#Fraser Fir

[geopsych]

Fraser fir in sunrise light this morning.

[sagehaubitze]

The road to Clingmans Dome is closed seasonally (for the winter months), so we weren't able to visit when we were in the area in February. Not the case this time though.

I was much more fascinated with the unique flora to the area than the views, to be completely honest. The highest elevations around the Smokies are spruce-fir forest, predominantly red spruce and Fraser fir, the latter of which is endangered and is being destroyed by the invasive balsam woolly adelgid. These are considered coniferous rainforests, and the biodiversity is incredibly rich. Ice age climates pushed boreal species much further south than their usual range, and a lot of them persisted in these higher elevations. A neat current example, which I did not know until I saw an absolute shit ton of them, are dark-eyed juncos. They appear in the backyard here in north AL to overwinter, and spend their summers far north in Canada and up into the arctic. They live year-round through the peaks of the Appalachians though! They were a friendly surprise.

Conservation efforts for the Fraser fir and other at-risk flora are making progress at slowing the damage, but the sheer amount of dead snags hurts to look at. Some of them harbored some pretty incredible moss and lichen growth though.

Hemlocks are also being effected by the hemlock woolly adelgid, which is a problem we're dealing with in north AL as well. I believe the land trust just had a meeting about it recently. Within our lifetime though, we may no longer have eastern hemlock here.

[gargelyfloof118]

Planting Fraser Firs today. 10 teeny tiny babies for the ground!

These fellas need more moisture than the maple trees, so they get a bit of coconut coir in the bottom of their hole to help hold it for longer.

3 down, 7 to go.

[katiajewelbox]

Merry Christmas from Katia Plant Scientist! I hope your day is jolly, however you like to spend it.

Here are a few views of my Christmas Tree. The Fraser Fir (Abies fraseri) , also spelled Frasier Fir, is native to the Appalachian Mountains of the USA and is one of the most popular pine species for Christmas trees in North America. The elegant symmetrical pyramidal shape, closely packed needles with blunt ends, and pleasant pine scent makes them perfect as the centrepiece of Christmas home decor. However, these traits are really evolutionary adaptations to survive cold winters. The needles' compact shape with less surface area and a thick waxy cuticle protects them against frost damage while the conical shape of the tree helps snow fall off the branches.

Take a moment to appreciate nature's wonders this Christmas.

#botany#plants#katia_plantscientist#gardening#christmastree#christmas#happyholidays#trees#plantidentification#christmasdecor#fraserfir#pinetree#firtree#evergreen#pines#pineneedle#plantanatomy#plantbiology#plantscience#plantfacts#christmasideas

[johnschneiderblog]

The chosen one

After a couple of strolls through our little Christmas tree plantation, we had it narrowed down to three leading candidates.

Each one had something to recommend it. One candidate was fuller than the others; another was taller. In the end, we went for a nice, straight trunk. And, well ... this 8-foot-tool Fraser fir just seemed to want it more than the other two.

Using real trees at Christmas puts our household squarely in the minority. Modern Americans prefer artificial trees by a wide margin. A 2019 survey showed that 81 percent of Christmas trees on display in the U.S. were artificial; only 19 percent were real.

I’ll bet the gap is even bigger in 2022.

[mthupp]

Christmas Lights

[rabbitcruiser]

Yellowhead Highway, BC

The Yellowhead Highway (French: Route Yellowhead) is a major interprovincial highway in Western Canada that runs from Winnipeg to Graham Island off the coast of British Columbia via Saskatoon and Edmonton. It stretches across the four western Canadian provinces of British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba and is part of the Trans-Canada Highway system and the larger National Highway System, but should not be confused with the more southerly, originally-designated Trans-Canada Highway. The highway was officially opened in 1970. Beginning in 1990, the green and white Trans-Canada logo is used to designate the roadway.

The highway is named for the Yellowhead Pass, the route chosen to cross the Canadian Rockies. The pass and the highway are named after a fur trader and explorer named Pierre Bostonais. He had yellow streaks in his hair, and was nicknamed "Tête Jaune" (Yellowhead). Almost the entire length of the highway is numbered as 16, except for the section in Manitoba that is concurrent with Trans-Canada Highway 1.

Source: Wikipedia

[cealtrachs]

10 miles through Fraser fir and red spruce.

[viking-raider]

A Christmas Miracle🎄

Summary: You and Henry are celebrating Christmas with family, while expecting your first child together.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Papa Bear!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Christmas Decorating, Pregnancy Stuff, Cotton Candy Fluff, Loving Marriage, Christmas Fluff

Inspiration: This story ties into my Easter story, The Golden Egg.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“Babe!” Henry gasped, as he came into the living room, nearly tossing the steaming cup of tea in his hand, upon discovering you.

You were standing on the two-step high stool, to sprinkle golden tinsel on the fragrant and robust branches of an eight foot Fraser Fir that stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband, but didn't look back at him, as you picked a bit of tinsel off one of the emerald branches, having adorned the needles with too much of the sparkling, thin strands.

“You shouldn't be up there, love!” He scolded you, setting the tea he had made you on the coffee table as he rounded it and the couch, to come towards you, resting his hands on your hips. “I told you, I would help you decorate the tree, once I was done with your tea.”

“I know you did, Hen.” You answered, sighing softly, finally looking down at him and seeing the wrinkle of worry between his brow. It hadn't smoothed since the Brit found out you were pregnant with his child on Easter, nearly nine months before. “But I'm also capable of doing it myself.” You reminded him, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his neck a gentle squeeze.

“I'm pregnant, not invalid.”

Henry sighed softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your round and pronounced belly. “I know you're capable, sweetheart.” He assured you, looking up at you with an affection in his blue eyes that always melted your heart. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Especially with you so close to the due date.” He said, helping you step down off the stool. “Just sit down and enjoy your tea. Then, we'll tag team the tree together.” He told you, putting an excited smile on his face.

“All right.” You conceded, settling down on the couch and took up your tea, cupping the mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your palms, before finally taking a sip.

“Your parents will be here in a couple days.” Henry commented, squatting beside a box of Christmas decorations neither of you had opened up yet. “My parents made up their guest house in preparation for their arrival.” He told you, peeking into the box.

Halfway into your pregnancy, Henry had taken time off from acting and the two of you decided to leave your secluded London home for the coziness of Henry's home island of Jersey. Buying a nice, beach front property, three streets and a five-minute walk from his parents' place, with the intent on having your baby boy born in Saint Helier. You loved being on the little Channel Island, sitting on the back patio or taking walks on the beach, breathing in the soothing sea air, which helped your morning sickness a good deal.

