#i am genuinely not meant for parenthood

[galindatopland]

don't even feel childfree tbh dog's throwing up again

[saltyyuuri]

Just released a beginning of fic on Wattpad (@saltyyuuri ; 🪷Druid🪷 Iso x reader) , if y'all like it I'll continue it, just not sure if it's aight

In the meantime; here's a "what if":

What if: You told them "We're having a baby!"

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Brimstone: "Really?! I'm so happy, love!"

Would re-arrange his schedule to spend time to help. Would make sure to get the best for you and the baby, no matter what

Phoenix; "Oh shit- Like for real for real?"

Would probably be nervous at first- then be chill and brag about it. But when the day comes- he's even more stressed than you.

Sage: "A child?"

She is confused - until you bring back a baby plant. She treasures the plant.

Sova: "You're pregnant??🥹🥹"

Absolute golden retriever moment- he is ecstatic. Except you aren't pregnant - you brought back a baby owl. He was even happier.

Viper: "That's a covid test. Now stay away."

It was in fact a covid test. Sorry.

Cypher: "Ah! A new chess buddy on the way :)"

Is chill about it, takes care of your needs. But he will teach the kid chess- the guy just wants a chess student.

Reyna: "another one?💀"

She thought you were talking about a new recruit. She would jokingly call them babies since they didn't know the ropes. Until you brought her a kitten :)

Killjoy: "how is that even possible?"

She immediately went to find you. You showed her the robot design you made. You meant it as a 'baby project'/ a creation made from the two of you.

Breach: "You know my entire bloodline is felons? Like this kid is going to be a felon."

Good luck with that.

Omen: "pardon?"

A kitten. You got him a kitten. You made the poor guy stress knit a tiny sweater- which he fixed so it would fit the kitten.

Jett: "Nah-🧑‍🦯"

Had to show her the tests. And re do some.

Raze: "What??!! Wait so am I like- the mom or-??"

She ended up spending an hour trying to figure out if she would be a mom or like a stand-in dad. That was until you brought her the keys to a Chevrolet Chevelle (like the car in the player card with Raze and breach)

Skye: "What do you mean-"

You actually meant you carved a wood sculpture of an animal for her to bring to life with her radiant powers.

Yoru: "Not mine."

Ghosted you.

Astra: "I know! I could feel it in your aura 💜"

Is genuinely happy about it, keeps you chill through the whole process

Kay/o: "I think you have the wrong person."

... Seriously though, it's a robot.

Chamber: "Oh la la... Je vais chercher du lait, Chérie."

You didn't understand his French, so you nod and smile.

Neon: "what?? But I'm baby 😭!!"

You sent her a pic of a pink rabbit plushie saying that was the baby. She agreed - it was now the baby.

Fade: "Oh shit... I'm not ready to be a mom-"

You reassured her by sending a picture of the cat you rescued, a black cat that looked way too energetic. She immediately said yes- it's name is Nightmare. So whenever she says "Nightmare, take them!", the kitty just jumps on whoever's closest. Yes, it was trained to do that.

Harbor: "Wait- but I pulled out?''

You had to explain to him that it can still happen - just like that very uncomfortable science class you had in high school. But once it's all cleared up, he gets into dad mode pretty fast.

Gekko: "Oh boy- we already have 4 kids here!! 😭"

His critters are his kids. And honestly he's a great critter dad. That's why you got a pet gecko - to add yet another baby critter to the family.

Deadlock: "Oh- Alright."

She is already looking into parenthood prep classes.

Iso: "Is it a 'congrats' or 'Im sorry' pregnancy -"

He didn't fully process what you said, and just instinctively kicked in with the logical question instead of reacting emotionally-

Took him a few seconds but went well!

Clove: "Uhhhh.. how?"

You swung by their dorm and gave them a jar with a growing salt crystal- the crystal was growing slowly on a string :) they check it's progress every day

Vyse: "... Honey, that's not biologically possible . Plus, I bent you over with a strap-"

She proceeded to explain basic biology and how it wasn't possible especially considering she bent you, to which you replied with a picture of a rose bush sprout. She simply responded with "Oh. Cute 💜". And she takes care of the rose plant, going as far as researching the best way to tend to it.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 48: NEW YORK

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Meanwhile, in New York, Cillian attended yet another premiere and, by the time his stylist Maria had finished primping him for the red carpet, he felt drained and exhausted. Just minutes earlier, he had been on the phone with you, chatting, while Maria went through several outfits to choose from and, shortly after you hung up on him, his stylist finally found the perfect shirt to match his suit.

