this. Not in a fisticuff sort of way but rather a fundamental belief sort of way. This hero, and he was a hero, believed that 1 v 1 combat was a continuum in which one flowed from one manoeuvre into the next. I was very much of the mindset that I would do anything I could to get the first shot off even if that left me poorly placed for a follow on encounter. My rationale was that there wouldn’t be one.

You need to get the nose on ‘HOBS choice’

Typhoon pilot wearing the ‘Warty Toad Hat’ (WTH). Electric hats have changed the game.

Nope. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Helmet mounted displays changed the game a long time ago. Early versions were fielded by the South African Air Force and then on aircraft such as the MiG-29. We all got incredibly bunched about the threat’s ability to throw an off boresight shot at us, before we remembered that we could throw one a similar angle off boresight (away from straight forward) using the radar. Then we got bunched again because working the HOTAS and watching a screen whilst manoeuvring hard isn’t quite the same ‘User Experience’ as some form of evil eye attached to your bone dome. The fact is that helmet mounted cue-ing systems changed the game and in many ways wrote a cheque that High Off Boresight (HOBS) weapons cashed. Why strive to get into the Control Zone (that bit of sky behind the enemy from which he cannot eject you kinematically) when you can simply look at the enemy and unleash a AIM-9X or other similar weapon? These weapons are extraordinary. Some can be launched over 90 degrees off boresight. Just picture what that looks like as compared to the WW1 experience of getting to height, finding the enemy and starting to circle. It looks like anything in your bit of airspace to be shot. We no longer need to stop at HMS either. How about targeting an aircraft that you can’t see other than as a track being passed to you via datalink? Can you imagine how annoying it would be to be in danger of winning a 1 v 1 only to soak up a shot that was cue-ed using a data link track from a third fighter?

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james-vi-stan-blog · 3 months

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Ok my personal response to The King’s Assassin. From the perspective of a layperson who is not in any form a historian, merely a fan of James VI/I. Edit I also fixed the author’s name in my post, I dunno HOW I messed that up, fever scrambled my branes.

I don’t hate the book, and it would be wildly arrogant of me to say “it’s bad! It’s inaccurate!” when I know like 5 things, have read a handful of books and have to scrape my meager knowledge outta JSTOR allowance and what my library has. And overall, I think it actually does a great job of introducing the different factions involved, the shifts in politics as they happen, and presenting loads and LOADS of interesting anecdotes in order of their occurrence. It’s highly readable and takes you on this rollicking adventure through a twisting and turning, but comprehensible narrative.

But… I think that’s its core problem. It’s a narrative. Woolley is telling a story from history, with themes and characters and surprise reveals. Woolley has a particular vision of George Villiers as a villain protagonist with an arc, and writes almost from a third person omniscient perspective. And I think this is to the book’s detriment. The full complexity of human beings, who can’t be boiled down to archetypes and who aren’t on coherent trajectories and don't have arcs, gets flattened.

It’s very, VERY credulous in general. Basically, any rumor that ever existed is included. All accounts are essentially trusted with no interrogation of political slant or provenance. As a James fan, I noticed the unquestioning use of Weldon and Eglisham in particular; since my knowledge is limited I can’t say what other questionable sources were used, but this review calls it out for heavily using an alleged hoax. The epilogue and “““proof””” of the poisoning is especially weird. (Leanda de Lisle's review talks about it. Listen to her, an actual historian who knows actual things, not me)

On the one hand, this maximally inclusive approach brings in all kinds of tales that an unfamiliar reader might not have heard of, giving the most colorful possible account. But I felt that mixing in the extremely dubious sources with the reliable ones, distinguishing them little in the text and using unnumbered endnotes, is really deceptive and misleads the reader about the certainty of the narrative Woolley favors.

As far as what this means for Mary & George… I mean. The book is a titillating account of lurid scandal. And we already knew the series is going to be a titillating account of lurid scandal. Expect the series based on a book that already incorporates fiction and wild speculation to become even more fictionalized and speculative for the sake of drawing in viewers who want to watch and thirst over while also judging bad people who do bad things.