The only downside was your family was far out of reach of you, having to fly into Jersey to visit and check-in on you. Your parents wanted to be on hand when you finally had their third grand-baby, so Henry footed the bill to bring them out and his parents were amazing enough to host them while they were here.

“That's great.” You smiled, flexing your sore and swollen feet, watching him pull out ornaments, garland and other little tree decorations. “I can't wait to see them again.” You commented, not having seen them since your fourth month, just before you and Henry left for Jersey. “I'm sure my mom will bring more knitted items.” You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to the soft, butter-yellow blanket your mother had knitted a couple months ago.

“I would be shocked, if she didn't!” Henry laughed back, his broad shoulders shaking as he stood. “What garland do you want on the tree?” He asked, holding up a strand of colorful beads and another of red and white, twisted ribbons.

You hummed, pressing your lips together and studied your tree, eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the colors on its branches. “I think the ribbon would work best with it.” You finally settled, nodding content with your choice.

“All right then.” He nodded back, putting the other garland aside. “Ah, nope!” He tisked, when you set your tea down and started the mini struggle of standing up. “You put the tinsel on the tree, it's my turn to put the garland on. You relax.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed softly, picking your tea back up and rested against the couch cushions, just in time for Kal to jump up beside you. “Well, hello there, sweet boy.” You cooed at him, reaching out to give him good scratches between the ears and around the neck. “Have you come to make sure I stay put?” You quipped, the Akita resting his head in your lap.

“I did no such thing!” Henry called over his shoulder, carefully tucking the garland into the branches.

“Sure, love. Sure.” You chuckled at him, though Henry's protectiveness at times could be a little overbearing, you knew he did it out of love and first-time father worries. “He's paying you in treats and promises of all the good turkey, ham and brisket bits he plans on cooking for Christmas dinner.” You accused, lifting a brow at the unphased Akita, before wincing and pressing a palm to the side of your belly.

“You all right?” Henry asked, catching a glimpse from his peripheral, pausing a moment.

“Yeah, your son just kicks like a Fly-Half.” You answered, chuckling halfheartedly. “If he keeps these strong legs, he'll for sure make the England team.” You said, trying to ease the look of suspicion on Henry's face, that it was the baby kicking, and your own, that the pain was something more than a false contraction.

“You missed a branch there, Bubs.” You commented, drawing Henry's attention away from the subjection, motioning with your steaming black, Nightmare Before Christmas cup.

“Mm.” He grunted, narrowing his eyes at you, but turned to fuss over it.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the globe of your stomach, hoping to soothe any would-be pains. Thankfully, you didn't have any more throughout the morning, helping Henry put up the ornaments and other little hanging knick knacks on the tree. Something Henry was comfortable with you doing, since you kept your feet on the hardwood, safely beside him.

“I want to do a little plaster imprint of his hand and foot, to hang up on the tree for next year.” You commented suddenly, gently holding a little needlepoint ornament you'd made. It was a silhouette of Henry and you, with Kal between you, the year above your heads. You had made one every year since the first Christmas the three of you had spent together. “Should make a new needlepoint too.” You added even softer.

Henry glanced down at you, a fond and nostalgic light in his blue orbs. “I think that would be a lovely idea, babe.” He smiled, warmed at the idea. “I like the idea of making and expanding our little traditions.”

“I should have given myself a baby bump in this one.” You joked, carefully adding the stitched ornament on a branch, accompanied with the others around it. “So much for accuracy.”

“It looks perfect, my love.” He assured you, kissing your hair. “Now, let's turn the lights on and see how this thing looks!” He proclaimed, shuffling around the tree and plugged in the two strings of lights skillfully wrapped around the tree.

You stood back to get a good look at the Fir, just as the tiny, cool and warm-white LED, diamond facet bulbs flickered on. Making many of the ornaments glitter and twinkle. It brought a great feeling of delight bubbling up inside of you, tugging on your exhausted and hormonal raged body, until tears spilled over.

“Sweetheart.” Henry cooed, pouting at you sweetly, as he closed his arms around your shoulders, hugging you as closely as your belly would allow.

“It looks beautiful.” You mumbled into his chest, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt.

He smiled, nosing the hair at the top of your head and rubbing your back with one hand. “It is, dear, and so are you.”

“I'm also starving.” You blurted out, breaking the melancholy mood.

“Butter chicken or pepperoni and feta pizza?”

“Oh god, you know me too well at this point.” You giggled, licking your lips. “But, the butter chicken.”

You sat up in bed, Kal resting between your legs, with his head laying on your belly, as you read your latest book on your Kindle. While Henry was downstairs doing some work on the new Warhammer minis he ordered as a way to keep himself occupied, when he wasn't taking care of you.

“Oh.” You gasped, feeling a sudden, sharp pain. “Gosh, did we disagree on the butter chicken, Bean?” You groaned, pressing your palm to the side of your stomach; Kal lifting his to sniff at your belly as another pain caused you to cramp. “It's all right, Bud. Your brother is just being a little difficult.” You sighed, setting your e-reader on your nightstand and lumbered out of bed, before heading downstairs.

“Hey, love.” Henry smiled, looking up from the Ultramarine mini in his hand. “I thought you were going to bed.”

“I was trying to, but your son doesn't agree with dinner.” You explained to him, looking over his progress on his Warhammer army. “Can you do your trick?” You asked, lulling your head to the side and giving him a cute look.

Henry chuckled, setting his mini down. “My trick.” He smirked, standing up and moving behind you. “Any reason to cuddle.” He teased, reaching around to cup both hands beneath your stomach and leaned you both backwards, taking the weight of your belly as he did.

“Mmm.” You hummed, eyes falling shut, while you let your head rest against Henry's chest. “It feels so good.” You sighed, resting your hands on his.

Henry cradling your baby bump had become a god send throughout your third trimester. Taking the weight of your healthy and active baby boy off your lower back and hips. However in your earlier trimesters, the two of you learned it helped relieve your heartburn and whenever your little one got a bit too restless.

You liked to think it was the baby reacting to Henry's touch.

It was calm for a long, few moments, just you and Henry, slowly swaying side to side, the baby calm. But again, your stomach spasmed and you whimpered, making it clear to Henry, you were indeed having some sort of contractions.

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, eyes wide and brows pinched.

“Since this morning.” You confessed finally, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded, startled and worried.

“I didn't have any through the afternoon.” You assured him, patting his hands. “I figured it was just false. But, I'm starting to think otherwise, with how much that one hurts.”

“We should probably go to the hospital.” Henry fret, starting away from you, but you turned and caught his elbow.

“Henry.” You said in a soft, soothing voice. “You remember what the OB said?” You tried reminding him. “Four-One-One.”