"I think this is it," Maria declared victoriously, holding up a black button-up that shimmered like a spotlight on stage.

"It's see-through. There is no way I am wearing this," Cillian groaned, staring down at the transparent top in Maria's hands.

"Trust me, it will look fabulous," Maria assured him confidently, adjusting the collar for effect. "The lighting will give it an illusion of translucency," she explained, brushing aside his protests and, despite his misgivings, he decided to roll with it.

"I guess we shall see," Cillian conceded with a resigned sigh, accepting Maria's choice reluctantly.

"Great. Now let's take off the neck chain and watch, shall we?" Maria instructed, reaching for Cillian's wrist and whilst he allowed her to remove the black leather strap watch, he insisted that the neck chain would stay on.

"It is a gift from Y/N and I am not meant to be taking it off," Cillian explained, gesturing towards the delicate golden necklace that rested delicately upon his collarbone, holding a Milagros chain. 

"Y/N?" Maria repeated, confusion clouding her expression momentarily, before remembering that Cillian had mentioned his significant other before. 

"I see she is from South America then?" Maria asked casually, pausing mid-stride to inspect the delicate trinket adorning Cillian's neck. Intrigued, she leaned in closer, squinting slightly to decipher the intricate craftsmanship etched into the gold.

"Yes, and she is rather superstitious," Cillian confessed, twisting the necklace around his neck, revealing its secret.

"So, you two are pretty serious, huh?" Maria queried, admiration glittering in her eyes.

"Quite. We're expecting a little one soon," Cillian shared, pride swelling inside him at the mention of his unborn child.

"That's amazing," Maria gushed, clasping her hands together. "And what's also amazing is that this news has not made the tabloids yet," she added playfully before telling Cillian about her two grandchildren, who were two and four years old respectively. 

She recounted tales of bedtime rituals and diaper duty as Cillian smiled, imagining himself playing similar roles again soon.

"Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind," Cillian laughed. "Thank you for reminding me about the realities of parenthood," he joked, shaking his head ruefully while Maria applied some more foundation, causing Cillian to squint. 

"Alright, that should do it," Maria announced satisfied, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"Ready for the red carpet?" she asked, dusting off her hands theatrically.

"Not really," Cillian chuckled jokingly before following Maria to the car waiting for them both. 

Despite his playful tone, he was deeply grateful for the warmth and kindness she showed him. In a world often devoid of genuine connections, it felt like a rare privilege to share such candid conversations without judgment or resentment.

As they arrived at the red carpet, cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every detail of his impeccably tailored ensemble. Fans cheered enthusiastically, calling out his name as, even amidst the chaos, a sense of calm enveloped Cillian, grounded by the knowledge that his loved ones awaited him at home.

Cillian took a deep breath, mustering up the fortitude to address the frenzied reporters awaiting him. The flashing bulbs blazed incessantly, their intensity intensifying as the crowd roared with anticipatory excitement.

He had learned long ago not to underestimate the fickleness of public opinion; the highs and lows of fame were an ever-present reality in his life, which was one he slowly grew accustomed to.

After several interviews, he found himself standing in line for a photo booth with Maria, where a photographer captured shots of him posing alongside various guests. The flashes dazzled him, obscuring the faces of those around him.

"Who's next?" the photographer called out, peering at the sea of other celebrities and members of the film board eagerly awaiting their chance to snap a picture with Cillian. "You ready, Mr. Murphy?" he addressed Cillian directly, gesturing towards the empty space adjacent to him.

"Let's do this," Cillian replied confidently, extending his hand outstretched towards Maria.

With her assistance, he stepped into the designated area, feeling the glare of the flashbulbs bore into his skin. Despite the familiarity with the process, each encounter carried a unique weight, the gravity of which he continued to grapple with.

He exchanged pleasantries with the individuals alongside him, engaging in brief chitchat while maintaining a composed facade before he was being moved on to the area where fans awaited to get their autographs. 