But that’s what all historical dramas are like and have been like forever. Especially the general time period—the Tudors have gotten this treatment forever. Viewership and big bucks don’t come for “documentary with re-enactment”. And in general, people don’t find history worth watching unless there’s butts and boobies.

Sure, I’ll be disappointed if when the drama inserts loads of stuff that definitely never happened for sexXxyness. Yeah, I’ll be bummed out when it conforms to traditional depictions of historical figures that were codified by agenda-laden traditions. But this always happens. And you know, if a bare butt gets someone to watch who would otherwise have never known about the incredible queer drama that played out in the Jacobean court, who probably doesn’t even know Buckingham from the Three Musketeers, I’m happy. Because even though it didn’t happen as M&G is gonna depict it, it did happen in the broad strokes, these people were real, and that’s been largely buried and forgotten.

The world NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT JAMES. And even if the picture someone comes away with is inaccurate, at least they will know he existed and loved men, and just that fact now being in their brain will please me so much.

#the king's assassin #mary & george #james's weird stan rambles again #james’s weird stan reviews

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broomsick · 2 years

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Hi! I was wondering what your thoughts are on this situation. I started out the pagan path and after many years became a devotee of the god I worshiped more closely (Loki). However, ever since I introduced honoring Freyja and becoming a devotee of her into my daily life, Loki has been… completely silent and MIA (whenever I try to work with him for spells, give offerings, or communicate with him via divination). I keep having nightmares of hundreds of spiders trying to eat me alive. And I keep having trouble lighting Loki’s candle. It never stays lit. I swapped it out with three different candles and tried extensively to light it and keep it lit but it doesn’t stay lit. I’m worried that Loki doesn’t care to work with me or connect with me anymore since I connected with Freyja, but I don’t understand why??? I’m reluctant to give up on Loki but it’s been 5 months of silence and nightmares. I’m feeling defeated! Please let me know what your thoughts are on this! -Velvet

Hi there, Velvet! Well, that’s a complicated matter and though I can provide my own personal opinions, the interpretation of this situation is ultimately yours to make. Now, I just want to start off by making something clear: the spider associations with Loki were always somewhat wobbly to me. It’s sort of an SPG but I do find a few flaws to it (for example, people will see a spider in their house and immediatly label it as a sign from Loki, while disregarding the fact that at some periods of the year, spiders seek refuge within households and thus appear a lot more often). For this reason, I wouldn’t spontaneously believe your nightmares necessarily come from Loki. Spiders in dreams can mean many things, and as I see it, your nightmares seem to be the subconscious manifestation of some kind of fear. Maybe even the fear of losing Loki! If your mind instictively associates Loki with spiders, then that wouldn’t be surprising. Dreams where you’re being attacked that way can also betray feelings of vulnerability, or feelings of being trapped somehow. Loads of interpretations are possible. Now, the candles not burning could very well be an issue with the environment where you are burning them (humidity for example), but that is just a theory. It’s often best to explore natural explanations before supernatural ones. Plus, I haven’t heard of any recent case when a God was angry at their devotee... I actually believe that they are generally lenient when it comes to their followers! In my experience at least, they are a lot more forgiving than some fearmongering pagan authorities would like to pretend. As for Loki’s “radio silence”, I don’t think he’s necessarily ignoring you! Maybe he’s still watching over you and you just don’t know it. Maybe he is guiding your way without you noticing. Perhaps he’s just giving Freyja some space to guide you herself, because he estimates that her touch in your life is what you need most at the moment! Still, even if you don’t hear his responses, there is no reason for you to stop honoring or believing in him if that is what you desire. An important part of being pagan is learning how to adapt to change. The Gods’ ways are their own, and I know how frustrating it can be to try and lift the fog on their intentions, but they always have their reasons. Certain deities will pop into our lives at times when we need them most. There’s really nothing we can do to change that, but there’s also no guilt to be felt on your part. Especially not for worshipping Freyja. The norse Gods are part of a very large pantheon and in their cultural context, they are generally acknowledged as a pantheon. That means you are free to honor one or multiple Gods, and there shouldn’t be any problem with that. My advice to you would be to keep worshipping Freyja as you wish, especially if it fulfills your spiritual needs and makes you feel happy. There is absolutely no reason for you to feel bad about that. In the same manner, you can keep honoring Loki as you did before. You can try to reach him through prayer, through offerings and gifts, or through words of praise to show your thankfulness. Talking to him about your life (problems, daily life, etc...) and giving gifts to him without expecting anything in return will still feel extremely gratifying, I promise. It won’t be the exact same, of course, so choosing to keep doing these things is all your choice. (If he truly is angry for whatever reason, he will see that you haven’t forgotten him and that you still love and admire him. Your spirituality is yours and I believe he knows that.) Finally, I’m really sorry to hear about your nightmares. Witchcraft-wise, drinking chamomile, lavender, jasmine, ginger or another low-theine tea before bed can help, as well as putting amethyst near your bed, or thyme under your pillow. Other, more drastic solutions exist, and if the nightmares persist, I suggest contacting a health professional who will be a lot more indicated than me to provide help in this matter. I really do hope this answered your questions, and I hope you will be able to find peace within this situation one way or another. Again, thank you so much for coming to me with your worries.