“Four minutes apart, a minute long, lasting an hour.” He recited, having listened to your OB, and read numerous baby and expecting parent books.

You had taken a couple of parenting classes as well. Until people started posting photos of you on social media, annoying you and causing Henry to be even more of a papa bear. So, you'd found an online, private class to do in the comfort of your living room.

“Not one has lasted a minute, been four minutes apart or lasted an hour.” You assured him, dropping your hand to his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If they're the real deal, I'm in the early stages and going to the hospital now will only incur hours and hours of waiting. Which we'll be doing here anyway.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, you worry-wart.” You chuckled at him, shaking your head. “Come to bed with us.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes, kissing his bearded cheek and brushing your fingers through the curls above his ear.

“You'll tell me.” Henry insisted as he followed you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Of course, I'll tell you, Henry.” You assured him. “Then, I'll tell Kal.” You quipped, trying to lighten the mood and get him to smile.

But he didn't smile, his mind preoccupied with making sure everything was ready, should you wake him up and tell him your contractions were growing close together.

Did I get the car seat in the Audi correctly? Where did I put the hospital bag? In this closet or the coat closet downstairs? Everything's in it she and the baby needs, right?

“Babe.”

Perhaps I should just go down and get it, to make sure. What about the nursery? Thank God, I finished the crib last month!

“Hen..”

Do we need more diapers? Are they the right size? What if--

“Henry!” You called out, when he didn't answer you, a far off and growing alarm look in his cerulean eyes, startling him out of his worried trance. “Everything is all right.” You said slowly, holding his gaze steadily. “We have everything we need. Everything the baby needs. If we don't, that's perfectly fine. Your parents and mine have offered their help, should it arise. As have your brothers.”

“I don't know how you're so calm.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping down on his side of the bed.

You laughed, smirking. “I'm not calm. But there's no use for us both freaking out, especially at the same time. Besides, when I freak out, I have you to pull me back together, the least I can do is return the favor, when you start to lose it.” You told him, maneuvering yourself back under the covers.

“What's a spouse for?”

“You're right.” Henry nodded, turning the light out and resting against the headboard beside you. “One of the many reasons I love you, and married you.” He said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Snuggling down, your back pressed against Henry's chest with his hand ever present on your belly, you tried to focus on falling asleep.

“You know.” Henry commented, half-asleep himself. “I sort of miss when you were in your first and second trimesters.”

“Oh?” You mumbled back, with interest.

“Yeah, you were always jumping my bones.” He laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth. “Well, until the end of your second trimester, when your belly got too big to do anything other than waddle and ride my cock.”

You were instantly awake again at his words. A huge smile of hot guilt and embarrassment on your face, that you hid in your pillow. It was true! The first stages of your pregnancy had made you quite frisky towards Henry. Sometimes so much so, he hadn't recovered from the last time you'd had sex and would need to pleasure you in other ways to bring your arousal down. Not that the man complained about it! But a couple weeks into your third trimester, the raging inferno of your passions cooled off. Even beyond what they were before you were expecting. You were just too tired and sore, uncomfortable, and just ready to give birth, to think of such things. But again, Henry didn't complain. You were grateful for that, because you felt bad that your mood didn't match his, at the moment.

Having seen the look of concupiscent on his face more than once, as the two of you showered together, went to bed or woke in the mornings. But you just didn't have it in you, and he took it with grace and understanding acceptance, not pressuring you or making you feel like a bad partner, for not reciprocating.

The two of you calmed down and allowed each other to finally fall asleep.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked, the next morning as the two of you finished breakfast.

“I feel all right, Bubs. Only a few pains here and there.” You answered, polishing off your usual cup of chamomile tea, something that had been a staple throughout your pregnancy, to battle your morning sickness and heartburn. “Excited to make cookies with your mum.”

Henry smiled across the table at you. “Good. I bet all these sugary smells are going to drive you and wee man nutty.”

It was a Cavill family tradition to get together, before Christmas, and make cookies for the big family dinner party, as well as to give out as tokens to friends and neighbors. It was also considered quite the honor among the Cavill brothers' wives to have Marianne ask to join her in the massive production. Since she didn't ask just anyone to help her; having a couple secret family recipes to protect in the process. But Marianne had asked, surprisingly and much to Henry's pride, you to help her, at your and Henry's first Christmas. Something that made one or two of Henry's sisters-in-law jealous, especially since the two of you were new and still dating, and one of them had never been asked.

Even to this day.

“Our mouths are already watering for your mother's chocolate chip, mocha cookies.” You confessed; it was one of the many things you looked forward to for Christmas. Marianne's chocolate chip, mocha flavored cookies were something you'd start a fight over, as were her chocolate covered, Oreo truffles with peppermint bark crumble on top. “Oh god.” You moaned, stuffing the last bit of bland, buttered toast into your mouth; Henry laughing at you.

“I'm going to roast up another heritage turkey this year.” He commented, finishing his coffee, then helped clear the breakfast table. “Everyone seemed to love it last year.”

“That's fine with me.” You answered, loading the soap dispenser and starting the dishwasher. “I have one small request.”

“You could make an enormous request, love!” Henry snorted, taking a protein shake out of the fridge.

“I want yams with roasted marshmallows on top.” You told him, confidently. “To myself.”

“To yourself?” He echoed, a smirk on his lips. “How big is the dish?”

“A small one is fine. I just don't want to share it.” You confessed your craving to him.

Letting out a laugh and nodding, Henry shrugged. “All right then. I'll make sure you have your roasted marshmallow covered yams, and I'll have Kal guard them.”

“Excellent.” You nodded back, then looked at your watch. “We should get going. Your mother asked us to get there before ten.” You informed him, heading for the front door and eased yourself down on a small bench that was there.

Henry joined you, squatting down to grab your shoes from underneath the bench and slipped them on your feet, tying them securely, since your prominently belly prevented you from reaching your feet to put on your shoes. Let alone tie them. Your shoes on and helping you back up, Henry got his own shoes on, but paused as he opened the door for you and Kal. He glanced back at the hall closet. Biting his lip, he hurried over and grabbed the baby bag from inside, then dashed after you, putting the bag in the back as he got behind the wheel.

“Just in case.” He answered your lifted brow.

“Fair, I suppose.” You shrugged, unable to argue with his logic.

“How are you holding up, my love?” Henry asked, peeking into the kitchen, before shuffling over to you, sure his mother wouldn't shoo him out.

“My cookie restraint thinned dramatically after the second batch.” You confessed, looking around at all the Santa's, snowmen, candy canes and snowflakes that were either waiting to go into the oven or cooling. “However, your mum apparently anticipated this. Making me batch yesterday, so I could nibble on them, while we made these.”

