#Whale Watching Guide

[cryptowhaleguide]

Whale Watching 101

Whale Watching 101: How to Track Big Money Moves in Crypto Quick Summary Crypto whales — the high-net-worth players who can move markets with a single transaction — hold incredible influence over crypto price action. By learning how to spot their movements early, you’ll gain a huge edge over the average investor. In this guide, you’ll learn what whale wallets are, how to track them, when to…

[asestimationsconsultants]

Fort Scratchley | Newcastle’s Iconic Coastal Defense and Historic Landmark

Perched on a strategic headland overlooking the entrance to Newcastle Harbour, Fort Scratchley is one of Newcastle’s most significant historical sites. This well-preserved coastal fortification has played a crucial role in Australia’s military history, standing as a symbol of defense and resilience. Today, it serves as a popular tourist attraction, offering breathtaking ocean views, guided tours, and a glimpse into Newcastle’s past.

Whether you are a history enthusiast, a military buff, or simply looking for an exciting place to visit, Fort Scratchley is a must-see destination in Newcastle.

The Historical Significance of Fort Scratchley

Fort Scratchley’s history dates back to the 19th century when fears of a Russian invasion prompted the construction of coastal defenses across Australia. In 1882, the fort was built on Signal Hill, a site that had long been used for communication and lookout purposes. Designed by the renowned military engineer Peter Scratchley, the fort was equipped with a network of tunnels and strategically positioned cannons to protect Newcastle from potential attacks.

Though the feared Russian invasion never came, Fort Scratchley saw military action during World War II. On June 8, 1942, a Japanese submarine surfaced off the coast and began shelling Newcastle. The soldiers stationed at Fort Scratchley returned fire, marking the only time in Australian history that a coastal fort fired upon an enemy vessel in defense of the country. This historic event cemented Fort Scratchley’s place in Australia’s wartime legacy.

After the war, the fort’s military significance declined, and it was eventually decommissioned in 1972. It remained closed to the public for decades until a major restoration project revived it as a museum and heritage site in 2008. Today, Fort Scratchley stands as a proud reminder of Newcastle’s military past and continues to educate visitors on its historical importance.

What to Do at Fort Scratchley

A visit to Fort Scratchley offers a mix of history, stunning coastal views, and interactive experiences. Whether you’re exploring the tunnels, enjoying a panoramic lookout, or learning about the fort’s wartime past, there is plenty to see and do.

1. Explore the Fort and Its Tunnels

One of the main attractions of Fort Scratchley is its network of underground tunnels. These tunnels were originally built for storing ammunition and allowing soldiers to move safely between different sections of the fort. Guided tunnel tours provide an exciting opportunity to walk through these historic passageways while learning about the fort’s operations, artillery, and the soldiers who once served there.

2. Learn About Military History at the Museum

The on-site museum offers a fascinating collection of military artifacts, photographs, and historical displays. Exhibits cover the fort’s construction, its role in defending Newcastle, and the broader history of Australia’s coastal defenses. Interactive displays make the museum engaging for visitors of all ages.

3. Take in Spectacular Views

Fort Scratchley’s elevated position offers some of the best views in Newcastle. From the fort’s lookout points, visitors can enjoy sweeping vistas of Newcastle Harbour, Nobbys Beach, and the Pacific Ocean. It’s also a great spot for whale watching during migration season (May to November).

4. Watch the Firing of the Cannons

One of the most exciting experiences at Fort Scratchley is the daily firing of the fort’s historic cannons. The ceremonial cannon firings take place at 1:00 PM (weather permitting) and are a highlight for visitors, offering a small taste of what the fort’s defenses might have been like in the past.

5. Enjoy a Scenic Walk Around the Fort

The fort is surrounded by well-maintained grounds that provide a perfect setting for a leisurely stroll. The area around the fort is part of Newcastle’s coastal walking trails, making it an excellent stop on a walk from Nobbys Beach to Newcastle’s city center.

6. Special Events and Reenactments

Throughout the year, Fort Scratchley hosts special events, including historical reenactments, military ceremonies, and educational programs. These events bring history to life and offer an immersive way to experience the fort’s past.

When to Visit Fort Scratchley

Fort Scratchley is open to the public year-round, with different experiences available depending on the time of year.

Best Time of Year: Newcastle enjoys a mild climate, making Fort Scratchley a great destination in any season. However, spring (September to November) and autumn (March to May) offer the most comfortable weather for exploring the outdoor areas.

Whale Watching Season: If you visit between May and November, you might spot humpback whales migrating along the coast from the fort’s vantage points.

Daily Cannon Firing: Plan your visit around 1:00 PM to witness the ceremonial cannon firing.

Weekdays vs. Weekends: Weekends tend to be busier, especially during school holidays. Visiting on a weekday provides a quieter and more relaxed experience.

The fort is free to visit, but guided tunnel tours require a small admission fee. Checking the official Fort Scratchley website before your visit can help you stay informed about tour schedules, special events, and any temporary closures.

Conclusion

Fort Scratchley is a true gem in Newcastle, offering a perfect blend of history, breathtaking coastal views, and engaging experiences. Its significance as the only Australian coastal fort to have fired in defense of the country makes it an important historical landmark. Whether you’re exploring the underground tunnels, admiring the views of the ocean, or witnessing the cannon firing, there’s something for everyone at this iconic site.

For visitors to Newcastle, Fort Scratchley is an unmissable attraction that provides both a fascinating history lesson and an opportunity to appreciate the city’s stunning coastal scenery. Whether you are a local rediscovering your city’s heritage or a traveler looking for a unique experience, Fort Scratchley is a destination that promises intrigue, inspiration, and unforgettable memories.

[zenovyap]

Iceland in 1300km: 13 Essential Tips for Your Arctic Adventure

As we are in the midst of a solar maximum, which means that there would be stronger auroras on display, it would be a great idea to plan for a trip to Iceland. Iceland is known for its stunning nature, on top of being right below the aurora circle. Therefore, a week-long holiday around Iceland would be a treat for nature buffs. However, Iceland is also known for its harsh weather. Not only is…

[flagellant]

i think i was born to be a tour guide for a whale watching program for the explicit reason that i dont particularly give a shit about whales that much. like theyre neat and beautiful and great creatures but most of the time when you go whale watching youre never watching a whale. this is where i come in to infodump at you about various seagulls, petrels, perhaps even an albatross, or point out the various jellyfish floating just beneath the surface and pontificate about the wondrous nature of the life cycle of a cnidarian. i think every whale watching tour would be incredibly successful if they had someone on the crew who went to smoke a cigarette when a whale showed up and then when they werent showing up appeared to gush at you about pelagic loons.

[fresh-bag-of-ham]

look. spirk went canon for the first time when spock went into heat and they fucked wrestled on vulcan and spock's heat broke even though jim only faked his death. then they got divorced and spock tried to purge all emotion from his body. then spock realized that jim is his soulmate and feelings are good actually and they held hands which is vulcan for kissing and spirk went canon a second time. then spock died and they had to regrow his body and put his soul back in it and he had to relearn all his memories and finally he remembered jim and spirk went canon a third time. then they were married for a while and saved some whales, met god, had to deal with spock's terrorist cult-leader brother, space chernobyl happened and the soviet union the klingon empire fell and jim was framed for murder and spock had to find the real killer. then jim got sucked into another dimension and died (don't @ me i refuse to even watch this one) and spock lived for like a hundred more years and then got zapped into an alternate universe where he didn't know anyone and had to play spiritual guide to chris pine and zachary quinto, and then he ALSO died. and that was the end! and we just lived like that! for decades! but NOW, thanks to executive producer bill fucking shatner, old jim got to meet even older spock on the astral plane one last time and DOUBLE HELD HANDS which we can only conclude is vulcan making out with tongue. so yes, for a fourth time, spirk has gone canon

[blueberrytruth]

The thing with percy jackson is that he's a loser. He's lame. He's normal. He should go to community college and/or a shitty state scho ol and have to scrape by doing shitty minimum wage jobs that are only slightly related to his chosen field. It's truer to his character.

[konaoceanadventure]

Embark on a mesmerizing adventure in Kailua-Kona, HI, as humpback whales grace our waters. Join our expert-led whale watching tour to witness breathtaking breaches and courtship rituals, while embracing responsible and respectful wildlife observation. Immerse yourself in the magic of the ocean and leave with lasting memories.

[demonic0angel]

DC x DP: An Atlantean death cult summons Danny to usher in the end of the world. The biggest obstacle to this is that Danny doesn't speak Atlantean and as such has no idea what these weird fish people want.

(Unfortunately, I missed MerMay this year, or y'all would've been gotten soooo much mermaid!Phantom Family stuff istg)

Danny tried not to groan as he stared at the other cultists who wanted him to... do something. Probably evil, but how would he know?

He couldn't understand Atlantean, after all.

But it definitely looked evil, with the wounded dolphin in the middle of the circle with its blood dispersing into the water.

Danny gave a silent prayer, hoping that Cujo could perhaps guide it towards a better afterlife.

Danny sighed, rocking from side to side as he looked down at himself, where his legs had merged together into an orca tail.

At least he was badass as hell while he was summoned as a merman.

He watched blandly as the cultists continued to dance and chant, trying to do something with their ritual that he couldn't understand. He didn't want to rain on their parade, but while he couldn't understand them, it just looked several times more ridiculous.