Security accompanied Cillian as he navigated through the throng. The clamour of voices reached fever pitch, punctuated by enthusiastic cries and shouts for his attention. With practiced grace, he signed posters and posed for photos, ensuring that everyone left happy.

Fans congratulated him on the movie and some mentioned his earlier roles, recalling scenes fondly or requesting obscure trivia.

Their enthusiasm warmed Cillian's heart, making him realize what a truly blessed life he led.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," he told them sincerely, signing autographs and taking selfies with the fans.

"We are huge fans," an enthusiastic voice piped up from the crowd. "Your performances have inspired us," another chimed in passionately.

"Thank you," Cillian replied humbly, his gaze scanning the faces of those gathered around him. Their expressions were animated, reflecting the energy of the event.

But then, there was one woman who truly stood out among the crowd - a woman who was in her mid-fifties and who was accompanied by a young man. 

"Cillian, Cillian!" she cried out, her voice echoing through the crowd, trying to get his attention.

Her eyes were locked on him, shining brightly, filled with hope and excitement. "Cillian... Cillian," she uttered repeatedly, growing louder with each call while holding up a somewhat worn gossip magazine cut out, featuring a photograph of you by his side. 

He paused briefly, scanning the faces around him before locking eyes with the woman.

"Would you like me to sign this?" Cillian spoke politely, acknowledging her persistence but, much to his surprise, the woman shook her head and spoke.

"Is she here?" the woman asked with broken accent, pointing at the magazine photo. 

"No, Y/N is not here today," he responded gently, meeting the woman's pleading gaze with much confusion and, just as he spoke the words, he could tell that she was visibly deflated, disappointment etching lines onto her face.

"Mum, it's okay," the young man by her side said as her eyes filled up with tears and Cillian looked at her with more confusion than ever.  

"No, it isn't alright," the woman replied, her voice cracking with emotion. "I've waited so long," she whimpered, her voice trailing off into silence while security tried to hurry Cillian along.

"Waited for what?" he just managed to ask, the question escaping his lips before he could stop himself. He was clearly puzzled. 

"I've waited for her," the woman answered simply, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. "Please, just talk to her. Tell her I'm looking for her for all these years," she implored earnestly, clutching the magazine article tightly in her hands as security insisted for Cillian to move on.

"Hang on a minute," Cillian told the security guard just as the young man handed Cillian an old photograph of a family of four, on the back of which was a name, phone number and address. 

When he looked at the photograph, his chin dropped. He had seen this before, amongst your belongings, tucked away carefully in your drawer.

"Who are you?" Cillian asked, examining the photograph closely.

"My name is Isabella," the woman introduced herself, her voice trembling softly. "I'm Y/N's mother," she revealed with a quivering voice, a confession that seemed surreal to Cillian but, before he had the chance to digest this news, he was being pulled away by security. 

"Wait, hold on," Cillian protested, thrusting the magazine cut out back into Isabella's hands, signaling to the security guards to stand down.

"Can I keep the photograph?" he asked, eyeing the picture of you and your family with a hint of curiosity.

"Yes," Isabella agreed readily. "Please give it to her," she requested, causing Cillian to nod. 

He pocketed the photograph, feeling a strange mixture of apprehension and intrigue swirling within him. "I'll make sure she gets it," he promised, his voice firm, his resolve unwavering before, finally, he was being hushed away, leaving your mother behind. 

Meanwhile in Dublin, you had left Cillian's apartment and went to stay at your old unit downtown in order to avoid Max and, whilst you knew that you had to address his behavior with Cillian, you did not want to bother him while he was away.

You knew that, the last thing he needed was more stress and worry, seeing that he well and truly hated these premieres and media engagements. 

He never enjoyed being surrounded by hundreds of people, the pressure of interviews, photo shoots, and fan interactions. All of that was exhausting to him, even though he was used to it. He didn't need any additional drama or tension after all that had happened with Kit either.

Unaware of the developments in New York, you tried to occupy yourself with packing up the last of your belongings and preparing for the journey to the new house. You found comfort in routine tasks - sweeping floors, vacuuming carpets, washing dishes - anything to distract yourself from the unsettling feelings bubbling beneath the surface.

But, just as you were carrying out these tasks, something felt strange. It was a crampy pain, akin to menstrual discomfort, only far more intense. 