#spirituality #deity work #deities #loki #norse gods #freyja #asks #ask #norse paganism #paganism #polytheism #norse polytheism #norse pantheon

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gggoldfinch · 1 year

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Hi yes obligatory personal update for those of you who follow me for Ghost content!!!:

I’m posting this as a preemptive apology, as Cemetery Gates chapter uploads will become sparse and/or cease for the time being. This is happening for several reasons, the primary of which being, I can feel myself losing motivation to continue writing it. I’ve learned the hard way not to force content when I’m no longer motivated to write for a specific work, so I’m not gonna risk fumbling something as dear to me (and many of you) as Cemetery Gates. It’s a shock I even got this far, considering there’s no definitive plot. Admittedly I also feel my hyperfixation focus shifting, as it usually does every 5-6 months after a seriously long period of fixation, like I’ve had with Ghost. It’s a cycle that I can predict now, which is slightly bizarre, but I’m getting off topic. This doesn’t mean I’m not still a diehard fan of Ghost/ won’t interact with your content anymore! I’m just not hyperfixated like I was in previous months, and may drop off in as active of engagement/ will start posting more multifandom geared things. Idk why I’m explaining this, y’all know how it works.

I’m also currently going through a very difficult time with school, so my emotional/ creative energy has kinda been rerouted, which sucks a lot (tldr: my school is going under and is currently bulldozing my department as a result, I’m actively losing staff support because the profs I’m very close to were fired, and I am fighting tooth and nail to graduate early and get the hell out of dodge). As a result of this my mental health has also been teetering on the edge of not great, so I’ve been taking comfort in older interests and fresh exciting things. Anyway— I say my creative energy has been “rerouted” and not “entirely depleted,” because I do feel some minuscule spark of creativity left, but it’s not focused on Cemetery Gates, unfortunately. Though, I don’t imagine I’d have a lot of time to write much of anything this semester either way, considering how loaded my academic schedule is.

Anyway, I just figured I’d update you all on where I’m at rn, and apologize to those of you who are readers of my darling little Cemetery Gates fic and were looking forward to more. I’m not saying this is the end of it—though if it were to be the end, I think I left it off on a fairly satisfactory note—just that it may be going on a little hiatus for now. At least until I get my juices flowing again, or until my brain decides to revert back into a hardcore Ghost hyperfixation again. Or, if it’s eons from now and the motivation never returned, then I’ll wash my hands of it and mark it finished. Such is the life of a fanfiction author I suppose.

Love y’all, thank you for the continued support— and as always, feel free to shoot me an ask about whatever!

#i knew i had to make this post when I changed my phone wallpaper this morning. that’s always a sign of the times #goldfinch writes #cemetery gates fic

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fountainpenguin · 9 months

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Is there significance to the time key headcanon? In other words, what inspired that and how do time keys work?