One of them swam forward to present to him a closed cup full of an unknown thing and Danny just stared at it before turning away.

There were some cries of shock and despair.

Danny looked around for a way to escape, but he would feel bad if he left and these cultists wrecked havoc within the ocean, so he stayed there, watching the reeds move in the water.

Out of the blue, the underwater temple that Danny was in suddenly rocked. A whale crashed into the side of the place and shook the entire ground, causing screams to erupt from the cultists. Danny gave a sigh of relief as he saw a crowd of people swim inside and attack the cultists.

It was finished up rather quickly, as Danny bent down to smudge the rune markings keeping him in the circle.

He looked at the various crowd of people, some of whom he recognized were part of a hero group called the Justice League in this world. In front of them was a blonde man in orange and green, who was staring at him in horror and shock.

Danny gave a reassuring smile and waved goodbye.

"Thanks for taking care of them! See you never! Bye!"

And then he was gone.

[smileysuh]

double trouble - TEASER

🌙 starring. Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone. Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them. 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, masturbation, spit roasting, double penetration, doggy style, missionary, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, pain kink, spanking, spitting, choking, dom!Wonwoo, eager!Mingyu, overstimulation, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, dry humping/grinding, undertones of therapy/childhood sibling rivalry/bad family dynamics, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.9k

🍭 aus. Surfer Meanie au, Destination-Wedding au, my friend’s sister is hot au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I want to start this off by saying, I don’t know much about surfing or the Olympics, but fuck it, this is fanfic, and surfer Meanie is too hot to pass up. 

“She’s quite adventurous, isn’t she?” the captain of the small vessel asks, watching you swim off with the guide in search of the whale shark that was recently sighted.

“It would appear that way,” Wonwoo sighs.

“She a friend of yours?”

“We’re friends with her brother, he’s here for his wedding, at the resort,” Mingyu explains.

“Ah, I see. You’re both being good friends making sure his sister is okay while he gets ready for his wedding,” the captain nods.

“We’re not taking very good care of her from here,” Wonwoo frowns.

The captain looks out at the water, letting out a breath. “I assure you, whale sharks are perfectly safe.”

“Fuck it.” Wonwoo strips his shirt off, grabbing a snorkel and some goggles.

“Seriously?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“They’re harmless,” Wonwoo points out. “We’ll regret it if we don’t go in.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday the 21st of March 2025

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

interact to be tagged when the fic is posted, reblogs and replies will be prioritized

[katmaibearfan]

New To The Bear Cams? Start Here!

This is not a complete guide -- check my pinned post for more in-depth information! My Bear Terminology I Use and My Tagging System Explainer posts are both going to be helpful for people seeking more information.

So, like, how do the cams work?

First, a link to the bear cams, so you know where to find them. Next -- there are many cameras located around Brooks River, and there is a handy labeled map here. There are six main bear cameras -- three cameras near the waterfall, Brooks Falls (BF), Brooks Falls Low (BLF) and Riffles (RF), and three cams downriver, Kat's River View (KRV), River Watch (RW), and the Underwater Salmon Cam (UW). In addition, there is a camera on Dumpling Mountain (DM) that has a lovely view of the whole Brooks Camp area, and a camera on the Naknek River (NR) that sees beautiful sunsets during bear season and beluga whales in the off season! You can switch between these cams by clicking on the one you want to move to -- they're located under the livestream you're currently watching.

The cameras are controlled remotely by volunteer camera operators for Explore, called CamOps. They do not read chat during their shifts, so don't tag them in anything or try to tell them what to do. They are trained, they have guidelines they must follow, and they have a lot of experience doing this -- the Katmai CamOp positions at Explore are highly coveted, and they have to work on other wildlife cams for a while before they are allowed to work the Katmai cams. They'll post in chat when the shift changes, so give them a heartfelt "thank you!" for donating their time to let us see all the lovely things these bears have to offer!

The cams are hosted on Explore.org, which has so many other livestreams! i only really frequent the Katmai Cams, but I do pop in to check on the Walrus and Puffin cams from time to time! Though you don't need an account to watch any of the cams, I highly suggest making one -- especially if you want to take snapshots! If you are logged in, any snapshots you take will automatically be saved to your gallery on explore, so you don't even have to download anything!

In addition, being logged in means you can comment in the chat underneath the livestream, though you can view comments without an account. This is helpful for lots of reasons, but especially for identifying bears and getting answers to any questions you might have. Don't be anxious, come say hi -- We're all here because we love these bears, and we're always happy to see new faces! There are a few folks in the explore chat who are incredibly good at identifying bears. Genuinely, I am an amateur, and a lot of the IDs I post here are crowdsourced from them.

The shape of the season

June is when the cams turn on, and it's quiet -- the bears are returning to the area after hibernation, so they're still sleepy, and the salmon haven't arrived yet. Sows that gave birth over the winter will return with their brand new spring cubs, and sows who enter into estrus will emancipate any cubs they have. It's also mating season (more on that later), which means fighting, playing, courting, and mating are all common. Oh, and the bears will generally look skrungled -- this is because they are shedding out of their winter coats and into their summer ones.

July is hectic -- the salmon arrive, and with them, a ton of activity. The run comes in pulses, slowly increasing in size and frequency until it hits a crescendo and then tapers off again. You can expect up to 30 bears to be at the falls during the peak, all feasting on the hundreds of thousands of salmon that descend upon the river! As the summer days in Alaska are very long -- Katmai peaks at about 18 hours and 20 minutes of daylight on the solstice -- you can find active bears on the cams essentially whenever during this time. Most subadults and sows with young cubs stay in the lower river because it is less crowded, and therefore safer. Up at the falls, you can expect to see lots of boars and single sows, with the boars frequently arguing and fighting over the best fishing spots.

August is quiet again. The salmon are almost completely gone, so many bears leave to go fish elsewhere -- "August Walkabouts", we call them -- and some bears who leave during this time may not come back again until next season. The ones who stick around spend their days fishing what they can, playing, and resting after the chaotic, salmon-filled month they just had.

September is the Fall Feast -- the bodies of the salmon who have spawned and died begin floating downriver. These salmon are not as nutritious as the ones caught in July, but they are still food, so the bears do still eat them. Many (but not all) bears return from their walkabouts, and other bears appear for their first visit of the season. Most of the action here is in the lower river, where you may see some bears diving for fish. Its still slower and less crowded than July, but its more activity than in August.

October sees the end of the fall feast, and the beginning of hibernation season. The bears who are still around will mostly just be chilling & hanging out. there could be some epic nap sessions, or late-season playing. Subadults and Sows with cubs will be the first to go to den, followed by sows without cubs, and finally the boars. Also, October is generally when Fat Bear Week happens, so keep an eye out for that!

By early November, most of the bears will have gone to den, the cams will shut off, and a season of bear watching will conclude once more.

Coat Changes

The bears will, broadly speaking, start the summer much lighter than they end up being by the time fall rolls around. As a result, many bears will look totally different in June than they do in September. Some bears, like 128 Grazer, may only darken a bit or darken unevenly, but others like 903 Gully or 131 Marshmallow will darken a lot. This change will happen slowly, over the course of the summer. This means that bears that stay around for August are pretty easy to track through these coat changes, but bears who leave and then come back in September can be tricky to identify if you aren't familiar with what their fall coat looks like.

If you want to know what a specific bear looks like in early summer vs fall, I suggest looking through my tag for them and taking note of the dates on the post. All bears are tagged by their number, and separately by their nickname (if they have one). For example, 131 Marshmallow is tagged both "#bear131" and "#marshmallow", but 856 is just tagged "#bear856".

Bear Pregnancy, Mating, and Cubs

Cubs are born in mid-winter, roughly late January to early February, while their mother is hibernating. They are very small when they are born, about 1 pound (0.45kg). By the time we see them on the cams, they have already done quite a lot of growing!

But how do we end up with cubs? Well, its quite different from human pregnancy! Mating season is in June, and during this time you will likely see boars following after sows. A sow in estrus gives off pheromones that alert boars to their presence, and boars who are interested will begin following that scent. This courting chase can last for quite a while -- sometimes up to a week -- with the boar following close behind the sow. Sometimes a sow may even approach a boar, seemingly asking him to follow her.

Sows and boars both will mate with multiple partners during mating season, and though some particularly dominant boars may attempt to keep a particular sow from mating with anyone else for the duration of her estrus period, they usually are not successful. As a result, cubs from the same litter may have different fathers!

Though mating season is in June, a phenomena known as delayed implantation means that sows don't actually "become pregnant" until after they go to den for the winter -- and only if they have enough fat stored for them and their potential cubs to survive the whole ordeal. In addition, heavier sows tend to give birth to larger litters, with the largest sows having litters of up to 4 cubs!

Fighting

There's gonna be bear fights. Sometimes the bear fights get nasty. Usually, the bear fights are between adults, most often boars, but adult boars do sometimes attack, and occasionally kill, cubs. You can see my trigger tag policy here.

For the livecams themselves, though -- CamOps will not shy away from violence. In fact, you can generally expect them to focus on violence when it happens, so if you see a fight starting and don't want to see it, you should probably move to a different camera! While many fights between adults end with "only a few scratches" (which may still be big enough to scar), some fights will end with nasty looking injuries that can leave big, lasting, nasty scars -- which the biggest boars often end up covered in by their old age.