Henry grinned, touched at his mother's thoughtfulness. “That was sweet of her.” He cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Have you had any more pains?” He asked, his brows pinching slightly, worried.

“Nothing concerning.” You told him, closing your hand around his wrist. “You know I'd come get you.” You tried assuring him, giving him a soft smile. “Or your mum would, should my water break.” You giggled, a smile turning into a smirk.

“That's not funny, babe.” Henry snapped softly, eyes big.

You pressed your lips together, guilty, before pushing up on your bare toes, having taken off your shoes for the long standing in the kitchen, to press your lips against Henry's. “I'm sorry, Puppy.” You mumbled against them, before reaching around him, grabbing a finished Snowman, presenting it to his mouth in place of your own. “I baked and decorated this one myself.” You grinned at him, a glitter of pride in your eyes.

“Oh, did you?” He cooed, opening his mouth to admit the round biscuit of white icing, adorned with two black chocolate pearls for eyes and smaller black sugar pearls for a mouth. It had a carrot nose, made of orange icing and the upper crown of the biscuit was covered in purple, blue and white hundreds and thousands, then outlined with silvery snowflake-shaped sprinkles.

Taking the biscuit from you, Henry nibbled on it, already knowing it would be delicious, since you had made it with his family's age-old recipe. “You know.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “I can't wait to share these with our little guy.” He said, smirking down at the bake, before glancing around the kitchen.

“Well, technically, I've already done that.” You giggle, running your hand over the globe of your belly.

Henry snorted loudly, his smirk growing. “You have me there, my love.” He replied, finishing his treat off, reaching out to lay his hand on your stomach as he saw the moments of your son shift, pressing either an elbow or knee out. “Still trips me out to see him move inside of you.” He commented, feeling something around nudge against his palm.

“You should feel it from this end.” You huffed, making a face at the kicks as he tumbled about, prodding a heel into your ribs and a shoulder into your slowly screaming bladder. “Poor bud is running out of space in there.” You cooed, moving your hand to cup the underside of your stomach.

“That he is.” He agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to your belly. “But, soon he'll be out here with us.”

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill.”

A cold chill washed down Henry's back, making the little hairs on his neck stand up as he straightened. “Mum.” He squeaked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You know the rules of setting foot in my kitchen, while we bake.” Marianne scolded her second youngest.

“I do.” He nodded, biting his lip as he half smirked at her. “I was just checking up on her and our little one.” He explained, motioning to you.

Marianne's gaze shifted, her soft and kind blue eyes looking you over. She had noticed the few contractions you'd experience while helping her bake, and had sharpened her eye on you even more. Everyone in the family had a side eye on you it seemed, with your due date so nearby, like they were concerned you would pop like a water balloon.

“I'm fine.” You sighed softly, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Then, you can pop out of our kitchen.” Marianne said, cocking a brow at her son.

You chuckled, loving the nonchalance she had. “We'll see you later, my dear.” You cooed at him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting the sugar on his lips and inciting a need for another cookie from your stash. “Off you go.” You giggled, patting him on the chest and set your eyes on your task.

Henry looked at his mother with a pointed look, gesturing towards you, to which Marianne answered with a roll of her eyes and picked up a sheet of cookies needing to go into the oven.

“My back is to you, Henry, not my senses.” You shot over your shoulder, cutting out more cookies from the dough.

“Christ alive, our son has his work cut out for him.” He chuckled, winking at you as he turned to leave and rejoin his brothers and dad in the living room.

You looked over at Marianne and laughed, your mother-in-law joining in, the two of you amused he didn't realize you'd seen her roll her eyes.

“That boy.” Marianne chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to stand beside you, helping portion out the raw dough.

“He's freaked out.” You commented, gently laying a Santa on the sheet.

“Understandably.” She answered, wielding the snowflake cutter with skill. “The first baby is always the most stressful, and Henry's wanted to be a father for a very long time.”

“I know he has.” You nodded, feeling your stomach lightly bump the edge of the counter. “I'm happy and excited for our little one.” You told her, wadding up the scrap dough, then picked up a rolling pin. “I'm definitely ready not to be pregnant anymore.” You snorted, smiling faintly.

“And your worries?” Marianne asked, tilting her head at you, without pausing her work.

You drew in a slow, deep breath. “I'm worried about the labor. I'm terrified about whether or not I'll make a good parent.” You confessed to her, letting your breath out. “I know Henry will, he's incredible with kids. I love watching him with his younger fans, with his nieces and nephews.” You gush, grinning at the flashes of memories. “Seeing him hold Ellie, when we first met her--” You shook your head, a bubble of emotions overwhelming you for a moment, til you cleared your throat.

“You'll be a great mother.” Marianne reassured you, running her hand up and down your back. “You have nothing to worry about there. You'll have me and your mum to help you, as well as Heather and all the other girls.”

“I know.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against hers. “And I appreciate it, with all my heart.”

“Why don't you go upstairs, to Henry's old room, and rest for a bit?” She suggested to you. “I can finish the cookies with Heather.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, glancing around the organized chaos of the kitchen.

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her hands on your shoulders and turning you away from the counter. “You and my grandson need all the rest you can get.” She directed you towards the entry of the kitchen. “Soon, you won't have it.”

Henry saw his mum guiding you and instantly jumped up from the couch, where he sat beside his brother Simon. “Are you all right, honey?” He cooed, his handsome face pinching.

“She's fine, Henry.” Marianne replied, looking up at him. “She just needs to rest a bit. Take her upstairs.”

“All right.” He nodded, taking your arm and showed you upstairs to the bedroom that was his as a kid. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe.” He asked, helping you lay back on the made, full-size bed.

“I'm all right, Puppy.” You sighed, rubbing your face.

“What's wrong, honey?” He asked, pulling up a chair from the desk in his room and sat down in front of you.

“Nothing's wrong.” You replied, sighing, flexing your plump toes as Henry grasped your foot in his hands. “I'm just tired and sore.” You told him, closing your eyes as you let out a soft moan, feeling Henry's thumbs work your arch.

“I got the Dad Talk from my dad and brothers.” He chuckled, gently touching the tip of your toes, each painted a cute red color, that he had done himself about a week before.

He had started giving you little at home, medi-pedis to treat you to something nice. Though, it had taken him a couple tries to get painting your nails down. Admitting it wasn't as simple as painting his Warhammer Minis, like he'd thought.

You giggled back, smirking. “Did they?” You hummed, letting your eyes fall shut. “Any good advice?”

“Um, Simon said that I should explain my job to him as soon as we think he can understand it.” Henry recalled, biting his lip with an amused smirk pulling across his mouth. “So, we don't have another Thomas Incident on our hands.”

