#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

[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

[johnschneiderblog]

Keeping it real

Saturday was a big day on the our little Christmas tree plantation.

Four Fraser firs got promoted from their duties in the field to become the centerpieces of Christmas celebrations in the homes of two family members and two friends. It was a new single-day record, the previous record being one.

It was a little cold for outdoor work, but a person infused with holiday spirit might have stood among the trees in the softly falling snow and called it “Christmasy.”

[cealtrachs]

10 miles through Fraser fir and red spruce.

[emjayewrites]

a bellingham christmas (hey there delilah) • jude bellingham

SYNOPSIS: Real Madrid football star Jude Bellingham has had a big crush on Delilah "Lila" Hamilton, the younger sister of Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, for a while. As their budding romance unfolds, will they be able to navigate the pressures of fame and family dynamics?

PAIRINGS: Jude Bellingham x Delilah "Lila" Hamilton (face claim Rayan Xasan)

WARNINGS: cursing, f1/football b.s., overly protective siblings, light smut, adult jokes (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @dreamingjude @foreverisntenough @nichmeddar @lettersofgold @judesvirtual @perfecttrashface @alika-4466 @cocobutterqwueen @leilaxaliel @ispywithmylileye @vile-harlot @bellinghaalands @certifiedlesbianbaddie @yeea-nah @empressdede @saturnville @pinkcatcus @shepgurl @ffenthusiastt @serpenttines-library @judesprincess @bbgkoo @enretrogue @liamundi

A/N: Merry Christmas you filthy animals! Also bit of a spoiler for another story!

Bergen greeted them with a flurry of snow, the city's harbor twinkling with Christmas lights. Lila, bundled up in one of Jude's oversized hoodies under her coat, pressed her face against the car window like an excited child.

"It's so pretty," she breathed, watching the snow-covered houses pass as their driver continued down the road.

Jude smiled, watching her reaction. For someone who grew up with the glitz of Formula 1 and fashion weeks, Lila still had this endearing way of finding wonder in simple things.

The Bellingham's rented house sat overlooking the fjord, a modern three-story structure with floor-to-ceiling windows that captured the stunning winter landscape. Traditional Norwegian Christmas decorations adorned every surface and strings of white lights twinkled everywhere.

Inside was cheerful chaos. The massive Fraser fir dominated the living room, while Jobe and Mark engaged in their annual tree-placement debate.

"It needs to be centered in front of the window," Mark insisted, one hand on the trunk.

"Dad, no one's going to see it from the fjord," Jobe argued. "If we put it in the corner, there's more room for presents."

"Your son's thinking about his gift pile already," Mark called to Denise, who was orchestrating Christmas preparations from the open-plan kitchen.

"Both of you stop fussing and just put it where I marked the spot," Denise directed, not looking up from her baking. The scent of her famous rum cake already filled the air, mixing with pine needles and cinnamon.

At the sound of the front door opening, Denise's face lit up. She abandoned her baking, rushing to greet them with flour-dusted hands.

"My babies!" she exclaimed, pulling Lila into a warm hug, not caring about the flour transferring to Lila's coat. "How was your flight? Are you hungry? You look tired - Jude, did you let her sleep on the plane?"

Before either could answer, she was already moving on. "Jude, take her bags up - and yes, I put you in separate rooms so don't even try it." Her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Oh, and guess who's here? Justine! Can you believe it? Jobe finally worked up the courage to invite her."

She said this last part in what she probably thought was a whisper, but it carried clearly across the room. Jobe's protests of "Mum!" only made her beam wider.

"Now come in properly, you're letting all the warm air out. I've got hot chocolate ready, and there are fresh cookies cooling - unless your father's found them already."

Mark's guilty expression suggested he had indeed found the cookies, but Denise was too happy having all her children (and their significant others) under one roof to mind.

Lila's eyes widened. "Justine's here? Like, here here?"

"Upstairs getting changed," Denise nodded, clearly thrilled. "I've already started calling her daughter."