It is often helpful to keep in mind that these fights are part of their life. It is how brown bears are. Big injuries can look really nasty, but they are bears, and they are built to survive these things. Cub deaths are always deeply sad to us humans, especially when they happen on camera or at the hands of a well-loved boar, but they are also normal and expected -- only roughly half of cubs at Katmai survive, and you must be ready to confront this fact if you want to watch the bear cams.

In Conclusion

I'll add to this post as I think of more stuff, other things to link to, etc. Oh, and welcome to the bear cam community, we're very happy to have you join us!

[zenovyap]

Iceland in 1300km - Whale Watching Excitement

In late winter of 2024, I embarked on a 7-day tour around Iceland. The all-inclusive tour package took us out of the usual tourist spots around Reykjavik, to enjoy the rugged beauty of the land of ice and fire. We had already covered the Golden Circle tour, before going ice caving on a glacier. Then, we went to soak in geothermal pools deep in Iceland. We also visited the bare lands of…

[babygirl-riley]

Hii🌸 if u don't mind would u pls write for simon w fem reader who's having a difficult pregnancy??:'( if not that's ok, luv ur stuff btw🩷

In Sickness and Health

Simon’s heart breaks when watching going through your first pregnancy

A/N: Omg i watched my old co worked go through a hard pregnancy. It never looks easy no matter how it is going. I love this idea too ❤️

Warnings: sickness, pregnancy, hard pregnancy, underlining depression, arguments, marriage, soft!simon, husband!simon, dad!simon, fluff, little angst, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

When you found out you were pregnant, it was obvious. No period. Your cravings became intense. You threw up every fucking morning. Simon and you were excited that you were pregnant, people encouraging you that the morning sickness would pass. Instead. It came harder and longer. You cramped all the time, you bled once. Thinking you lost the baby when in fact you didn’t. Doctor reassured that it was normal in some women.

However, both of you didn’t expect the pregnancy to get harder than what people said it would have been. Your mom even said that what you are going through isn’t what she did. You are through your third trimester and nothing changed. Eventually your midwife came to put fluids in you since you couldn’t hold anything in. Throwing up was your new aesthetic. It got harder for you to work so you had to quit your job and stay home. Best friends with your toilet, you slept there day and night until your body grew bigger.

Simon was ordered from Price to stay home until the baby arrived and settled. Price heard from Simon about how the pregnancy has been not the best. You been up all night not being able to sleep from being too hot to throwing up to not being comfortable. Which caused Simon not to sleep, due to being worried about you. He would hold your hair up if you were too tired to even notice it was falling inside the toilet. Simon would wash your hair as you cried. Shushing you to keep you from having a panic attack.

You hated all of what was happening to you where you couldn’t enjoy being pregnant. Counting the days not to see your kid but to have her out. It was like you were hating the fact of everything no that was happening. Feeling like a curse then a miracle. Simon was the opposite even though he was heartbroken to see his love going through only hardship, the thought of having a mini both of you made him warm inside. Bringing it up once had you excited until you would hurl once more.

Simon would bend over backwards for anything you needed. Needed a bath Done. Needed a craving. Done and done again. Needed to be carried to the bed. Done. Needed a belly lift. Done. Anything was possible for Simon if it was for you. Nothing would stop him from helping you.

Was it perfect? Not always. Even when you both were tired and exhausted, you would fight, he would always be right by you. No matter what the fight was about, lately things that were ridiculous.

You both finished a fight and made up as he pet your damp hair, rubbing his other hand on your swollen belly. You were laying on his chest in bed, having your belly rest on the comfort of the mattress.

Sweat consumed you, your body working overboard on making your child and keeping you from not dying from everything else. It was silent before you sobbed. You were done, nothing for you. Your feet hurt. You felt like a whale. And your husband hated you. You’ve been only a bitch since you got pregnant and you were done.

You kept repeating in your head that he truly didn’t want to be here that you were just an excuse of a wife. That he never wanted to help you. That he wished you were gone. All because he didn’t get you your pebble ice. Simon had to leave the house for a while and what did he bring back? The stupid fucking ice. You called him a coward for leaving and not say anything about you said just for him to gift you?

Simon’s heart broke when your son burst out, your body shaking. Concern written on his face as he made your face turn to him. “Love what’s wrong?”

You cried harder as you laid your face in his shirt. “I want her out. And I feel terrible that I don’t want to do this anymore. That I have been a bitch. That I can’t stop throwing up. That this whole pregnancy hasn’t been what people have been saying.” He listened to you rubbing your back in soothing patterns. “I’ve been a terrible wife. I can’t believe I have been awful to you. You only been kind and generous and loving.”

Simon shook his head. “I could never do what you are doin’ dove,” He said quickly as he rubbed your shoulders. “This pregnancy is not been the best for ya.”

You sobbed harder as you clenched your hands into his shirt. Simon started to hush you quietly and soothingly. “You don’t deserve me.”

Simon froze from the comment, he used to say that to you at the beginning of your relationship. Telling you that he is a monster and that he would plague you with his darkness. That you were the angel and he was a demon, instead you showed him that he was the opposite. He was just lost in a broken world of his. Simon knew you were not like this. Not confident. Angry. Negative. No, you were the opposite of all of it.

Simon scooted so he would have you sit up against the frame. “Don’t you say that.” He said sternly.

You scoffed. “It’s true, I called you mean things. I said mean nasty things that are not true. Just over ice? Like how…”

“Stop,” He said stopping you dead in your tracks. “I know you didn’t mean it. Never have you showed me that. Baby,” He watched as your lips trembled, as your skin paled. “I know you love me, you are in pain just like I was. Let me help you bring yourself back as you make our child. You’re almost there love.”

You inhaled deeply as you looked away. “I’m sorry,” You turned to him and placed your hand on his cheek. “I love you Simon.”

Simon smiled and grabbed your hand kissing your knuckles. “I love you too. This is through sickness and health yeah? We promised each other that. So that is what gonna happen.”

You laid back down on him, your heart swelled with joy. You didn’t know how you got such an amazing husband. But all you knew is that he was your soulmate and you were his.

Another month went by and the baby was in distress from your body. She would be a month and half early which could lead into problems. However since your was fighting off too many things it wanted the baby to come out. You laid in the hospital bed as they induced you to push your baby girl out. You cried as Simon held his hand on yours and a cloth against your forehead.

“You got this mama,” The gynecologist announced looking up at you. “She is almost there!”

You looked at Simon concern written on your face and his. “It’s al’ight mamas. ‘M right here.” He whispered soothing you by brushing your damp strands back.

With a couple last pushes you heard a wail. Immediately relief went through your body as you laid all the way down into the bed. You panted as nurses and the doctor tended to the baby. Simon watched back and forth between you and the baby. “Go-Go see her.” You whispered gulping air.

You watched as he gave you a concerned look then nodded. You watched as he looked over the shoulders and smiled. Your heart fluttering. One of the nurses came to look over you. She said something but you couldn’t hear her. You felt nauseous and weak, lightheadedness coming in full swing.

The nurse called out as you felt your eyes roll. After that it was dark, you felt like actual sleep took hold. When you woke up, you were in a different room in the hospital, mouth was dry. When you looked over you saw Simon asleep with your baby girl against his bare chest.

You smiled. “They have been so cute,” You turned your head to see the doctor walking in. “How are you feeling?”

You hummed and coughed a bit. “Thirsty.”

“I bet. You had a blood clot form after giving birth to your baby girl. It can be common and could cause from your body being on overdrive to fix you. You are on blood thinners so take it easy. You have a healthy baby girl, she might be a little smaller than usual but that is expected from a early birth,” she explained looking over your vitals. “Your husband knows what to do. Just get to know your baby and rest.”

That you did, Simon once again by both you and both of your baby girl. Never have you felt so much relief and love. You smiled as Simon changed her diaper humming softly to her. In sickness and health. Is all you thought of as he gave you a kiss handing you your baby girl.

[inbabylontheywept]

i had my wisdom teeth out yesterday, and afterwards my friend came over to torment me (mutually agreed upon torment, we planned this beforehand because we thought it would be funny, and it was).

and he starts asking me calculus questions.

tell me why in my propofol-dazed state, when i couldn't understand how time kept passing, i was shocked by the existence of a Dunkin Donuts that's been by my house for the past two years, and i was amazed by how soft my face felt (i couldn't feel myself touching it, it was trippy), i was still able to get the integral of x^2

granted, i first gave him the derivative, and then i gave him the integral without adding the constant of integration C, and this is basic calculus

but HOW do brains work like this.

you get wheeled out of the dentist's office after saying "i love you" to the nurse, making whale sounds, jabbering about your mother having four eyes and there being wayyyy too many lightswitches on that wall, but you retain enough brain to do math???

I think it's kind of beautiful that, in our first stumbling efforts to make a model of a brain, the hard part has been getting it to stop hallucinating. That maybe the natural state of consciousness is this sort of dreamwalking.

I wasn't put under when I got my wisdom teeth removed, but my dad sedated the crap out of me. I can't even remember the cocktail I was on, but it was stupendous. Xanax and some other things. The dentist had to ask me to stop humming several times. After the third ask, I pointed to the drill he was using and said "OHHHH so it's okay when HE does it."