“My dad's Sherlock Holmes!” You replied, laughing aloud. “Or god-knows who else!”

“Exactly.” He nodded, amused by it too. “My dad suggested, should we have any more kids, to have girls, that way it doesn't continue on the Cavill boy madness, like dead arms and throwing each other off the couch.”

“I would like, at least, one girl, anyway.” You told him, laying your hand on your stomach, feeling your son shift and kick again, wincing as he did.

“Same.” He smirked, as excited as he was for a son, he had wanted a girl too. “Maybe the next one.”

“Mmm.” You hummed back, falling silent and drifting slightly.

Taking the hint, Henry rested your legs in his lap and leaned back, closing his own eyes to rest. Both of you were exhausted from the months of preparation for the baby, all the worrying about if you would be good parents and protecting your son against the world of social media and paparazzi. But the pair of you had only laid there for twenty or so minutes, before you jerked at a sharp pain, inadvertently kicking Henry in the stomach as you did.

Henry gasped and groaned at the blow, doubling over. “Babe?” He rasped, frowning across at you, finding you half sitting up, hand cupping the underside of your stomach with a look of shocked horror on your face. “What's wron—oh shit!” He snapped, seeing the wet patch seeping through your leggings and onto the duvet on the bed.

“Was that--”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, gulping thickly.

“It's okay, all right.” He nodded, running both hands through his curls. “Up we go.” He said, holding his shaking hands out to you, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Broke your water on my childhood bed.” He commented offhandedly, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“It is where we had our first kiss.” You added, lifting a brow at him. “Why not this too!”

“Mum!” Henry called out as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have to go.” He said as Marianne rounded the corner from the living room. “Someone's water broke.”

“Oh gosh!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Go hurry!” She shooed the two of you towards the door, before spinning on her feet. “Code blue everybody!” She shouted at the family gathered in the living room, snapping them into gear, sending brothers and in-laws scrambling everywhere.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Henry asked as he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

“Like I just peed myself.” You snorted, clutching your belly. “Henry.” You cooed at him, watching him make jerky movements but not move from your side. “Hen!” You called, reaching out to grab his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

“Huh?” He whimpered, blinking a few times.

“My shoes are still in the house.” You informed him, offering your sweet partner a smile.

“Oh right!” He nodded, kissing your hand and backing away to close your door, then raced back inside, running into a gaggle of his family fighting to put on shoes and coats. “Excuse me, pardon me!” He barked, diving into the huddle, scrabbling for your shoes.

“Henry!” Nik shouted after him.

“I forgot her shoes!” Henry yelled over his shoulder, pelting back to the car. “Got them!” He smiled, sliding home into the driver's seat and dropping them onto the center console. “I'll put them on you, when we get to the hospital.” He told you, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, while ordering Alexa to map the route to Jersey General Hospital, the very hospital where he and his brothers had been born.

“Speed limit, Cavill!” You reminded him, frowning.

“Baby!”

“He's not going to pop out right now!!”

“He could!

“Between the two of us, Hank, I'm damn sure he's not!” You snapped back, through a contraction. “Deep b-breaths! ” You wheezed, through the pain.

“Relax your shoulders, don't clench your jaw, take a deep breath in....and let it out!” Henry reciting your Douala and doing the technique with you. “Amazing, baby doll. I'm so proud of you.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorbike.” You sighed as the pain faded. “We're waiting at least three years before we have our daughter.” You panted over at him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry laughed, holding his hand out to you. “Whatever you want.”

“I know what we should name him.” You said, softly.

“Oh?” He replied, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “What?”

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “I want to name him, Charlie.” You told him, biting the corner of your lip, you'd put a lot of consideration into it over your pregnancy. “We wouldn't have met, if your brother didn't nag you to come talk to me at that club.”

Biting his lip, a heart shaped lump thumping in his throat. “You're right.” He whispered; voice raw.

Charlie had prodded him for an hour, while supplying him with shots of liquid courage, to finally cross the club you both were in. You were with your friends, blowing off steam after a long work week, and Henry, Charlie and two other friends of Henry's were just hanging out, since he was in town and not working on any projects.

He never forgot the look on your friends' faces as he approached your table, recognizing him, melting into the dark leather of your corner booth and mumbling to each other with hungry, googly eyes. But you, while surprised a celeb was approaching you, hadn't fawned over him, like they did. You'd kept your cool, with jittery insides. Henry politely acknowledged everyone at the table, but his blue eyes were set on you. He asked, trying to have a persona of cool and calm, if he could get you a drink, noting on the way over, yours was empty, and with relief, you'd said yes. So, you dislodged yourself from your friends and followed him to the bar. Striking up a conversation with him, that moved to an empty table, after getting your drinks and lasted until the announcement the club was closing, at two am.

Neither of you had wanted to move apart, but it was late and you both knew it. So, you exchanged numbers and texted while you got yourselves home, then fell asleep. Making the promise to have a proper dinner the next day.

All of which snowballed to this moment. Sitting in the car at the hospital, married and staring at each other between contractions, discussing the name you wanted for your first born, for your son.

“It's perfect.” He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could ask for nothing more for Christmas, than you and our son, for Charlie.” He choked up, leaning across to kiss you deeply.

@winter2112rose / @littlefreya / @kemillyfreitas / @thereisa8ella / @courtlynwriter / @starfirewildheart / @beck07990 / @goldenirishpotato / @pipsqueakkitten

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this as a part of my 12 days of ficmas, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x gn!reader imagine.

The prompt is Ornaments, and it’s for @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge.

Warnings: this is only proofread by me

Christmas with a newborn was somehow the most exhausting and most beautiful time of the year.

Everyone had told you but you still didn’t think raising a baby would be that hard, everyone was right.

The cries of a newborn were enough to shake you to your core and sleep was scarce for a while, nevertheless watching your little darling experience the world for the first time was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

All of a sudden your baby girl was growing up too quickly.

You just wished to hold onto the time forever, so you cherished some moments to memorize them.

One of them was the moment she witnessed her first snow or the way she was just as big as Jake’s lower arm, her head being able to fit into his hand twice or three times as well.

You loved her tiny size but you were proud to see her growing as well of course.

Jake knew exactly how much you loved her, so he surprised you with something that had you in tears when he gave it to you.

You had just gotten your Christmas tree, a beautiful fraser fir, and you were pouring your heart and soul into decorating it.

You always loved decorating the tree, it was festive and energizing, preparing you beautifully for the Christmas season.

Your little angel was being taken care of by Jake so you took your time to decorate, finding the best place for each ornament and trying to make the tree the most beautiful one you had ever had.

Christmas music was quietly playing in the background and you almost didn‘t hear Jake when he stepped towards you, with your little one in his arms.