For anyone who doesn't know what this means, in my fanfics, Fairies can physically remove memories from their heads and store them inside magical boxes for later. Fairies do this a lot, which was my way of playing with that one line from "Let Sleeper Dogs Lie" about how Fairies are notoriously forgetful.

I don't consider that episode canon since it contradicts a crucial / memorable episode ["The Secret Origin of Denzel Crocker"] and it pushes against the world lore itself, but every now and then I like to make fun of the "forgetful Fairies" joke.

Also, Anti-Fairies as a culture are extremely against removing their memories this way. You'll often see Anti-Cosmo bragging in my writing about how Anti-Fairies have infallible memories.

I THINK this idea of mine can be traced back to the Giant French Doors of Time: the original method of travel to the Hocus Poconos before the Fairy Elder redecorated in "Timmy's Secret Wish." Since they were called "doors of time" and Father Time himself appeared in this episode, I think I put that together to imply you can walk through those doors to time travel and you need a certain type of key to have a certain level of clearance. A wooden key lets you view the past without altering it, a silver key lets you do a bit more, a gold key a bit more, etc. Hence, "time keys" (plus an explanation of different in-universe time travel rules).

I think that's where it comes from, but I may have taken inspiration from a few other points over the years. For example:

~ Writing fanfics and needing to show photos from time periods where cameras didn't exist. Like, during Cosmo and Wanda's high school years (for their yearbooks) or when they were godparents to Erg 50k years pre-series.

I have a certain technology level I like Fairy World to develop at (and they usually develop tech by stealing ideas from godkids on various planets), so I played around with the idea that Fairies could generate a physical copy of a scene in front of them as a "photo." It's usually described in my works as a "frozen moment from the timestream" or as a "memory" in some way.

~ The opening of Timmy's Secret Wish depicts Timmy and Cosmo using keys to open a treasure chest. Nothing else to say; it just fits the vibe.

~ "77 Secrets of the Fairly OddParents Revealed" claims that Cosmo's greatest secret is that he's an "author of distinction." It even specifically says Cosmo wrote Astrophysics for Morons: a book that appeared in the "Shelf Life" episode.

Apparently this is a huge secret and he doesn't like talking about it... which I LOVE playing with because of the fact that the Fairies claim in "Wishology" that stars are actually fairies with wands. This implies that it's Very Not Okay for Cosmo to be pro-astrophysics instead of pro-fairy, but that's another can of worms.

I love playing with the idea that Cosmo struggles a lot with his past, his Not Okay beliefs, and his memories. We'll see more of that in Frayed Knots and/or the 130 Prompts and other stories at a later time.

In my one-shot "Repeat," Jorgen confronted Cosmo and told him to come with him to a safe place so he wouldn't be hunted down, and Cosmo accused Jorgen of preparing to blast his memories out the moment his back was turned. Cosmo held his wand to his head and threatened to erase his own memories so Jorgen wouldn't get the satisfaction (due to a crap ton of unresolved issues he has with Jorgen because of baby ban conflicts). While I didn't show what happened next, this is just a big moment of Cosmo backstory in my 'verse that I really like.

Present-day Cosmo in my verse is still dealing with a LOAD of issues, especially regarding his memories because his brain's pretty scrambled and he deals with a lot of trauma, guilt, postpartum depression, and stuff like that, but it all comes back to this idea of Fairies removing memories from their heads.

~ Also, I like playing with wacky Fairy anatomy. I already made things like Wanda's radar, H.P.'s laser canon, and even Cosmo's empty head shell - all of which are kept in their forehead domes - totally canon parts of Fairy anatomy by saying that Fairies don't have hearts in my Classic 'verse. Instead they have "cores," which develop into physical objects that represent them.

If you can develop enamel in your forehead that allows your body to form an object that represents your personality, it's definitely not out of the question for you to physically remove memories from your head.

It's kind of a weird piece of worldbuilding and lore but there you go, that's the story behind why it's there. Mostly for things like photo albums, ha ha.

#asks #Anon #FAIRIES!#ridwriting #Dragonfly parents #Origin of the Pixies #Frayed Knots #Bat cube and associates

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