It began to radiate from your lower abdomen, gradually spreading upwards, sending waves of nausea coursing through your veins.

You hadn't eaten anything all day, hoping to appease an unsettled stomach. Yet, despite your abstinence, the feeling persisted: a constant state of unease coupled with intermittent bouts of vomiting.

At first, you brushed it off as a typical bout of morning sickness. The kind that plagued many women during their pregnancy. But as you lay awake at night, clutching your belly in agony, you knew this was different.

Something wasn't right. It wasn't just the usual aches and pains you'd come to expect from your pregnancy. It was as if your body was screaming at you, begging you to pay attention.

Something was seriously wrong. And with Cillian away, you had no one to turn to except yourself.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

[answer2jeff]

the fatherhood theory:

my take on lip gallagher finding purpose in parenthood.

First things first, I quickly want to congratulate the writers for beautifully articulating the accuracy of Lip's initial reaction to Freddy's birth.

Tami had an extremely complicated birth that resulted in her requiring surgery. Lip, both as a new father and as a boyfriend, was legitimately terrified. He couldn't decide if he should stay with Tami or their son. His thought process probably included the possibility of the mother of his child suffering, further trailing to the fear of fatherly absence. Naturally, considering Lip's lack of a genuine father figure, contributing anything remotely resembling neglect or failure to accommodate to his son feels like the worst and most unforgivable thing he could ever do.

Secondly, I want to say that although Tami is quite different compared to Lip's other love interests, I think she was relatively realistic at the time. She has drive and compassion, and Lip loves a good sarcastic girl who affectionately ridicules the guy she loves. She's abrasive in a way that is more meant to establish her intelligence rather than actually put others around her down. Tami is also terrible at accepting criticism, but doesn't respond in the explosive anger that Lip does. She's more passive aggressive than, well...aggressive aggressive. Even though it's not quite the healthiest, it's much more flexible than rage.

In short, Lip sees a lot of himself in Tami. But, she's a more put together, determined version of him. She's the star that Lip never really turned out to be, even if she's not absolutely perfect. Their relationship is accurate for the conditions of the show (and Lip's life.) Tami doesn't give Lip a lot of opportunities to self sabotage because she's pretty much dubbed herself the lead of their relationship.

(not ignoring the fact that she said he'd be a shitty father by the way. that crushed my soul and i'll never forgive her but that's besides the point.)

Having to decide to let professionals (doctors and nurses, who he notoriously does not trust (rooted by capitalistic healthcare environments and the need for independence due to his childhood trauma), try their best to help Tami when she was literally blue and unresponsive, was difficult and extremely scary.

However, once Freddy has been properly cleaned and prepared to be held by his father, Lip suddenly finds the answer to so many of his interpersonal questions.

"I seem to have ruined everything I was once good at. Is there anything I won't automatically ruin just because I don't think I deserve it?"

Fatherhood.

"Would I be any better at this than my parents were?"

Yes, with practice.

"Would I be able to break the cycle?"

Yes, with love.

"Is it necessary for me to feel so deeply about the world?

Yes. Even if it's painful.

"And was it ever worth hiding that with anger?"

To some extent, yes. You wanted to protect yourself.

"Am I, deep down, past my inevitable quickness to rage, a good person?"

Yes. You always have been.

In hindsight, his excitement for becoming a dad seems kind of obvious considering his overjoyed and emotional reaction. But I think we can dig deeper beyond this surface level impression. Even if it's genuine and ultimately very good at showing Lip's love for his son. Something that I think really prepared Lip for the complications of parenthood was the time period during his time as a college student taking care of Liam.

He'd been surrounded by family members for his entire life that he did not trust. When Fiona, his beacon of support throughout his whole childhoo despite their complicated sibling relationship, made such a grave mistake that reflected neglect, Lip felt unsafe. Both Frank and Monica were typical offenders of drug and alcohol abuse. And they regularly dabbled in allowing these substance issues to affect their children.

Now there was really nobody in his family he could trust. Lip would have to re-learn how to fend for himself and his family. He's had plenty of experience, but he had a support system. Even if it contained his own siblings who lived the same abusive life as he did. But now that he didn't trust anyone around Liam, he literally had to become his primary caregiver.

"You're the closest thing to a dad we've ever had," said Ian Gallagher.