Afterwards, my parents said I seemed lucid, and I talked and I wasn't sluggish or uncoordinated. They knew I was high, but the first "oh, yeah, he's actually quite high" thing I did was I put an otter pop in the microwave to get it mushy, and then I put the time in, and then I reset the microwave, put the time in, reset, time in, over and over and over for about ten minutes. Eventually my little sister stepped in and asked what I was doing, and I explained that I was having a little bit of trouble converting from "normal time" to "microwave time". I'm still not sure what I meant by that, but I think it might have been a binary conversion because the time I'd set it for was 10:10:10

(I have killed more good microwaves that way.)

Brains are cool. You know? I like how much they do without being guided to. I describe the sensation of being me, sometimes, as riding an elephant. And the conscious brain is me, and it gets to watch and want things and make its case to the elephant. And sometimes, the elephant plays along and does some incredibly powerful elephant thing and that great, but other days, it decides to eat eggs. And to some extent, I really am just along for the ride.

i'm not sure where I'm going with this. Perhaps your elephant is quite good at math.

[mindtrcks]

asmr | CL16

Charles has been having trouble sleeping. Your videos seem to be the only thing that helps.

WC: 5.4k

Notes: performance coach!reader who dabbles in asmr (but only for charles <3), smut, phone sex/mutual masturbation.

Charles has been having trouble sleeping lately.

It could be because of timezones, or how much coffee he drinks. But it probably has more to do with the way he’s been watching the Drivers Championship slip further and further out of his grip with every passing week. But to admit that would be to admit that he’s losing control of the car, and with it, himself. To admit that would be to admit that there's nothing he can do about it.

So he claims that he’s merely been a little restless at night. He’s told to try calming teas before bed, so he does. But then he just has to get up and use the restroom. He counts hundreds of sheep without getting tired, and ocean noises and whale sounds just pound around in his skull until he turns them off. He tries picturing the schematics of the SF24 in his head until he has a perfect rendition in his mind. But then he thinks of how it feels to drag it back into the pits, and works himself up so much he can’t even close his eyes.

He’s growing more than just a little restless. He thinks he might be getting desperate.

—

“Have you tried warm milk?” Andrea asks him, when Charles shows up to training with bags under his eyes, yet again.

“Yes, no luck,” he answers. He doesn’t know a kind way to say that he’s tried everything that appears on the first five pages of google when he searches for insomnia remedies, including an American military tactic that’s supposed to work in ten seconds. (Charles has found it doesn’t work at all.)

Andrea makes a sympathetic sound and begins to guide Charles through a warm-up. His limbs don’t stretch as far as they would if he had gotten a good night’s sleep.

As he struggles, your voice calls out, from the corner, “Wait, he’s allowed to eat dairy?”

And that is something he is still getting used to. You, shadowing his sessions with Andrea. You’re preparing for your transfer to a team that shall not be named, as you like to say. Charles figures it must be a team that pays well, because you take the NDA quite seriously. When Andrea first told him about the arrangement, he worried it would be awkward, but he quickly found the opposite to be true. You talk quite a lot for a soon-to-be head performance coach. It’s comfortable. He likes your chatter, even if it’s a bit inane at times.

“Drink dairy,” he corrects, just to hear you huff.

The satisfaction is short-lived, though, because then Andrea’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him further into his lunge, and deepening the burn in his thighs. “Milk is healthy,” Andrea tells you, sounding like a professor. Like he really thinks you don’t understand the merits of drinking milk. Charles just thinks you want to be difficult. “Also, he has an ice cream company.”

“Yeah, but I didn't think he started it for the love of ice cream. Plus, everybody makes it seem like drivers can only eat gruel. I need to shadow a nutritionist or something.”

Andrea lets him stand up, and instructs him to start stretching his arms now. “You don’t have to make the meal plan,” he says, once adequately satisfied with Charles’ form. “They can just find Dan—”

You interrupt him with a gasp and a rushed, “Shshsh,” not quite a shush, but something close. Like calling a cat. “You can’t say who it is,” you say, waving your arms. But then you freeze, and Charles can see the moment your face lights up with an idea. He knows, instinctively, that it can’t be good. “Wait. Charles, have you tried ASMR?”

He briefly debates lying, but he’s not sure he has a good enough poker face to get away with it normally, much less when Andrea pulls his arm up and introduces a new ache to the stretch. “I have tried, but it did not help much,” he admits, choosing to ignore both the delight on your face and the reserved judgment on Andrea’s. “It felt weird to have some stranger try to put me to sleep.”

“Ah, so you need your own personal ASMRtist, just for you?” you ask, eyebrows raising. Charles would feel shame, but he is just too tired. He watches you turn to Andrea and shake your head. “These drivers, man.”

Charles just sighs. Andrea makes his way to the treadmill, and Charles sighs again, this time with feeling.

—

He doesn’t think much of it, as he goes through the workout. Andrea works him hard enough that he doesn’t think much of anything at all. That is, until he’s doing crunches and your face suddenly appears above him, grinning down. “I could do it, if you wanted to try ASMR again. I could make you some, seeing as I’m not a stranger.”

At this point, Charles would try just about anything. Exhausted, and sweaty, and struggling to finish his set, he grunts, “Sure. If it is not a problem.”

“No problem at all,” you say, throwing him an exaggerated wink.

He’s lost too much sleep over the past few weeks to spend time parsing out whatever that means.

—

A week later, and Charles has honestly forgotten about the entire thing until you text him out of the blue on a Monday afternoon.

what kind of things do you like?

for your asmr :)

He stares down at his phone and tries to think of a reasonable way to respond to that. He has watched ASMR before, yes. It’s true that if it exists on the first five pages of google, he has already tried it. But all of the videos he watched were too creepy, or too loud, or again, too impersonal. He didn’t really discover anything that worked, except maybe for the lack of traffic in the background.

I like for it to be quiet, he sends, eventually. He’s not sure what else to offer. As he watches you type, he hopes that you won't put too much effort into this whole thing. Charles is not very hopeful that it will help in the first place.

well, yes!

i mean do you like talking? or water sounds or something?

I’m not sure, he types. And then, just to ease your expectations, adds, Honestly it will probably not work either way

have you no faith in me?

He doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he turns his phone off instead of overthinking.

—

It’s Wednesday night by the time you text him again.

for you, the message reads. There's a video attached, of course. He has to wait for it to download to his phone before he can see the cover image: you, sitting at a hotel room desk, smiling softly. Your hand is blurry in the frame, like you're pulling it back after pressing record.

He feels something tight in his stomach, a jump of anticipation. If his problem was the impersonality of the few videos he’s tried on YouTube, this would definitely fix that. The frame looks like something he might see if he were to do a video call with you. Something he might see if you were really talking to him.

Pressing play seems dangerous. He thinks it will probably not work, but there's the nagging thought in the back of his mind of what if it does? What if, after all the home remedies and melatonin and sleepless nights, this is what finally works? Your voice, your face, on a video just for him. How is he meant to deal with the repercussions of that?

It's a war within himself, whether to press play or not. The fact is that he needs to get sleep before free practice in the morning. But he cannot honestly say that watching your video would help any more than staring up at the hotel ceiling, counting the cracks and divots. Picturing sheep jumping over a fence, like his maman always said.

It is almost like his phone is singing to him, though. In a voice that maybe sounds like a siren’s or maybe sounds like yours.

He cannot help it. He presses play.

“Hi, Charles,” your voice whispers in the quiet of his hotel room.

Instantly, he panics and shuts his phone off. Much too dangerous, he thinks. The sheep will work just fine.

—

He wakes up feeling more exhausted than he has ever felt.

It’s bad, he knows. He hardly has anything to say to the reporters who try to talk to him before he gets in the car. Free practice is a nightmare, and he nearly crashes out in the middle of a flying lap. And then, of course, he has to sit through an entirely long debrief in which all that seems to be said is how he needs to be focusing more. Concentrating on what's important.

“Maybe you just need to get more sleep,” you offer, like you know, somehow, that he was too much of a coward to watch the video you sent. That you can see how he didn't even try.

“Maybe,” he agrees.

There are sympathetic faces, and then he’s sent back to the hotel early, with firm instructions to go to bed.

—

He tries to fall asleep on his own. He drinks tea and plays whale noises and even does yoga poses, which do nothing but aggravate his muscles, already sore from his incident in free practice.

In the end, there's nothing to be done. He rolls over and grabs his phone, resolving that, if nothing else, he will try. And even if it doesn't work, then he at least will know, and he can stop thinking about you sitting at that desk, whispering his name.

He presses play before he can convince himself otherwise.

“Hi, Charles,” you say, on the video. The room around you is dimly lit, the kind of yellow light in hotel rooms that makes everything look a bit hazy. You’re wearing your Ferrari polo, but you've pulled a zip-up over it. Charles always thought you looked very nice in red. He isn't sure if he's supposed to close his eyes or not.

“I know you’re probably only watching this ‘cause you’re desperate, so I’ll try my best.”

He watches you talk until you instruct him in a quiet voice to close his eyes, and he’s thankful for the clarification. It’s an easier instruction to follow than to just relax, like the YouTube videos say. It’s easier to follow your instructions, period, he thinks. He’s used to it, from your input in training sessions. Straighten your back, widen your stance, do two more. It’s rote, listening to you. And your voice is melodic, comforting. He listens contently as you tell him to count down from ten, and to guess whether you’re snapping with your left or right hand. You start making that sound you’d made at Andrea during his last training session with you, a hushed shshshsh, and Charles finds himself yawning.