"Jesus, Mum!" Jobe groaned from across the room.

Just then, Justine appeared on the stairs, looking slightly nervous but happy. Lila hadn't seen her since that Liverpool match months ago, but the way Jobe's face lit up at the sight of her said everything.

"Li!" Justine smiled, coming over for a hug. "Thank god you're here. I need another sane person in this house."

"Oi!" Jude protested while Lila laughed.

"Don't worry," Lila stage-whispered to Justine. "The Bellingham boys are a lot, but you get used to it."

"I heard that," Jobe called out, but he was grinning as he made his way to Justine's side.

As they decorated the tree, Lila couldn't help but notice how Justine hesitated before placing each ornament, glancing at Denise as if seeking approval. It reminded her of her own early days with the Bellinghams, that desire to fit perfectly into their world.

"The star goes wherever you want, love," Denise assured Justine, seeming to sense her uncertainty. "We're not formal about these things."

Jobe appeared behind Justine, wrapping his arms around her waist in a move so reminiscent of his brother that Lila had to hide her smile. The Bellingham boys and their physical affection - always touching, always close.

"Here," Jobe murmured, lifting Justine slightly so she could reach a higher branch. "Perfect spot."

"You two are sickeningly cute," Lila told Jobe and Justine. "Almost as bad as your brother."

"Please," Jobe scoffed, but his hand stayed at Justine's waist. "We're way cuter."

"Don't start that competition," Mark warned, hanging lights. "I already know my sons can't keep their hands to themselves."

"Dad!" both brothers protested while Justine blushed and Lila laughed.

As the evening continued, Lila watched Justine gradually relax, especially when Jobe kept finding excuses to stay close - adjusting her Santa hat, bringing her hot chocolate, stealing quick kisses when he thought no one was looking.

"They remind me of us," Jude whispered in Lila's ear, pulling her onto his lap in the big armchair.

"Mm, young love," Lila teased, earning a playful pinch.

"Young love? You're like a few months older than them," he murmured against her neck.

"Still."

"Oh, Lila Bila. What am I gonna do with you?"

"Love me obviously," she said, turning her head to plant a kiss on his lips.

______________________________________________

Dinner was a lively affair, the table laden with both traditional English Christmas dishes and Norwegian specialties Denise had insisted on trying. Everyone wore paper crowns from the crackers, even Mark who usually protested such things.

Under the table, Lila texted Zuri:

Lila: "OMG. Jobe brought Justine to Bergen!! Like full-on family Christmas!!" Zuri: "NO WAY. Baby Bellingham's growing up 😭" Lila: "Girl, you should see them. So cute it hurts" Zuri: "Denise must be over the moon" Lila: "Already calling her daughter 😂 Poor girl looks terrified"

Watching Justine navigate the family dynamics was like looking in a mirror from months ago. The way she carefully laughed at Mark's dad jokes, how she kept glancing at Jobe for reassurance, the slight nervousness when Denise asked about her studies.

After dinner, they gathered for movies, everyone in pajamas. Jude pulled Lila close on the couch, his chin resting on her head. Jobe and Justine settled on the floor, surrounded by pillows, his hand absently playing with her hair.

The Polar Express played first. During The Grinch, Lila found herself watching the others more than the screen. Denise kept "sneaking" cookies to everyone, while Mark dozed in his armchair, occasionally waking up to quote his favorite parts.

When bedtime came ("Separate rooms, I mean it!"), Lila retreated to change into her silk pajamas. She sent her Christmas messages:

To Lewis: "Merry Christmas big bro! You deserve this break after your farewell tour. So proud of you heading to Ferrari! Give Amara a big hug from me (though I'm sure you're with her anyway 😉)" To her parents, Nicolas, and her sisters & Mama Carmen: "Miss you! See you for New Year's! ❤️"

The knock on her door surprised her - instead of Jude trying to sneak in more kisses, she found Justine.

"Hey," Justine whispered. "Can we talk?"