Becoming Freddy's father was the love that Lip needed in his life. Girlfriends are replaceable. Lip has proven this. But he always believed that once you become a father, you do not have the right to back out. And he'd always hold himself to that standard.

This is your life now. Do it right, or go to hell.

People like Lip need to have people in their lives who unconditionally rely on them. His siblings have chosen many times (and rightfully of course) to handle personal matters without Lip's advice. He hasn't gotten to feel as needed or as important as he deserved to be. Having a child, though unexpected, was the missing piece to the endless puzzle that was his life's purpose.

Lip's desire to be a good father not only stemmed from the failure of his own parents, but the fact that guiding his siblings through life was the one thing that everyone around him that everyone was convinced he couldn't do better than anyone else. (Personally, I think Fiona did a great job as an older sister. I'm more speaking from the perspectives and opinions of his siblings.)

Lip will feel love for himself through Teddy. Once he can finally succeed for the long term, he will find peace.

Not to say that he's automatically perfect, because he's not (and no one else is), but he's ready to take on the challange.

Freddy is the love of Lip's life.

And he always will be.

[gunpowder-arti]

actually yknow what. tumblr gets the arti rant

partially copypasted from something i said a while back. on discord

first and foremost, know this: i Do Not Like fanon arti. ofc no hate to anyone who does, or who writes them more sympathetic, but. alright, first of all, i think i need to bring up the fact that they're the Only slugcat who is consistently, broadly hc'd as female?? which is. nothing wrong with reading them as such (hell, the dating sim writes them that way) but. considering that their whole Story has to do with Parenthood and all that it's kind of. a little bit ehhh to me that they're the Only one.

and then there's. right. i find that the broad interpretation of them is largely sympathetic, which i am Not a fan of. i've seen people who interpret them as not killing people but,, that is clearly not the intention of their campaign. i very much interpret the scavs as sapient and tbh i feel like if you interpret them as Just Animals that is kind of. willful denial of canon at best but that's a whole other thing that i will Not go off about right now

uhh, either way. their actions, as portrayed in canon, were unjustified and unjustifiable. like, i call them a war criminal because um. that is what collective punishment is !! i just. they are a hypocritical mass-murdering war criminal and that is part of what makes them so compelling to me. once again no hate to anyone who reads them as sympathetic but it's. ehh. like rain world is ofc heavily up to interpretation but it reads kind of as,, people justifying their actions because they're a player character?? i guess. and im not saying Arti Likers are Problematique™ hell i like them!! but i like them as a mass-murdering war criminal and the fanon good arti is. boring, almost, to me. also iirc it's also kind of implied that they're the reason we don't see elite scavs again until Saint's time [or ever it's been a while] which has pretty bad implications as to the scale of their rampage and. i don't even know if this makes sense but

i would say arti is the most villainous character in rain world, as I see it--they killed on purpose, many times over. theyre awful and shitty and violent and horribly species-ist and a genocidal murder and they are so so fascinating and yet . the fucking fanon is just 'scary girlboss and/or sadgirl mother' and im not even going to lie it's so fucking boring. let women be villainous

look it's all up to interpretation ofc ofc but . i do find certain interpretations to be in poor taste, or at least just... uninteresting !! and fucking . also i genuinely Hate 'arti adopts pebbles' for a few reasons. mostly the above but also a couple other things which i will Not go off about today but. anyways the mortifying ordeal of loving a character but hating the popular fanon more than words can express

ALL THAT BEING SAID please i implore you not to go after anyone on my behalf. or to start discourse about this. this post is not meant to target anyone in particular or even to be taken all that seriously i just . got 6 hours of sleep last night have not eaten in a bit and have perpetually pissed off disease

[california-babylon]