Maybe it’s a trust thing. Maybe he finds himself getting tired because he knows he can fall asleep without worrying about you randomly screaming on the video, or interrupting the quiet with an ad halfway through.

Maybe it’s just because it’s you.

He’s asleep before he can come to a conclusion.

—

“You’re looking refreshed this morning,” you chirp at him, when you cross paths in the paddock.

He feels a flush rise high on his cheeks. I wonder why, he thinks. Outwardly, he admits, “Yes, I slept well last night.” And then, after a moment, adds, quieter, “Thank you.”

Your smile is softer than the usual grin you level him with. Still, he can tell you’re proud of yourself. “And you didn’t think it would work. See, Charles, your performance coach always knows best.”

He finds himself feeling grateful for your capacity for talking, once again. When he woke up, he was nervous he wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation with you anymore, or wouldn’t be able to force himself into acting normal. Now, though, it still feels just as easy. “You’re not my performance coach,” he states.

It gets him an eye roll. “Right, I’m your personal ‘ASMRtist.’”

You whisper the word, which he isn’t quite sure is a real word to begin with, and it’s almost like he’s watching the video again.

He knew it was dangerous clicking play.

—

With sleep, his performance improves.

It’s nothing miraculous. The car is still the car; the team is still the team. But it feels less like he’s fighting, or like control is slipping through his fingers at every turn. He starts to enjoy it a bit more, even during the rough times. Everything had felt so much worse when he knew that he could spend the entire day wrestling with the car, and wouldn’t even be able to sleep it off when the race was over. Now, he breathes easier knowing that your video is waiting for him.

You send him another, during the two weeks off in April, and then one more after his podium in Miami. He rotates through the three of them based on how he’s feeling, or how long he thinks it’ll take. (Sometimes, he feels a bit spoiled for choice, and starts brainstorming ways to pay you back.) Though he likes them all, he does have a favorite. The one you sent after Miami. You start it by telling him congratulations and saying that you know he’ll be on the top step soon.

It would be one thing if you mentioned his podium finish off-handedly, just the once. But no. The entire video goes on like that, soft encouragement sprinkled throughout, like a reward for racing well.

Whenever he watches that one, your voice follows him into sleep, where he dreams of you encouraging him to do other things, completely unrelated to racing.

—

His problem then becomes wholly unrelated to sleep, and completely having to do with you.

It’s like he’s pavloved himself into wanting to hear your voice, or see your face. He tells Andrea that he would not mind if you sat in on more of his training sessions, just so he can argue with you about the difference between cartwheels and somersaults, electric stoves versus gas, flying commercial or private. He gets to the garage early to see you warm up the mechanics, a thinly veiled excuse to watch you doing squats. He doesn’t put his headphones in while he walks around hospitality, on the off chance that he’ll get to hear your voice.

He once wondered what the repercussions of watching your videos would be. Now, he knows.

—

Monaco is a dream that cannot be deterred by his growing obsession with you.

Charles has been finding it hard to keep his eyes dry ever since the last lap. His mechanics pull him into a hug, and he feels like he’s flying. Arthur is there, crying. Charles never thought he could do it. Jumping into the water feels like victory. It is victory.

There will be a big celebration, he is sure.

You’ll be proud of him, he is even surer.

—

He’s not thinking about sleeping until you find him outside of his drivers’ room, and take him by the shoulders. “I told you you’d do it,” you say, pulling him into a hug that’s tight like a vice-grip.

His voice is muffled by your hair when he says, through a throat still tight with tears, “I am glad I got a good rest last night.”

You laugh as you pull back from him. It is hard to see through the wetness in his eyes, but he thinks he can see a similar shine in your own. He’s not sure what to do with that. There are all these people who are so proud of him, and now you’re one of them. Now you’re holding his shoulders and crying with him. It’s nice. He feels cared for. He wants you there after every win.

“Well, I’m glad to be of service,” you say. “I’m not sure when you’ll be going to bed tonight, but call me if you need help sleeping, Charles. Among other things.”

You punctuate your sentence with a wink, and then you’re gone, leaving him with the memory of your grin at the front of his mind, like an image burned into a TV screen.

—

He is going out tonight. The whole of Monaco will be celebrating him. The team will be waiting to greet him with open arms and open bars. People will want to pour some more champagne on him, and get him drunk, and find a dance floor.

He is going out tonight, but right now, he’s sitting alone in his hotel room, thinking about what you had said.

Among other things, accompanied by a wink. A wink. That’s flirting, he thinks. No, he knows. You’re flirting with him. You had winked at him when you first offered this whole arrangement, too. Charles hadn’t known what it meant. Hadn’t really cared. Now he wonders if you were flirting with him then, too.

It’s not so much of a stretch. You spend a lot of time with him, even if he has orchestrated most of it. It never seems like a chore for you to sit in on his training sessions. You gladly correct his form and tell him that he can take more. You’re a very hands-on performance coach, unafraid to touch him in places Andrea wouldn’t. Whenever Charles is alone in hospitality, you’re always quick to find him, eager to gossip about the mechanics or to share contraband pastries he’s definitely not supposed to eat. You make him the videos that started all of this. You tell him hi and congratulations and I’m proud of you. You talk to him in a quiet voice that he hears in his dreams now.

You care enough to cry over his win. Embarrassingly, that thought is what has him dipping his hand below the waistband of his briefs. He thinks he should not. He has places to be, soon. But he’s still a bit high off the adrenaline, and it’s been so long, anyway. If he is quick, it cannot hurt. This is what he tells himself, as he lays back against the pillow, and pretends he’s not thinking about you.

He doesn’t think of your lips, or your legs, or the way you look in Ferrari red. Or the way you would look as he pulls the Ferrari red off of you, ‘til you’re bare in front of him.

He’s not sure what compels him to pull up the first video you made him; it feels like a force beyond his control. Maybe it’s the memory of your grin, and your wink. Maybe he’s just crazy. Maybe he’s still just as desperate as when this all first started. Probably all of the above, he thinks, pressing play with as much shame as one can feel with their hand on their dick.

“Hi, Charles. I know you’re probably only watching this ‘cause you’re desperate, so I’ll try my best.”

You have hardly finished the first sentence when he closes out of the video with a shudder. Too weird, he thinks. He doesn’t want to tarnish the video. Or to use it for something you didn’t make it for. But now he won’t be able to stop thinking of you, or stop hearing your voice. He feels hot all over as he stares at your contact on his phone. You did say that he should call, even with other things. You had winked! Is this what you meant?

He is a race winner in Monaco. He decides to risk it.

“Hi, Charles,” you say when you answer, just like the video. Louder this time of course, since you’re not trying to put him to sleep.

It takes a moment for him to trust his voice. It would probably be easier if he stopped touching himself, but alas. He manages to get it out eventually. “Hello. You said to call if I needed help.”

“Oh, sleeping?” You ask, after making a shocked sound in the back of your throat that—in a different context—could be interpreted as something else. He has to choke down a gasp, and somehow, you don’t notice. “Wow, early night.”

He swallows, braces himself. “Not sleeping,” he admits. “You said I could call with other things, too.” His voice comes out so quiet with shame that he's almost surprised you can hear it all. You’re silent on the other end for a moment that seems to stretch into eternity. His hand stills where he had been touching himself as he waits with bated breath, half-expecting you to hang up on him.

You don’t. “Charles,” you say. There’s an edge to your voice that he’s never heard before, something vaguely scandalized and entirely too much to handle. He strokes himself, again, unable to stop himself, and hears you inhale sharply. “Are you—”

“I’m sorry if this is not what you meant. I can hang up.”

“No, no it's fine,” you say. He can hear shuffling across the phone. Just like pressing play on your video was dangerous, this is, too. Because now his imagination is left to run wild, and he wonders if you're in bed like him, if you're taking off the Ferrari polo, if you're touching yourself. “I've gotta be honest, I don't really—er, I haven't exactly done this before,” you confess.

“That's okay.” There’s a shy, nervous energy about you that he can feel through the phone. It's not something he’s used to; you're always the one with something to say, cocksure and easy. Maybe now it's his turn to take the lead. Maybe this way he can finally pay you back for all your effort in making him the videos. “This is something you want, yes?”

“Charles, I offered.”

And he supposes that is true enough. “Right,” he says, steeling himself. This is something he can handle. It's not like he's used to it by any means; it feels strange that you're not here with him, stranger that you’re doing this in the first place. But he can't exactly stop now. The slide of his palm against his dick feels nice enough on its own, but the prospect of you, on the other end of the line listening is something else entirely.

“What are you wearing?” he asks.

He feels like a dick even before you laugh out a shocked, “Jesus Christ, Charles.”

Still, he knows there are only so many ways that this goes. “It is how you do it!” he defends “I say ‘what are you wearing’ and you say—well, you know what you say.”

“But you know what I’m wearing. Ferrari shirt. Jeans. My uniform.”

He does know. He has been picturing you in red this whole time. But it's not as if he had asked out of curiosity. He asked so that he could tell you, “Yes, it’s probably not comfortable. You should take it off.”