Lila ushered her in, patting the bed beside her. "What's up?"

Their conversation flowed easily, both girls cross-legged on Lila's bed. Justine confessed her worries about balancing university with Jobe's football schedule, about the media attention, about living up to the Bellingham name.

"I just... how do you do it?" Justine asked. "Dating a Bellingham boy while having your own life? I'm worried about next term at uni, and Jobe's schedule with Sunderland…"

Lila understood completely. "Honestly? Communication is everything. Jude and I make it work because we talk about everything. The good, the bad, the times we miss each other so much it hurts."

"And the fans? The comments?"

"Keep your Instagram private," Lila advised firmly. "Fuck the naysayers. Focus on you and Jobe. The rest is just noise. And remember - you're not dating the footballer, you're dating the boy who still collects Star Wars Legos and can't cook toast without burning it."

Justine laughed softly. "He's so good to me. Like, ridiculously good. Sometimes I worry it's too good to be true."

"Those Bellingham boys," Lila smiled. "They don't do anything halfway. Trust me, I get it. But that's who they are - all in, heart on sleeve, love without hesitation."

After Justine left, Lila snuggled into bed, feeling content. Her phone lit up with messages - Lewis sending a photo of him and Amara in front of their Christmas tree and Zuri updating her about the Megève adventures. And before she knew it, she drifted off to sleep.

In the middle of the night, Lila woke to the sound of wind whistling outside her window. Snow swirled in the darkness, creating shadows that danced across her ceiling. The storm had picked up, making the old house creak and settle.

Then she heard it - the distinct sound of floorboards in the hallway, followed by a particular pattern of knocks she'd know anywhere.

Three quick taps, pause, one more.

Lila tiptoed to the door, careful to avoid the squeaky spots she'd noticed earlier. Opening it revealed Jude wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt.

"Can't sleep," he whispered, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "Just want to cuddle."

She stepped aside to let him in, both of them trying not to laugh as the floor creaked despite their best efforts. The storm outside provided perfect cover for their midnight rendezvous, the wind masking their whispered conversation as they settled into bed, Jude's arms wrapping around her waist.

"Your mum's going to kill us," Lila murmured, but she was already melting into his warmth.

"Worth it," he replied, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Jude’s body beside her chased away the chill from the storm outside. Lila had almost drifted back to sleep when his hands started to roam, fingertips brushing lightly along her waist over the silk fabric of her pajama top. She froze, her breath catching as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"Jude," she whispered, her voice a mix of warning and affection. "Your parents are sleeping in the same house."

"They’re on the floor below," he murmured, lips now at her neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses against her skin. "They’re older, they can’t hear."

"That doesn’t make it—" Her words were cut off by the way his teeth lightly scraped against the sensitive spot just beneath her jawline. She shivered, her resolve slipping.

"You can be quiet, right, Li?" he teased, his voice low and raspy. She wanted to argue, to tell him no, but then his hands slid under her top, his palms warm and sure as they caressed her breasts.

"Jude," she tried again, but it came out as more of a breathy plea than the admonishment she intended.

"Hmm?" He kissed his way back up to her lips, capturing them in a kiss so soft yet so utterly consuming that she lost herself in it. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, then tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

He took his time undressing her, the silk of her pajamas slipping away under his gentle yet determined hands. She gasped as the cool air kissed her exposed skin, only to be replaced by the heat of his touch and the soft press of his lips around her nipples. She tried to remind herself of the risk, the fact that his family was downstairs, but every coherent thought melted under his attention.

Jude leaned back briefly, his gaze sweeping over her, full of adoration. "You’re perfect," he murmured, making her cheeks flush even in the dim light of the storm-filtered room. She reached for him, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, and he obliged, pulling it off in one smooth motion. The rest of his clothes followed until he was settled between her legs, his body fitting against hers as if they were made for each other.

He paused, reaching for the bedside drawer, and he couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at his lips. "Prepared, are we?"

"Always," she replied with a grin, watching as he tore open the condom and slipped it on.