Life update

I am much more alone, now that I have my own place. This was not unanticipated. I don't have friends that live here. Family is often busy, no woman to speak of. I've wanted to live alone since childhood. I have that now. But I feel angry. Bitter almost. I don't like how much I work, and I don't like the way this company is run. I want friends I can spend time with. I want a woman I feel comfortable enough to be authentic around. Being that masculine figure that a woman wants is tiring and expensive. I am tired, none seem worthy of having me as a friend or lover. All the men are fat, slow, lazy, stupid, undisciplined, cowardly. All the women are fat and ugly with horrible attitudes and liberal sensibilities. The beautiful ones are whores. I don't have the opportunity to meet people, especially the kind of people I want to be around. All the people I do consider friends are far away. Greater life expectancy is measured by the amount of genuine connections one has. Mine are few. There is little opportunity to fix that. Parenthood seems a distant dream. Money aside, there is no time. Not just in my daily schedule but in my time remaining on earth. Years to find a woman willing to be with me. Years to build up the relationship. In the best case scenario, I will not have my first kid until I start approaching 40. Already an old man. Increased risk of health complications for the child, not taking into account the age and health of the mother. I am solitary by nature, but I am still human. I don't want to be alone. I am envious of certain people, beautiful women and successful men, for their ability to form relationships in spite of terrible personalities or life choices. I don't know how my life became so empty. From what my dad has told me, I was never meant to have close relationships. Even as a toddler I isolated. I don't know anything else. I don't know what to do.

[isalabells]

I am very curious why Ted going back to the US to be there for his son is him making the mistakes as his dad and a real tragedy. Or did I read your tags wrong and you didn’t mean it this way?

Anon, I never meant to insinuate that this is him making the same mistakes as his dad, nor do I think my tags suggests that. But it's Ted fearing he is making the same mistake as his dad that is the driving force for his ill-advised decision. (That being said, i've seen the Ted's gonna end up like his dad eventually take flying around here, and while -- even in the face of the final scenes -- this is too horrid and bleak a thought even for me I can't entirely refute it, so there's that.) As for your other question, hoo boi- I recommend going back to the post I reblogged and scrolling through some of the tags because there's a lot of people out there who've articulated it way more eloquently than I am currently capable of, and my answer is nothing but a potpourri of all these thoughts.

But let me ask you in return- Did Ted look happy to you? Did he? Did his constant dissociating throughout the episode and him being emotionally closed off and unresponsive to all the people who love and care for him so deeply, him forcefully shutting them all out so he could be A Good Dad and soldier on and do what must be done because he fears otherwise he will make Henry feel like his Dad made him feel (which in itself is a loaded thought, and I bet Sharon could dismantle it within two sessions) make you feel all warm and fuzzy? Him more or less being pushed into this decision because his mom was guilt tripping him and going through with it bc he is under the misguided impression that he has to break-the-cycle in order to prevent impending doom for Henry (guys pls this isn't Succession).

I know there's a post making rounds where people are being outraged bc how dare anyone say choosing to be a parent is the inferior choice here, why do you want Ted to abandon his child and like- I'm genuinely sorry if you feel that way.

The implication that Ted not living within close proximity to Henry renders him a bad father is just bonkers. Emotional availability and taking care of your kid, being involved in their life is not necessarily tied to local distance at all. In all those three years, Ted hasn't neglected Henry once? Hell, with all the constant facetiming and irregular visits and whatnot he's probably kept more up to date with his kid than a good chunk of parents do despite living under the same roof as their offsprings.

Emphasizing the importance of the nuclear family (one that technically doesn't even exist anymore in Ted's case) and telegraphing that this is the main if not only way to be A Good Father seems like such a shocking conservative and nearsighted move for this show, and, pardon me, a very US-American one as well. All of this seems quite tone deaf, but it wouldn't be the first time this season (maybe one day @hubba1892 will bless us all with the essay on TL taking a stand on defying Super League and pushing for 50+1 rule vs. City being a major advertising factor for the show.)

Obiously, this is strongly influenced by me being a firm believer that parenthood shouldn't swallow your whole identity. Playing at pretend happy family and, as someone else put it so nicely, sacrificing your happiness for the sake of your kid is not healthy, and it will gain your kid nothing in the end. Ted seeing himself as nothing but a vessel to fix other people's lives and help them become the best version of themselves only to remove himself from the situation, nay, the entire story (literally and metaphorically, cf him suggesting Trent change the title) once the job is done without a thought or care for his own wants and needs, let alone his happiness is just so deeply saddening. "But the second to last ep showed that they're all gonna be fine without him!!" Yes, that's exactly the point, he should stay because the wants to, not because they need him.