He hears the sound of your throat clicking as you swallow. “Oh,” you say, really nothing more than a huff of air. It feels just as close to victory as jumping into the water.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he instructs, to the sounds of more shuffling. He can picture it, in his head. You, pulling off your shirt, ridding yourself of the jeans. Laying back just like him, waiting patiently for instructions. It’s becoming difficult to think through the blood rush to his dick.

“Done,” you say, plainly. He wants nothing more than to be able to see you, touch you. He wonders if your hotel room is cold, if you have goosebumps he could chase away with his hands. The thought distracts him, until you huff, “Charles.”

“Ah, sorry,” he says. It really is hard to think, especially when you're saying his name like that, breathy and soft and naked in bed on the phone with him. His dick twitches and he has to pull his hand away for a moment before continuing. “If I were there, do you know how I would touch you?”

The sound you make is almost like he’s punched you in the stomach. “You’re such a tease, just tell me.”

It’s easy to imagine, as he tugs on his dick. He’s not too proud to say that he's thought of this before. Maybe not over the phone, but you, with him, together. “I would take my time to thank you properly. I would touch your thighs, and your stomach first. Just lightly. You should, too.” He can tell you’re listening based on the way your breaths come in harsher. “Does it feel nice?”

“Yeah,” you answer, sounding dazed. Charles understands, deeply. He cannot believe this is happening, that you’re doing this with him, touching yourself the way he instructs.

You seem content for a moment, but when he doesn't specify anything further, it's not long before you seem to want more. “I could do this on my own,” you whine, a pitch to your voice that he never wants to stop hearing. He files the sound away in the same corner of his mind that remembers what you sound like talking him to sleep. Distantly, he hears the sheets moving beneath you, and can't help but to imagine you writhing on the bed, aching for more.

“I can hang up and leave you to it,” he threatens, with absolutely no intentions to make good on it.

The sound of the sheets rustling stops. “You’re not being very nice. Some 'thank you’ this is.”

You are a bit of a brat, he thinks. He should've known, really. You always seem to have something to say. But he certainly won't complain about it now, not when the sound of your voice is enough to make him believe that you’re there, that it’s you touching him, faster now, than before.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Proper thanks are in order, right? You can touch yourself where you want to.”

Your breath hitches, and he can practically see you, on your bed, your fingers working expertly at yourself. “Are you?” you ask, and it takes him a moment to recall the line of conversation.

When he does, he chokes out, “Yes, I—have been.”

“Chivalry is dead,” you sigh out.

He still tries to defend himself, even as the sound of skin slapping against skin becomes more and more pronounced in the emptiness of the room. “I’m being nice! You help me to sleep so now I will help you to come.” He hears you squawk a laugh, but it quickly turns into something more like a moan. “Ah, see? I am helping.”

“You’re not doing anything.”

He briefly debates the merits of walking through the hotel sweating and hard in his underwear to find you. But he thinks the team leads at Ferrari would prefer if he did not. He supposes that imagining will work just fine, for now. “If I were there, I would use my mouth,” he decides. “You could sit on my face, I would let you.”

“Oh,” you say. He pictures you with your head thrown back, chest heaving, and hid dick twitches in his hand. “Maybe you are a gentleman.”

Eh, this is not very gentlemanly, he doesn't think. If he were a gentleman, he would've taken you to dinner, or something. Not called you with his hand already down his pants. Still, he says, “Yes.” And then: “You should put your fingers inside.”

It might be his imagination, but he swears he can hear it, the slick slide, muffled by the sound you make, a choked mewl. “Good,” he says, and he thinks your answering groan may be equal parts frustrated and aroused.

He has to adjust himself against the pillows. Holding the phone makes it awkward; he considers dropping it and putting you on speaker, but he doesn't think he's quite ready to be able to hear your voice and your hands your noises projected in the room. It feels more intimate like this, just for him. And he would have to open his eyes to put you on speaker, have to stop picturing you fucking yourself with your fingers, at his request. It's not an image he plans on abandoning soon.

He hears your breaths become heavier and heavier over the phone, accompanied by sounds that slowly drive him insane, moans like a pornstar’s instead of a performance coach’s. If this is what you are like just from your own fingers, he cannot imagine how nice he could make you feel on his dick.

“I would fuck you,” he says, after a particularly nice stroke. He feels a little crazy with it. He won't last much longer, he knows. You called him a gentleman but he might finish first. At this point, there's nothing he can do about it.

The little hah you say into the receiver certainly doesn't help. “That would be—I can't say I haven't thought about it.”

“What did you think about?” he asks. He has to know now.

You make a tortured sound. He pictures you trying to hide your face, or squirm away from your own hands. His hips buck into his fist; he pretends it's you.

“I don't know. Everything, Charles,” you confess, through heavy breaths. “When you would take your shirt off in the gym, I’d think of you fucking me on the equipment. You made it very hard to take notes. Sometimes I'd think of you, like, fucking me in your car. The car.”

“There is not much room,” he says, instead of examining why that thought nearly sends him careening off the edge.

“Knowing that is above my pay grade.”

“I could fuck you on the hood, maybe,” he hums. The image is—god, he’s really not going to last. “My two favorite things.”

The sound that comes out of you is a mix of his name, and several assorted swears, and maybe something about Ferrari firing you. But your voice is shaky and you gasp like it’s over, like you just made yourself—

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Did you—”

“Yes,” you squeak, like you're embarrassed. He didn't know you had the capacity. “Oh my god, Charles.”

It’s his name on your tongue that has him finally spilling his load with a shout that he hopes is mostly muffled by the hotel walls. He’s pretty sure Fred is the next room over, something he hadn't wanted to think about with his hand in his dick and still doesn't want to think about now, cum drying in his boxers and you catching your breath on the other end of the line.

“Is that what you meant?” Charles asks eventually. “When you said I should call you?”

You sound almost sheepish when you answer. “Yeah, but to be honest I didn't think you’d pick up on it.”

“I thought it might have been just wishful thinking. The adrenaline made me do it.”

“Well, you were very good at it. I think you could make better asmr than me.”

He shudders at the thought. He cannot imagine doing what you do, whispering to his phone camera and pretending it's you. He's grateful for your lack of shame, because he's not sure he’d be able to do it were the roles reversed. “No, I'll leave that to you.” And then, because he’s still running mostly off of adrenaline: “Maybe we can talk more later? In person?”

He can hear the grin in your voice when you answer. “I’d be mad that you're hanging up on me, but I think you may be trying to invite me to your party?”

“You know you're already invited. But maybe you could come with me?”

“It’s a date,” you answer, which makes Charles three for three on victories for the day. Somehow, this one feels the most monumental. Maybe it's because of the cum still drying in his briefs. “I’ll wear something more fun to take off than my team kit.”

—

You wear something that's honestly rather difficult to take off, but he quickly discovers that you're good with your hands, and layer, he discovers that ASMR is not the only trick up your sleeve to tire him out.

[flaresemily]

Husband's Gods reaction to their wives getting stalked and how they deal with them :

Someone requested this...but I can't find the message to put it together...so here part 1 only. I will do part 2 later.

Hades :

Lately he noticed that you have been paranoid about every single thing. Like EVERY SINGLE THING.

So, he decided to confront you about it.

“My dear? Can we talk?”

You flinch at his voice.

“Y-yes why?”

“You seem paranoid?” He walks closer to you and hugs you.

You started to cry. Startling him in the process. “Darling what's wrong?”

You proceed to tell him everything like, everything about your feeling of being stalked.

He was very quiet. “Very well then…shall we take a walk?”

You look at him weirdly. As he guides you to the sea (near Poseidon's place) he silently smirks.

You just look at the sea with a calm face. Then, he excuses himself.

A random ‘god’ is watching you from afar. Holding his phone trying to take pictures of you.

Then, he felt a very dark aura behind him. As he turned his head. There stood hades being accompanied by Beelzebub.

“L-lord hades” the god stutters. “Well well…look who's here~”

Beelzebub just stands there watching. “Beelzebub took this God away! Do whatever you want! I will make sure Hermes erases his existence!!”

“Of course” Beelzebub 'smiles’ happily. I mean…he will have another specimen.

Then, Hades returns to your side smiling. You just look at him weirdly. A few days later he showers you with gifts and kisses and you don't feel stalked anymore.

Poseidon :

You wake up with a cold sweat. Quickly look around for your husband. And sadly you found him nowhere there.

You slowly get up holding your whale plushie (yes plushie) walking around the castle.

“Darling! Darling?” You called out to your husband. There, you saw a figure watching you from behind a pillar. You got goosebumps from it and quickly turned around only to bump into Proteus.

“Eh? Proteus?” you look at him. “My lady? What are you doing here?” “Proteus! Where's hubby! Ah I mean Poseidon!” Proteus laughs at your nickname to his master.

“Lord Poseidon is in the throne room. He's discussing something with the other lords.”

Hearing that, you quickly run to the throne room and barge in. Everyone was startled except Poseidon and hades. Poseidon lookup. You quickly jump into his embrace.

Crying and trembling silently. Your brother in law's all looking at you.

“What's wrong?” Poseidon rubs your back.

“I feel like someone is watching me…”

“....Proteus!! Search for him!! Now!” He orders all his servants.

They all scattered around and search for the suspicious man (according to them)

And they managed to find him. They drag him to Poseidon while you are sleeping on his lap.

Poseidon just glared at the man and sliced his head off…. just like that.