She was quiet and nibbling at her pacifier, his broad strong arms wrapped around her, dwarfing her.

You sent them a gentle smile and received a kiss to your forehead from your boyfriend, and did the same to your daughter.

She let out a small appreciative noise and you smiled widely.

“Baby, we’ve got something for you,” Jake said softly and the Christmas music underlined his sentence beautifully, the comfort of the moment making it wonderfully memorable.

When you turned to look at them you found a small bag dangling from the hand that was less busy holding your baby and you looked at him in mild surprise.

“Go on, open it,” he added, a small soft grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

You were quick to take it from him and found the most beautiful present you had ever seen inside.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to Jake, your heart clenching in utter love and affection.

Your hand sneaked into the bag to pull out one of four ornaments, finding a piece of clay with one of your daughter’s footprints on it.

Your eyes sought Jake’s and he just chuckled as he saw you tearing up, feeling the same but being able to keep his emotions in check.

The other ornaments were of her other foot and hands, all beautifully imprinted on them, with Jake having written her name, and the date he made them on, neatly on the back.

“Baby, those are absolutely beautiful,” you whispered and Jake’s grin widened into a proud and loving smile.

You would have jumped to kiss him and wrap your arms around his neck but he was holding your little angel, the reason you were so teary eyed.

Instead you wrapped your arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek, which turned just the slightest bit passionate when Jake leaned in to kiss you back.

The ornaments found the best places on the tree and they kept these spots for years, being the most precious ornaments you owned.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @iangiemae @kmsryles343 @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @dempy @bespinnn @tipsykeen @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @luckyladycreator2 @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @airedale17 @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @classyunknownlover @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @princessofglitterland

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[sgiandubh]

Just an interesting factoid from a Scot by ancestry and native of North Carolina where as we know the Frasers settled in OL. The famous popular Christmas tree the Fraser Fir was named for John Fraser a Scottish botanist who developed the tree in the 1750's which only grows in the highlands of the blue ridge mountains and areas of VA and Tenn. In 1971 a NC Fraser Fir was placed in the White House. Merry Christmas to all celebrating!!

Dear @outlander169,

Thank you so, so much for what is clearly more than 'an interesting factoid' (you really are way too humble, here), and a very appropriate addition to the hopefully general festive mood.

Merry Christmas to you, too! I will post my warmest wishes to all of you in due time, bearing in mind we still have an Advent candle left - perhaps the most important one.

May I answer with a tiny vanity detail from our whimsical mid-afternoon Kaffee und Kuchen prosecco, hot chocolate & shameless cakes, one block away from Headquarters?

[reverieaudios]

so so sorry if this is weird you can ignore this if you don't want to answer

I'm kind of a scent nerd and I love to hear what kinds of scents other people wear.

so if you wear cologne/perfume/body sprays what kinds of scents do you like? either specific fragrances or general scent families I'm just curious akdhfkeiw

In the past I didn't usually wear too much as far as fragrances go, but lately I've been playing around with Demeter just because a lot of their stuff is really fun lol

So yeah most days I'm either wearing Ominous Mist, Thunderstorm, Transfixed, Tomato, or Fraser Fir, all from Demeter, and sometimes I'll wear Honey Oud from Bella Vita

Nothing too fancy or ridiculously expensive lol

[jellycatstuffies]

Amuseable Christmas Tree, Amuseable Fraser Fir Christmas Tree, and Amuseable Blue Spruce Christmas Tree🎄

Ko-fi / Instagram

[take-everything-you-can]

Tree Topper Steve

I'm gonna be thanking @babygorewhore again for this amazing mood board! She kills it every single time! Also shoutout to @xxhellfirebunnyxx , @monstxrteeth and again morgy for beta reading ! the rest i'm keeping as a suprise for y'all. And a quick shoutout to @rainbowkisses31 for making and sharing these cute dividers! Steve Harrington x Fem Reader Wc: 1K TW: There are none ! This is pure fluffy goodness for the soul.

The drastic change in temperature by just a closed door was astounding. Just minutes ago you had been bundled in blankets on the couch waiting for Steve to get home. His wide smile and snowflake kissed lashes made you jump up only for him to stop you in your tracks when he flings the small build up off of his shoulders and a shake of his hair. But when his eyes meet you he can't hold back his excitement.

“I've got a surprise for you!”

“What kind of surprise?” you keep in mind that he has yet to take off his shoes as he reaches for you. 

“Well, ok so I know you've been wanting to go and look at trees together, but on the way home I saw one and I could not pass it up babe, it's perfect.” 

You don't even care that you didn't get to pick it out with him, the second you see this beautiful Fraser Fir your mind races at all of the possibilities of how you can decorate it. This six foot tall, full branched stunner is absolutely the one. You beam at Steve as he stands looking down to you. 

“ It is perfect Steve! We have to get this thing inside right now !” You beam.

So yes you froze a little to bring this beast into the living room. Only for a second though as you get Steve to hold it up, while you run to the garage to grab a holiday tote. You had a few that sat in the small space. 

This house was fairly new to you and Steve. It had only been a few months of living together and this was the first holiday you were spending in it together. Halloween was shared with friends and Thanksgiving split between families, but Christmas was a holiday you had decided to spend solely together this year. 

A decision that Steve had suggested, one that made your heart soar. A Grinch in his own right, Christmas had never been one of Steve's favorites, until he met you. Something about seeing how purely excited you got when it snowed or when you saw a gift you thought someone would love. Everything about this season in Steve's mind began and ended with you.  

To see that look in your eye as you stood back and saw the tree in the corner of your shared living room, that made every bad decision in his life worth it. Since it led him here, straight home, to you.

A few more totes brought in and all filled with ornaments, some old and some new. Heavy and willing , you lifted each one to show Steve. 

“Alright champ, who's ornaments are we going with?” You look at him a bit off, a strong side eye as you open the lid to the first tote. 

“Both , duh ! “ He stares at the totes and then towards you and a small sigh leaves him. 

“ They won't match each other ya know?.” You stop shuffling through the mound of decorations and look at him. 

“Do they need to ?” The question stuns him. 

“I mean.. I guess not, but won't that bother you ? The fact that our decorations don't aesthetically go together?” You look at the totes scattered in front of you and survey that of your six, Steve has only one.

 So no you could honestly say you didn't give a damn if his glass baubles didn't match yours. That the garland he owned was gold unlike your silver. As long as he felt that he could set his things next to yours in harmony you really didn't care how it looked to prying eyes. 

“ Do you care if they match ? “  He shakes his head as a small blush dusts his cheeks. “ Then neither do I “ you both find that among his few small trinkets you share a few, doubles for if one breaks. 