"Hoping I’d sneak in?"

"Who says I was?" she shot back, her voice light but teasing.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, his smile softening into something infinitely tender. "Liar," he whispered before kissing her deeply, leaving no room for argument.

When he entered her, it was slow and deliberate, his movements filled with care as though he wanted to savor every second. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as their bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt like home. Each kiss, each touch, spoke volumes of the love between them, a quiet exchange of promises neither had to say aloud.

He whispered her name against her skin, his voice rough with emotion, and she responded in kind, her fingers tracing patterns across his back. The world outside faded away, leaving only the storm, their shared breaths, and the warmth of their connection.

When they finally came undone together, Lila couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her lips. Jude pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing still uneven as he smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Li," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with affection.

She smiled back. "Merry Christmas, Jude."

Denise’s favorite Christmas playlist was a thing of legend, and this year was no different. The opening notes of “Last Christmas” by WHAM! blasted through the house, the volume high enough to shake the walls.

Lila stirred, the sound pulling her from the warm cocoon of sleep. She blinked groggily, realizing the weight of Jude’s arm was still draped over her waist. The storm had subsided overnight, leaving behind a blanket of snow and a house filled with holiday cheer—and impending chaos.

"Jude," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Jude, wake up! Your mum’s going to catch us!"

"Mmm," Jude groaned, burying his face into her neck. "It’s Christmas, Li. Relax."

"She’s knocking on doors," Lila hissed, her voice rising as she heard Denise’s cheerful voice in the hallway.

"Merry Christmas! Get up, get your presents!" Denise called, her knock sharp and rhythmic as she moved from room to room.

Jude finally opened his eyes, his groggy gaze meeting Lila’s worried one. "Okay, okay," he muttered, sitting up and stretching lazily. "We’ve got time."

"We do not have time!" Lila said, already scrambling to find her silk pajama top. She tugged it over her head just as Jude slid out of bed with a frustratingly calm demeanor.

He pulled on his flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, taking his time smoothing out the fabric. "See? Easy."

"Your mum is going to kill me," Lila said, tying her pajama pants as Jude opened the door a crack and peeked out.

"The coast is clear," he whispered with a grin, holding out his hand for her. She hesitated before slipping her hand into his, and together they tiptoed down the hall like a pair of guilty teenagers.

Downstairs, the living room was already buzzing with Christmas energy. Mark stood by the tree, fully dressed as Santa, complete with a fake beard and a red velvet suit. Denise, ever the festive one, was wearing reindeer antlers, a white cashmere sweater dress, and fluffy red slippers.

Justine appeared at the top of the stairs, looking a little overwhelmed but still smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Mark," she greeted, trying to stifle a laugh.

Mark, however, was fully committed to his role. "Who’s this Mark person? You don’t recognize Santa?" he boomed in a deep, theatrical voice.

Jobe groaned as he flopped onto the couch. "Why are you here, Santa? Don’t you have to be back at the North Pole?"

Mark clutched his chest in mock offense. "I’m very close to the North Pole, actually. Plus, I had to see my woman." He turned to Denise, pulling her onto his lap.

Denise giggled like a schoolgirl, clearly enjoying the attention. "Have I been a good girl this year, Santa?" she asked coyly.

"Okay, that’s enough!" Jude declared, his cheeks turning red as he began rummaging under the tree. "Let’s get to the presents before this gets any weirder."

As Mark and Denise continued their playful banter, the girls exchanged a knowing look. Justine mouthed, "This family is crazy!" and Lila couldn’t help but laugh.

Jude started handing out presents, his efficiency rivaling that of an actual elf. Justine unwrapped a small box from Jobe, her eyes widening as she revealed a delicate pair of diamond stud earrings. "Oh my gosh, Jobe," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "They’re beautiful."

Jobe grinned sheepishly. "Merry Christmas."