Proteus came in and cleaned the body making it look like nothing happened.

And you don't feel stalked anymore. You reward him with a kiss and cuddles.

Beelzebub :

You are knitting something when the babies kick. (You are pregnant with twins)

You are currently 6 months into your pregnancy.

You are used to being watched since Beelzebub is quite possessive towards you,since you survive Satan's curse.

Beelzebub puts a lot of CCTV to monitor you every time he's not around.

But this time…it just doesn't feel right. It was as if you were being watched by someone else. You slowly get up and make your way to your husband's laboratory.

As you gently open the door with the key cards Beel gave you. You can see him monitoring his new specimen. (The one hades give him)

As you slowly take your first step. Someone covers your mouth and drags you away from behind.

Your screams were muffled by the cloth that were stuffed inside your mouth. Tears running down your face. The unknown man turns out to be a female.

Aphrodite

You see Aphrodite really admires you since you are beautiful and apparently took a liken to you (not romantically).

She was smirking In front of you while holding a cup of tea. Apparently she asked one of her servants to kidnap you.

Even before she can open her mouth. The doors were kicked open. Beelzebub was very furious. Hades was behind him.

Aphrodite who saw this rolled her eyes and sigh.

“Fine…take her then,can't even let me have a good damn peace with her!” She stood up and walked out of the room.

Beelzebub quickly rushed to his wife and hugged her, taking out the cloth inside his wife's mouth and kissing her.

You were still stunned at the kiss. He gently picks you up and takes you back to the house. Hugging you and rubbing your stomach. Afraid that you will be kidnapped once again.

The End~

Might make part 2…probably will make but not now….that for sure

[starlight-and-whiskey]

Under Your Skin: Ch3

Arthur had known happiness. He'd known it with Mary. He’d known it in Isaac. He had tasted it often on starry camp nights, lit by a roaring fire and silvery moonlight. But happiness came differently now.

Now he knew it in a green sundress stretched over a swollen belly. In soft eyes and a giddy smile as you splayed his fingers over a tiny, thumping kick.

Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ao3 Tags: @baizzhu, @chonkercatto, @heron-feathers, @not-minho, @multi-fandom3, @warmsideofthepillow03, @photo1030, @littlebirdgot, @violetlilly2020

Arthur had known happiness. He'd known it with Mary. He’d known it in Isaac. He had tasted it often on starry camp nights, lit by a roaring fire and silvery moonlight. But happiness came differently now.

Now he knew it in a green sundress stretched over a swollen belly. In soft eyes and a giddy smile as you splayed his fingers over a tiny, thumping kick.

The sundress wasn’t green today, it was sunshine yellow, peppered with tiny pink flowers. He smiled fondly at the sight, remembering that morning he’d walked into the tent – his tent, that you’d shared with him that night at the party and never left – and found you aggressively trying to button a blouse far too small for the pregnant belly you now carried.

**

“I'm a whale”, you whined before he could even speak, trying in vain again to just get those damn buttons to meet the holes, legs bare and ankles swollen. Arthur had glanced to your saddle jeans, now hanging haphazardly from a mirror where you’d no doubt launched them in frustration.

“You're not”, he chuckled, retrieving your offending pants and folding them gently, setting them on the cot.

“Arthur...”, you groaned, pushing back fallen strands of hair and staring at him with a tight set jaw and bottom lip wobbling. With a final heave, you tried again, managing to get one button just about done up.

Arthur hadn’t laughed when the blouse finally won, pinging that solitary button clear across the tent. He’d thought about it, but he knew that expression on your face, the one that was a breadth of an inch away from bursting into tears. “Easy now”, he soothed in that low drawl you’d heard him use so many times on that mare of his, taking your elbow, brushing a broad palm up your arm.

“I can’t… I can’t even get dressed”, you bit out, hot tears welling at your lash line as you ripped off the blouse and tossed it onto the grass. “I’m huge! Nothin’ fits. Everything aches. And if one more person tells me I’m glowin’, I swear I’m gonna-“ “Hey”, he cut in, cupping your face and tilting it towards his. “It’s alright. It’s just a shirt. Come on, sit a minute.”

With hitching breath, you let Arthur guide you to the cot, lowering you down onto the edge. Scrubbing your eyes, you watched as he moved to the old cedar chest by the foot of the bed, the one with the catch that always stuck a little.

“What’re you doin’?”, you sniffled.

“Just… stay put,” he murmured, rooting past loose ammunition, old photographs, a faded and peeling deck of cards. After a moment, he surfaced clutching a worn white shirt, yellowed a little with age but softened by it too.

“This’ll do ’til we get you somethin’ proper,” he said. “Come on, arms up.”

With a huff, you obeyed, gritting your teeth as he guided the fabric over your shoulders with gentle hands. Loose and forgiving, the shirt draped to your thighs, the collar warm from Arthur’s hands and smelling of musky wood smoke. Crouching in front of you, Arthur carefully fastened the buttons from the top down, smiling proudly to himself as he made his way past the curve of your belly. Once he was done, he glanced a broad palm across your stomach, smoothing the fabric.

“There”, he nodded. “Fits just fine.”

“Still a whale”, you muttered, despite the smile tugging at your lips.

“Shut up, woman”, he chuckled, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Prettiest thing I ever seen.”

A breathy chuckle escaped you as the frustration finally began to ease under the calloused pad of his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

“You can smile”, he drawled. “Won’t kill you.”

Another huff of a chuckle passed your lips, and you blinked at him with watery eyes and a toothy grin. Arthur’s heart damn near melted.  “There she is.”

You cast a hand over your belly, sighing softly before blinking back up at him. “I still need pants.”

“You leave that with me. I got some errands to run, I should be back this afternoon. Then we’ll get you sorted?” You nodded and smiled against his mouth as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, a hand sliding around the nape of your neck. He’d half ducked out the tent flap before you called him back. “Arthur?”

Arthur twisted back to look at you, the morning sun casting him in a mountain of a silhouette.

“Thanks.”

*

It was late afternoon when Arthur finally returned to camp, a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine clutched in his hand. Making a beeline for your tent, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye and immediately backtracked a few paces.

“The hell happened to you?”, he chuckled at Bill. The man was hunched over, swearing under his breath, nose bloody and a little more crooked than usual.

“That damn woman of yours!”, he growled, wincing and pressing his wrist to his swollen features. “Like a goddamn wildcat!”

Arthur sighed through a chuckle and slipped a thumb into his gun belt, shaking his head as he glanced towards the tent with a grin he could barely conceal.

“What did you do?”      

“What did I do? Why’s it gotta be somethin’ I did?”

A snort echoed from beneath the tree beside Bill, where Sean lounged with ankles crossed, grinning wildly.

Bill shot him a murderous look and gave an exaggerated shrug, holding an arm out wide. “I just made an observation, is all.”

“Oh, an observation”, Sean laughed, drawing out the word theatrically. “You told her we’d need to reinforce the wagon if she got any fatter.”

“Shut up”, Bill groaned.

On any other day, if Arthur had been in any other mood, that comment might have angered him. But one look at Bill with his rapidly bruising eyes quelled any flicker of rage before it could catch. Instead, Arthur simply bit at his bottom lip as an amused grin broke out on his face, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“And I, gentleman that I am, told the lady she looked radiant. Glowin’ like a sunrise over the Emerald Isle. Not that she seemed too pleased by that either. Women, eh?” Sean continued. “But this one here had to keep going, didn’t he? Reckon it was about the time he compared her to a prize hog when she socked him one.”

 “Yeah,” Arthur drawled through a broad grin and a shake of his head, “that’ll do it.”

Bill gingerly tested his crooked nose. “Didn’t know she could punch like that.”

“Next time, try keepin’ those pearls o’ wisdom to yourself.” Arthur gave Bill’s shoulder an unsympathetic pat, flashing him a wink and an amused smile. “’Cause I punch a whole lot harder.”

Turning on his heel, and making for the tent, Arthur heard the muttered grumbles from Bill and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

Inside, Arthur found you sat on the edge of the cot, flexing reddened knuckles and glowering at the empty canvas wall as though it had personally offended you, still wrapped in his old shirt.

“If you’re here to lecture me…”

Arthur held up a hand in surrender as he stepped over. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Idiot had it coming.”

“Sure sounds that way”, he chuckled, laying the brown papered package onto your lap. “Here, brought you something.”

Casting Arthur a quizzical look, he nodded with a small smile, and you turned your attention to loosening the twine. The paper fell away, revealing a small pile of neatly folded dresses. Cornflower blue. Spring green. Prairie rose pink. Sunshine yellow.

“Arthur…”, you gasped, running your fingers over the soft fabric, pulling out the yellow one and setting the others beside you on the cot. Taking Arthur’s outstretched hand, you let him help pull you upright, and held the dress by the shoulders, letting the fabric drop and flutter. “It’s beautiful”, you whispered, holding it against yourself, admiring the smattering of delicate pink flowers.

**

Now, Arthur watched as you grabbed your shoes, that yellow sundress swishing as you moved towards him, albeit a little tighter now than it was when he’d first brought it home. As he did every morning of late – now you were too large to bend quite that far - Arthur dutifully knelt before you, easing your foot onto his bended knee. He relished the giggle from your lips when he pressed a soft kiss to your ankle, the whiskers of his cheek tickling soft flesh. He slid the shoe on and eased your foot back down. Calloused hands tenderly grabbed the other, another kiss to another ankle, and slid on the final shoe. Standing back up, he pressed a final kiss to your lips, humming against your mouth and resting a hand on your bump. With your hand slowly sliding from his as you left to get breakfast, Arthur remained rooted to the spot, watching you go with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Yes, happiness was a sundress now.