You pull out your ceramic trees and place them along the mantle above the fireplace while Steve strings lights along the tree. A few ornaments get placed across the bottom as he weaves in and out of the branches at the top leaving just enough space for the tree topper. 

He starts to play a George Michael record, one he knows you can't resist dancing to. A secret you shared on one of your first dates, coincidentally around the holidays. He recalls you saying how beautifully haunted Michael sounded when singing about his lost love and how you knew that feeling all too well, one you would never know again. 

Steve watches as you place small hooks into rings and place delicate glass and ceramic into thick full leaves as he sits leaning against the back of your couch. Listening to you hum sweet melodies, content in your skin. He thinks to himself how lucky he is to have found you this early in life, grateful beyond belief. 

“Do you think we should use your star topper or my angel topper this year babe?” Your question startles him out of his thoughts. 

“Hmmm? What ?” You laugh having let him drift away for a bit. 

“Star or Angel ?” You hold both in your hands and wave them back and forth in front of the tree to gauge his reaction to either.  You had debated for about ten minutes silently yourself, opting to let Steve decide so you wouldn't have to.  

He groans coming up towards you and taking them both out of your hands. He holds the star up and then the angel as if he is deep in contemplation. 

“I'm going star my love , I've already got my angel this year.” You feel the heat in your chest at his words. They fall from his lips as easily as reciting his name , so fond of you this man is. Yours , he is all yours. 

You place a small kiss to his lips that turns into something of hunger, instantly. Buttons become skewed and zippers get pulled down.

How did you get so lucky as to unwrap Steve Harrington? 

[scotianostra]

12th July 1834 saw the death in Hawaii of Botanist, David Douglas.

As promised last month a more detailed account of this not so well known Scot.

David Douglas was born in the village of Scone on June 25, 1799, just north of Perth he is much better known in the US state of Oregon, where their state tree “The Douglas Fir” is named after him Douglas was the son of stonemason John Douglas and Jean Drummond. He attended local schools, and by the time he was eleven, he was working as a gardener for local landowners, the Earl of Mansfield and Sir Robert Preston.

While working at the Botanical Garden in Glasgow, he became acquainted with the garden’s curator, Stewart Murray, and British botanist Sir William Jackson Hooker. Douglas attended Hooker’s lectures and had access to private libraries. Hooker later described him as a person of “great activity, singular abstemiousness, and energetic zeal.”

In 1823, on Hooker’s recommendation, the Royal Horticultural Society chose Douglas as a botanical collector. The Society intended to send Douglas to China, but arrangements fell through so he ended up going to eastern North America. In 1824, he found passage on a Hudson’s Bay Company vessel, the William and Ann, and arrived in Fort Vancouver on the Columbia River on April 7, 1825. Among his duties were keeping a journal of his activities and collecting seeds and plant specimens that might be useful as horticultural plants in England. Douglas visited North America four times, three times to the Pacific Northwest and California to look for plants, particularly fruit trees, forest trees, and oaks.

On his 1826 trip to present-day Oregon, Douglas took careful notes on the local vegetation as he traveled up the Willamette Valley. On September 30, he recorded one of the earliest descriptions of the Indian use of fire: “Most parts of the country burned; only on little patches in the valleys and on the flats near low hills that verdure is to be seen. Some of the natives tell me it is done for the purpose of urging the deer to frequent certain parts, to feed, which they leave unburned, and of course they are easily killed. Others say it is done in order that they might the better find wild honey and grasshoppers, which both serve as articles of winter food.“

In October, he traveled farther south to near present-day Roseburg on the Umpqua River, primarily to collect the cones of the sugar pine . On October 26, he described an encounter with a local man who led him to the “long-wished-for pines.” While shooting the cones out of a tall tree, which Douglas described as hanging at the tips of branches “like small sugar-loaves in a grocer’s shop,” he attracted several Natives who seemed “anything but friendly.” After a tense standoff, one man indicated that they wanted tobacco, and Douglas responded that he would oblige them if they brought him more cones. The men went in one direction, and Douglas with three cones and a twig went in another.

Douglas was interested in all aspects of the landscape, including animals. Those named in his honour range from the pigmy short-horned lizard to the Douglas squirrel ( . He shipped a number of specimens home for examination by leading scientists. Some species, such as the mountain beaver , were new to science. Douglas also reported seeing—and shooting—California condors on the Columbia River.

In 1827, Douglas traveled through the Northern Rockies and then to York Factory on Hudson Bay before returning to London. He worked on his collections until October 1829, when he again traveled to Fort Vancouver. He spent time on the California coast in 1831-1832, collecting plants and animals and making geographic observations. In 1832, on his return to the Columbia River, he made his first visit to the Hawaiian Islands. He explored the Fraser River district in 1833 and left the Northwest on October 18, 1833, for a return trip to the Hawaiian Islands and a planned return to London.

Douglas had been intrigued by Hawaii and wanted to continue collecting. Unable to get prompt transportation to England, he spent extra time in the islands. It was there, on July 12, 1834, that he met his end,apparently trampled by a bullock in a deep pit designed to capture cattle, although foul play has been suspected.

Douglas introduced more than two hundred Pacific Northwest plants home, many of them important in our gardens today, including Oregon’s red-flowering currant.

At Scone Palace, near Douglas’s birthplace, stands a magnificent Douglas-fir, grown from seed that he sent back from western North America in 1826. His introduction of Sitka spruce to Britain forms the basis of that country’s modern conifer forestry.

Douglas was a tireless botanist and natural historian whose name is honoured in more than eighty species of plants and animals. David Douglas High School in Portland is named for him, a peak in the Rockies as well as numerous plants, are also named after him.

Pics are of Douglas, his memorials at Scone, in Hawaii and Vancouver.

Read more on his life and death here https://keolamagazine.com/.../the-mysterious-death-of.../

[obetrolncocktails]

You're Music to My Eyes | Jake Kiszka X Reader

Warnings: JAKE SINGING, I REPEAT: JAKE SINGING, fluff, but could be more in a part 2 if you guys request it!

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: It feels so good to be back writing...so good. I really hope you guys enjoy this goopy melty heart-in-a-puddle fluff. Also! The song is from A Star is Born!

Summary: It wasn't unusual to hear Jake humming, but singing? No. Couldn't be...and why is that tune so familiar?