Lila’s heart raced as Jude handed her a small, velvet box. She opened it slowly, her breath catching when she saw the ring inside. It sparkled like an engagement ring, its delicate band and subtle diamond catching the light.

"Something for right now," Jude murmured, his voice soft as he took her hand. "Before the real thing."

Denise let out a gasp, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Jude! That’s so sweet!" She wiped at her eyes, clearly overcome with emotion.

Lila slipped the ring onto her finger, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and happiness. "It’s perfect," she said, leaning in to kiss Jude on the cheek.

After the presents were opened and the wrapping paper cleared, they gathered around the table for breakfast. Plates piled high with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and freshly baked cinnamon rolls filled the air with the smell of comfort and celebration.

Mark, still wearing his Santa hat, insisted on leading a toast. "To family, to love, and to making this Christmas unforgettable."

The morning unfolded with laughter, teasing, and stories shared around the table. Despite the chaos and close calls, Lila couldn’t help but feel grateful. It wasn’t just the presents or the festivities—it was the warmth of being surrounded by people who loved each other unabashedly.

After breakfast, they bundled up for sledding. Lila disappeared under layers - thermal underwear, ski pants, and an oversized black Moncler puffer that made her look even tinier than usual. As she waddled towards the door, Jude couldn't contain his grin.

"You look like the cutest little penguin I've ever seen," he teased, earning himself a playful swat.

"Not all of us are built like trees," she retorted, but her eyes sparkled with amusement behind her designer ski goggles.

The hill behind the house was perfect for sledding. Jobe immediately claimed the fastest sled, prompting Jude to scoff.

"Please, you need all the help you can get," Jude taunted. "What's your technique gonna be? Naruto running down the hill?"

"Better than looking like a giraffe on ice," Jobe shot back. "You’re gonna lose, old man."

"Old man?" Jude's eyebrows shot up. "Alright then, prove it. First one to that tree wins."

"What tree? The one you can reach standing still?"

Their first few runs were close, each brother claiming victory while the girls kept actual score. Jude's longer legs gave him an advantage on the trudge back up, but Jobe's lighter frame meant faster runs down.

"That's three-two, my favor," Jobe gloated after another run.

"In what universe?" Jude demanded. "You're counting that wonky run where you nearly took out that bush?"

"A win's a win, bruv."

"Watch this then," Jude positioned his sled. "This is how a Real Madrid star does it."

His run was perfect until Jobe "accidentally" sent a spray of snow into his face at the bottom.

"Oh, you're done for," Jude growled playfully, tackling his brother into a snowbank.

They wrestled in the snow like kids, their expensive coats doing nothing to protect them from the wet cold. Justine and Lila stood to the side, sharing knowing looks.

From the porch, where Denise and Mark sat by the outdoor fire pit nursing hot toddies, came the warning they all knew was coming:

"Jude Victor and Jobe Samuel!" Denise's voice carried clear across the snow. "If you don't cut that foolishness out right now..."

The brothers separated instantly, recognizing that tone all too well. Their mother didn't need to finish the threat - they were already brushing snow off their coats, looking appropriately chastened.

"Every time," Mark chuckled, wrapping an arm around his wife.

"Works every time," Denise corrected with a satisfied smile.

Lila caught Justine's eye and they both burst out laughing. The mighty Bellingham boys, brought to heel by their mother's voice. Some things never changed.

"One more run?" Jobe suggested innocently.

"Clean one this time," Jude agreed. "No cheating."

"Me? Cheat? I would never-"

"Jobe."

"Fine, fine. May the best man win."

"Don't worry," Jude smirked. "I will."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As they watched their boyfriends take on another run down the hill, Lila realized how perfectly Justine fit into their chaos, just like she had. The Bellinghams had a way of making family out of love, of turning girlfriends into daughters, of making space in their hearts for more. Christmas with them was exactly that - chaotic, warm, and absolutely perfect.

lilahamilton and 6 others

liked by iamzuriawanto, sen_inthecity, amara_nadine, lewishamilton and 1.3m others

lilahamilton: best christmas ever 🎅🏾 🎄

view all 4.6K comments….

judebellingham: love you li 😘

⤷lilahamilton: love you more 🫶🏾

iamzuriawanto: lilhamilton & judebellingham you guys are sooo cute!!