***

For you, happiness came wrapped up in a burly outlaw with blood on his hands and a tender heart he rarely let anyone see. It came on those nights he’d tuck you into that cot bed when you were exhausted from another long day. With deft fingers untying your braid, raking them through your hair until it fell in loose curls. It came when your back ached and your ankles throbbed, and the bottom of the cot would dip under Arthur’s weight. He’d wordlessly pull your legs into his lap and rub at your calves all through the quiet hours of evenings he’d normally spend on the trail.

The anxiety and fear still nestled there behind your ribs, but it had quietened as the months had passed. Each time it would resurge with a vengeance, leaving you too gripped to breathe, you would wake to Arthur whispering to your swollen belly, and the fear would retreat once again beneath the weight of hushed mumblings he thought were too deep in sleep to hear.

Hey there, little one.

The baby would kick against Arthur’s palm and his face would snap up, not expecting but glad to find you awake, a look of complete awe glistening in shimmering blue eyes.

Happiness came disguised in Arthur’s relentless fussing, no matter how it sometimes grated on you. Never one for showing much affection - or so it seemed to everyone else - this bloodstained man, all flint and iron, became a tender, gentle thing within the confines of those canvas walls.

“Need anything, darlin’?

“No, I’m alright.”

“You warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Arthur.”

“Need another pillow?”

“Arthur...”

“Alright, alright,” he’d mutter, hands raised. “Just makin’ sure.”

Happiness came in broken pastry and stewed apple.

***

“You alright over there, sweetheart?” Arthur asked as he ducked into the tent early one evening, finding you sat on a crate by the small table that held his shaving mirror, face in your hands.

You lifted your head just enough to shoot him a pitiful look over your fingertips.

“Your kid’s driving me crazy with these damn cravings”, you groaned.

“Salted offal again?”

You wrinkled your nose, swallowing back the way your stomach rolled at the thought.

“Ugh, no… The thought of it’s turning me sick now.”

Arthur let out loud chuckle, hooking his thumbs into his gun belt.

“Thank God. Can’t stand the smell of that stuff”, he huffed, recalling you devouring jar after jar of Sloppy Molly. Before dawn broke. Laid in bed at midnight. Once he’d caught you at three in the morning surrounded by two empty jars and already onto your third. He grimaced at the memory.

"I want..." You groaned again for effect, squeezing your eyes shut. "I want apple tarts."

"I can get you apple tarts”, he said softly with a shrug.

"No", you whined. “It's those ones from that bakers over by...", you shook your head, clicking your fingers as you tried to conjure words through the soupy fog of your memory. "You know? When we camped up near the place. The uh... the one with the windmill. Remember 'em?"

Arthur thought for a moment, brow creased before pulling his battered, leather-bound journal from his satchel, licking the pad of his thumb and leafing through the worn pages. Stepping over and crouching beside you with a palm resting between your shoulder blades, he laid the open book on the table, tapping a sketch with his finger.

“This place?”

You recognised it immediately, always enamoured by Arthur’s ability to capture a place so vividly with a pencil alone. You sighed softly in muted desperation. "Yeah." 

"We're a hell of a long way from that town, darlin'", he sighed sympathetically. 

You nodded miserably, letting your forehead thunk back against the table. "Tell the baby. It won’t listen to me.”

Grumpy, unsatisfied and frustrated, you’d let Arthur tuck you into bed as he always did, not remembering when you succumbed to sleep. The rustling of canvas and boots scraping dirt woke you hours later. “Mm”, you groaned through the dark, pushing yourself up as Arthur lowered himself down beside you. “Time is it?”

“Late”, he whispered, leaning over to light the oil lamp. It sparked to life, casting the tent in a soft orange glow. “Or early, I guess.”

Arthur smelled of sweat and leather, his shirt damp and cool from the night air, the flickering light causing the perspiration beading on his brow to glisten.

“Here”, he said softly, pulling a brown paper bag from his satchel, holding it out like it was something delicate, something worth it’s weight in gold.

Instantly, you recognised the smell – sweet cinnamon and tart apple - your stomach giving a pre-emptive contented gurgle.

“Arthur… How did you...It’s… it’s the same ones?”

“The very same.”

“It must be twenty miles”, you gasped, fingers already reaching inside, pulling out a tart. A little crushed, a little broken – perfect all the same.

Arthur shrugged. “I rode hard”.

“But...”, you glanced around, scrubbing the sleep from your eyes. “It's the middle of the night.”

He chuckled, flashing that crooked, lopsided grin. “I can be mighty persuasive.”

The tears came hard and fast after that, slipping down your cheeks in fat, unstoppable drops. Arthur’s face fell immediately.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, holding your wrist with a rough hand. "Ah jeez, don’t cry. I get the wrong thing? I’m sorry, I thought they were-"

You shook your head wildly, laughing through streams of tears that you haphazardly wiped away with a trembling palm.

"They’re perfect" you gasped out a chuckle, glancing up at him like he hung the goddamn moon. "You’re perfect."

Arthur flashed a lopsided grin, toothy and warm. "Ain't nothin'."

"Yeah, it is."

***

As the pregnancy progressed, sleep became a patchwork thing, a few hours snatched here and there between the digging of a heel into your ribcage. No matter how you shifted, you struggled to find a comfortable spot, the dawn coming far too quickly. And when it did come, when you reached for Arthur’s broad back beside you, you found only a cool hollow where he had been laid when you’d drifted off for an hour or so. Lack of sleep and the constant hollow ache in your bones bore irritability that felt unfamiliar to you, bolstered more so by the increasing number of mornings you woke up alone. No soft puff of breath against your hairline. No murmured whispers between kisses. No scratchy kisses to your swollen ankles as he eased on your shoes.

The first time, you’d told yourself he must be out early on a hunt. The camp still had to eat after all. The second time, maybe Dutch had called him on a job. By the third, the fourth, your mind started telling you stories to fill in the blanks.

Maybe he was tired of your snoring, your constant frustrated grumblings. Maybe it was the sight of you – swollen and sweaty – incapable of sitting a horse or hauling haybales or hunting with him like you used to do in those seemingly long-ago days.

Maybe he realised that this whole thing just wasn’t worth the effort anymore. Maybe he was looking for a way out, a way to undo this god-awful mistake he had made. Maybe.

You tried to tell yourself it was just the sleeplessness talking. To remind yourself that when he did return, he always made a beeline straight for you, a hand on your belly and a kiss laid on your cheek. But exhaustion carves strange ideas into a mind; the same thought circling until it wears all sense away.

It was one afternoon when you caught him by the hitching post, shirt dusty from the road and collar damp with sweat after God-knows how many hours on the road.

“Hey darlin’”, he smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Lip trembling, you pulled away before he could make contact, folding your arms across your chest.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asked quietly, brows pinched.

“You tell me.”

“I ain’t got the first clue.”

“You’re always… gone”, you said in a small voice, hating yourself for saying it the moment the words left your lips. Arthur sighed heavily, swiping at his brow as he cast a glance behind him at the trail leading away from camp, and then back to you. “Darlin’, it was just a job. That’s all.”

“A job”, you echoed, biting your lip and nodding at the dirt. “’Cause I asked Hosea, and he reckons we ain’t got no jobs goin’.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur settled his hands on his hips, drawing a long breath. “Sweetheart…”

“If you’re off seein’ some bathhouse whore, Arthur, just tell me.”

Arthur didn’t have a chance to answer before you continued. “I know this ain’t exactly what you planned on. For me to get knocked up. And… and if you wanna leave like John did, just go.”

“You’re actin’ crazy”, he murmured, voice maddeningly gentle as he reached for you again. Once more, you pulled away, shaking your head and stalking away.

No sooner had you ducked inside the tent, Arthur was following hot on your heels. A solid palm grabbed your wrist, pulling you gently towards him. “Let go of me”, you snapped.

“Just… just look at me.”

Reluctantly you did, blinking up at him for a moment with tear filled eyes before dragging your gaze away when he had the gall to smile at you, soft and fond. Undeterred, Arthur reached for your chin, easing your face up towards him. “I ain’t seein’ anyone else, and I ain’t runnin’ off, you stupid woman”, he chuckled. “I love you. I love our baby.”

When you sniffled, scrubbing at falling tears, Arthur sighed heavily, shoulders drooping.

“Alright”, he murmured. “I’ve been on the road a lot because I’ve been tryin’ to find something.”

“Find what?” you asked quietly, looking at him with knitted brows.

“I was waitin’ for the right time”, he smiled. “Wanted to do it right.”

Arthur rummaged in his pocket, pulling out something concealed in a closed fist. His breathing trembled as he wiped a sweaty palm on his pants, pushing out a sharp breath as if to steady himself. In an awkward motion, boot sliding on loose shale, he dropped to one knee. The air punched from your lungs.

“Arthur”, you gasped, eyes wide and lips hanging open. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”, he beamed nervously, holding up a simple gold band inlaid with glistening turquoise, the ring trembling between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m tryin’ to ask you to marry me.”