Surely it wasn’t Jake singing. He’d do just about anything–but singing? It was a holy ground he rarely shared with anyone in his circle; not because he was ashamed of it, but it was something intensely private. As you entered his house, you could hear his voice lilting softly through the walls, singing a tune that you didn’t know. You didn’t dare make too much noise. You padded into the kitchen, setting your keys and your purse on the counter and stepped out of your shoes so that your steps wouldn’t be so loud. The house was dimly lit, save for the soft splashes of multicolored light on the walls as you tiptoed through the hallway into the living room. You and Jake had put up the Christmas tree later than usual this year, which had initially bothered you. You were typically the resident nuisance when it came to the holidays; as soon as the turkey left the table on Thanksgiving, you’d be running to Spotify to begin blasting Andy William’s “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” much to the chagrin of every single family member. After one mention to Jake that you’d missed the chance for a ‘holiday explosion,’ as you put it, he had bought and lugged in a gigantic ten foot Christmas tree and had set it up in the tallest corner of the apartment. You’d laughed and named it the ‘Grinch Tree,’ because of the way that the top of the tree smooshed against the ceiling, still too tall for the space.

“The bigger the better,” he had said with a proud grin, coming to kiss you softly, his skin smelling of fraser fir. 

Now it stood proudly in the corner, still curled over at the top, but lit most beautifully with far too many lights and too many ornaments, but neither of you cared. Your eyes scanned the rest of the quiet room, landing on him as he sat with an acoustic guitar on the far end of the sectional. You almost hadn’t seen him; he hadn’t stopped playing when you walked in. He simply looked up at you with a gentle smile. 

“Hey baby, I didn’t know you were home,” he said, plucking a few notes on the guitar, continuing the soft melody. 

“I heard you singing,” you said honestly, walking towards him with a bright smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“Well, I’ve challenged myself to write some songs–not just riffs and melodies this time.” 

“For the band?” You asked, coming to sit beside him, tucking your knees to your chest. 

“No, just for me I think,” he clarified, looking up at you and then back down at the guitar. 

“I love it when you sing,” you said matter-of-factly, scooching to get more comfortable on the couch. “I could listen to you sing for hours.” 

“Ah, well I’ll leave that to Josh,” he said dismissively. 

“No,” you insisted, laying a hand softly on his shoulder. “I said I could listen to you for hours.” You watched his face glow a deeper shade of pink. “I mean it,” you continued. “You have a beautiful voice, Jake.” 

“Mm,” he hummed modestly, offering you a thin smile. 

“Will you sing for me?” You asked softly, hoping he would say yes. “Please?” 

He looked at you for a long moment before the corners of his lips curled upward in an enthused grin. “Well I was going to save it for  Christmas, but,” he said finally, readjusting the guitar on his knee. 

“What do you mean for Christmas? Save what? ” You asked, your eyebrows raising with curiosity.

“Shh, just listen,” he said softly, getting in a comfortable position to start playing. You sat in silence, watching the innate way his fingers found their way to the frets of the guitar. He strummed effortlessly and you admired the way that the varnished wood of the instrument  reflected the festive glint of the christmas tree. It was a simple song with a slow, relaxed two-beat musical swing. The melody fell from his lips in a rich, yet understated quality, filling the room with the type of warmth that you couldn’t quite explain. 

You're music to my eyes

I've had to listen just to find you

I'd like for you to let me sing along

Give you a rhythm you'd feel

I wanna learn your every line

I wanna fill your empty spaces

I want to play the part to reach your arms

Sing you a song that you feel, oh

Love, let your music be mine

Sing what I harmonize

Let your melodies fly in my direction

Take me to your paradise

On a musical ride

I'm in love with your music, baby

You're music to my eyes

Your voice is quite a view

I heard a song and then I saw you

I learned the lyrics and knew you were mine

Dance the horizon with you

I wanna sing you us a sunrise

And be the doorknob that will move you

I'd like to be the strings on your guitar

Touch me and play what you feel

Love, let your music be mine

Sing what I harmonize

Let your melodies fly in my direction

Take me to your paradise

On a musical ride

I'm in love with your music, baby

You're music to my eyes

You didn’t feel the wetness in your eyes until the tears were already silently streaming down your cheeks, catching on the curve of your lips. You tasted the salt as you wiped your cheeks and eyes once he finished the song. “Who wrote that? It’s so beautiful,” you finally spoke, your throat aching as the words came out. “Sounds familiar.” 

“I wrote it,” he said softly, setting the guitar aside, leaning it against the arm of the couch. “About you. It’s familiar because I’ve been humming it for a week straight, trying to get the words out right.” His eyes glistened in the low light, and it almost made you laugh how nonchalant he was about such a romantic and genuine gift. 

“You wrote that for me?” You asked, repeating what he had just told you. 

“I did. You know I’m not always good with words, so I just wanted you to know how I feel. About you. About us,” he said, reaching for your hands, caressing your knuckles softly with the pads of his thumbs. 

“Well, I can definitely say that no one has ever written a song for me,” you told him with a light chuckle. “That was just…you don’t understand,” you choked on the words, more tears pouring from your eyes. You tried your best to awkwardly laugh them away, but he reached to flick them from your cheeks. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asked softly, scooting closer to you. 

You nodded quietly. 

“I think you don’t realize how truly special you are. The way you live your life…the way that the smallest things mean the most to you.” You looked up at him. “I got the idea for the song from when we decorated the tree last week,” he said, his gaze glancing over at it twinkling in the corner. “The way your eyes lit up as we put the lights on the tree, and how you were so excited to show me the ornaments from your childhood. You showed them to me one by one before hanging them up.” 

“What can I say, I love Christmas,” you said with a soft shrug, grinning. 

“And I love you for it. I’m in love with you, Y/n. So in love with you that it hurts. I want to create things for you, make art, sing songs, write songs…I’ve never felt this way before, and I–” his voice cut off, leaving him to shrug when he couldn’t find the words. “I just needed you to know the best way I knew how.” 

“Come here,” you said, standing up from the couch, reaching for his hand.

“What?” 

You held out your hand, shaking it exaggeratedly for him to take. “Get up.” 

He smiled and took your hand, unfolding his legs from beneath him as he stepped away from the couch. You led him away from the couch towards the Christmas tree. “Sing it to me again, without the guitar. Dance with me.” There was a flicker of insecurity in his eyes when he looked at you. His security blanket was on the other side of the room, and though you didn’t intend it to be a test, he still passed with flying colors, pulling you in close, one hand laced with yours, the other wrapped snug around your waist as he began to tilt you in a slow two step dance, singing the song over again, this time completely acapella. 

“You’re music to my eyes…” His voice lilted so beautifully. You laid your head against his chest, listening to the vibrations as he sang, feeling the closest you had ever been with him, swept up in complete and total admiration for the man who loved you completely, without reservation or boundaries. 

“Take me to bed, Jake.” You said after a long moment of dancing with no music and no singing–and wordlessly, he unfolded you from your cocoon and led you to the bedroom where he expressed his love again and again into the late hours of the evening.

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