⤷jadevanderwall: iamzuriawanto I know right!!

⤷lilahamilton: iamzuriawanto I think you and aurelientchm are cuter 😊

judilaforever: merry christmas 🎄

jobebellingham: 🎄 🎅🏾🍪

[sammaggs]

It’s a (Benton) Fraser fir 🎄

Bonus: Ex-pat ornaments

[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

[sassenach77yle]

7x11 “A Hundredweight of Stones”

Holy Michael ...high King of Angels...coming to meet the soul...

...and leading it home...to the Heaven of the Son of God.

June 16, 1778

The forest between Philadelphia and Valley Forge

IAN MURRAY STOOD with a stone in his hand, eyeing the ground he’d chosen. A small clearing, out of the way, up among a scatter of great lichened boulders, under the shadow of firs and at the foot of a big red cedar; a place where no casual passerby would go, but not inaccessible. He meant to bring them up here—the family.

Fergus, to begin with. Maybe just Fergus, by himself. Mam had raised Fergus from the time he was ten, and he’d had no mother before that. Fergus had known Mam longer than Ian had, and loved her as much. Maybe more, he thought, his grief aggravated by guilt. Fergus had stayed with her at Lally-broch, helped to take care of her and the place; he hadn’t. He swallowed hard and, walking into the small clear space, set his stone in the middle, then stood back to look.

Even as he did so, he found himself shaking his head. No, it had to be two cairns. His mam and Uncle Jamie were brother and sister, and the family could mourn them here together—but there were others he might bring, maybe, to remember and pay their respects. And those were the folk who would have known Jamie Fraser and loved him well but wouldn’t ken Jenny Murray from a hole in the— The image of his mother in a hole in the ground stabbed him like a fork, retreated with the recollection that she wasn’t after all in a grave, and stabbed again all the harder for that. He really couldn’t bear the vision of them drowning, maybe clinging to each other, struggling to keep— “A Dhia!” he said violently, and dropped the stone, turning back at once to find more. He’d seen people drown. Tears ran down his face with the sweat of the summer day; he didn’t mind it, only stopping now and then to wipe his nose on his sleeve. He’d tied a rolled kerchief round his head to keep the hair and the stinging sweat out of his eyes; it was sopping before he’d added more than twenty stones to each of the cairns. He and his brothers had built a fine cairn for their father before he died, at the head of the carved stone that bore his name—all his names, in spite of the expense—in the burying ground at Lallybroch. And then later, at the funeral, members of the family, followed by the tenants and then the servants, had come one by one to add a stone each to the weight of remembrance.

Fergus, then. Or . . . no, what was he thinking? Auntie Claire must be the first he brought here. She wasn’t Scots herself, but she kent fine what a cairn was and would maybe be comforted a bit to see Uncle Jamie’s. Aye, right. Auntie Claire, then Fergus. Uncle Jamie was Fergus’s foster father; he had a right. And then maybe Marsali and the children. But maybe Germain was old enough to come with Fergus? He was ten, near enough to being a man to understand, to be treated like a man. And Uncle Jamie was his grandsire; it was proper. He stepped back again and wiped his face, breathing heavily. Bugs whined and buzzed past his ears and hovered over him, wanting his blood, but he’d stripped to a loincloth and rubbed himself with bear grease and mint in the Mohawk way; they didn’t touch him. “Look over them, O spirit of red cedar,” he said softly in Mohawk, gazing up into the fragrant branches of the tree. “Guard their souls and keep their presence here, fresh as thy branches.” He crossed himself and bent to dig about in the soft leaf mold. A few more rocks, he thought. In case they might be scattered by some passing animal. Scattered like his thoughts, which roamed restless to and fro among the faces of his family, the folk of the Ridge—God, might he ever go back there? Brianna. Oh, Jesus, Brianna . . . He bit his lip and tasted salt, licked it away and moved on, foraging. She was safe with Roger Mac and the weans. But, Jesus, he could have used her advice—even more, Roger Mac’s. Who was left for him to ask, if he needed help in taking care of them all? Thought of Rachel came to him, and the tightness in his chest eased a little. Aye, if he had Rachel . . . She was younger than him, nay more than nineteen, and, being a Quaker, had very strange notions of how things should be, but if he had her, he’d have solid rock under his feet. He hoped he would have her, but there were still things he must say to her, and the thought of that conversation made the tightness in his chest come back. The picture of his cousin Brianna came back, too, and lingered in his mind: tall, long-nosed and strong-boned as her father . . . and with it rose the image of his other cousin, Bree’s half brother. Holy God, William. And what ought he to do about William? He doubted the man kent the truth, kent that he was Jamie Fraser’s son—was it Ian’s responsibility to tell him so? To bring him here and explain what he’d lost? He must have groaned at the thought, for his dog, Rollo, lifted his massive head and looked at him in concern. “No, I dinna ken that, either,” Ian told him. “Let it bide, aye?” Rollo laid his head back on his paws, shivered his shaggy hide against the flies, and relaxed in boneless peace. Ian worked awhile longer and let the thoughts drain away with his sweat and his tears. He finally stopped when the sinking sun touched the tops of his cairns, feeling tired but more at peace. The cairns rose knee-high, side by side, small but solid.

He stood still for a bit, not thinking anymore, just listening to the fussing of wee birds in the grass and the breathing of the wind among the trees. Then he sighed deeply, squatted, and touched one of the cairns. “Tha gaol agam oirbh, a Mhàthair,” he said softly. My love is upon you, Mother. Closed his eyes and laid a scuffed hand on the other heap of stones. The dirt ground into his skin made his fingers feel strange, as though he could maybe reach straight through the earth and touch what he needed. He stayed still, breathing, then opened his eyes.

“Help me wi’ this, Uncle Jamie,” he said. “I dinna think I can manage, alone.”

1 A Hundredweight of Stones ~ Written in My Own Heart's Blood

[laurencem]

all that I want

It's 11:40 EST which means I finished this with 20 minutes to spare! That's 19 more minutes than I'd usually have 🙃 Merry POANGmas to @randomfoggytiger ! I aimed for fix-it fic because we deserve more Charlie Scully in our lives, dammit. I hope this is worth the wait!

-------------------------------------

( friday )

They cut down their own tree, and cut it again when it wouldn’t fit through the door.  Two hours and a few hundred lights later, it stands more or less straight in the living room.

“Fraser fir,” Mulder says approvingly.  “The favored Christmas tree of the White House.  Sturdy branches.  Excellent needle retention.”

“Douglas fir.”  Scully is drowsy, her head on his shoulder.  “Fraser firs have shorter needles.”

He smiles down at the silver in her golden hair.  “Showoff.”

“Never met a Pinaceae I didn’t like.”  She yawns.  “Will called.  He said they’ll be home around four.”

“Supposed to snow.”

“It was supposed to snow today, too.  Could be nothing.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the forecast.”  He nudges her foot with his own.  “Scully.”

“Mm.”

“Did you talk to your brother?”

A slow exhale, her eyes still closed.  Scully has been slow-dancing around her youngest sibling for a year or so, mending fences that – from what Mulder has pieced together - she hadn’t really been the one to trample in the first place.  “He’s saying Monday now.  If he can get away.”

His long fingers pull at her waist, drawing her closer until she curls into him.  “You think he’s actually going to come?”

“He asked for our address this time.  I’d say the odds are better than fifty-fifty.”

“Charles Scully, in the flesh.”  He fingers the tail end of her braid.  “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well.”  The ghost of a smile.  “You haven’t seen it yet.”

[ read the rest on ao3 ]

[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.

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[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