Now Ted 'ain't nobody in this room alone' Lasso is quite literally all alone in the big vast room that is Kansas, with his main people being Henry (a literal child), Michelle and his mom, two people who both make him fucking miserable. A less pointed take would be that he doesn't even have to stay at Richmond specifically. The opportunities that he now has at his disposal in the UK bc of his success story are endless; lots of possibilities for him to continue doing what he loves without being stuck in the depression show that is coaching little league for funsies, quenching all of his wants and needs and dreams and aspiration.

[typicalrambles]

Passions in life

All my life, whenever I have been asked the question "What are you passionate about?", my brain always thought about the arts or tourism and hospitality but as I grew older, both passions that I used to have seem to be kept in a storage box in the back most part of my brain that has ended up becoming unused. Most of the people I know seem to keep their passions going and making them into really successful careers such as owning a coffee shop, selling baked goods, making and selling art, photography, videography, fashion styling, flight attendants, owning a resort, pursuing the field of business, and so on. Not that I'm comparing myself to them, I'm genuinely so happy for them but I feel as though one of the reasons as to why I constantly keep having this so-called "quarter life crisis" is because I've never solidified what I truly am passionate about.

When I think about the arts, I now think about how outdated I am with the field and how I'd be so rusty after being on hiatus for months to years. I could say the same for the makeup industry. Nowadays, more and more people are becoming a whole lot better when it comes to doing makeup and I just feel like I'm some oldie that is outdated when it comes to makeup looks and how I'm still so amazed by cut creases. I also unfortunately feel the same way about the tourism and hospitality industry. Now this one I was so extremely passionate about when I was in college which just slowly disappeared as soon as I started working. I felt as though it was becoming harder and harder to reach my dreams of becoming a resort owner. With my mental health, it just hasn't become a great fit for me to work at the airport either. The tourism and hospitality industry isn't really apologetic or barely has any remorse for people with mental disorders because at the end of the day, business is business and our clients experiences matters a whole lot.

Recently, I realized that practicality mattered a lot more than your passions especially if your passions is as big as owning a resort and it's not exactly that easy to earn enough money in the Philippines to pursue what you're passionate about (e.g owning a resort). Continuing this paragraph on this thought alone has gotten me stuck. For more than a year now, I've been thinking greatly about if I should be changing what I should be passionate about or exploring those that I used to be really interested in, even if it meant exploring what I used to love as a highschool student which was to become a writer. None of these passions are impossible to reach but they are gonna be tough to reach especially that I don't come from a rich family and my pay isn't really that big.

One thing that I know wouldn't exactly require me much money to actually get is becoming a wife and a mother. It just really depends on the relationship I have with my partner, his own opinion on things, and the money we have that would ensure that we wouldn't starve or have to worry about our finances at all. Because it's something that I am passionate about but still can't have at the moment, I've decided to still keep that passion that I have and work on myself and do my research on preparing myself for parenthood, along with doing research on certain household duties and on the environment that me and my partner plans to live in. I think that keeping this passion is good but not enough as I'd wanna pursue something that is outside of our relationship. Something that I would have only for myself and that is still something that I'm trying to figure out at the moment. I'm in no particular rush but it would definitely be nice to figure it all out now while I'm still young than to pursue it by the time that I'm older.

5th August 2024 10:48AM

[mifletzet]

I think we are imagining different things in terms of “violence” I’m moreso envisioning violence is self defense, or the actions of justification groups like the black panthers or figures like John brown,

I actually meant to mention self defense in the last post and removed it, so thanks for bringing it up!

Firstly again, these just my opinions based on what I have learned up to this point, so I am not trying to portray myself as an expert.

Next, it will depend on what you mean by "self defense." Immediate self defense, ie "my life is in imminent danger. The person or persons in front of me are armed and if I do not act, I will be killed", is what I Personally would consider to be the only time violence should be considered or applied.

Regarding your point about groups and figures, the ones you listed are (I'm assuming) ones whose overall messages or ideas you supported. This is not me judging or condemning you for that! But every group feels that their cause is righteous/justified. Anti abortion groups burn down a planned parenthood because they genuinely see that as protecting babies. The events of January 6 in the United States happened because the people participating truly believed that the government wasn't listening to them and their only option was violence.

Who gets to draw the line between what is and isn't justifiable violence?

[selormohene]

day 31 (thursday, august 3rd 2023)

(Writing this post and the two following it on Saturday, possibly going into Sunday morning, because it’s been quite an eventful week. Came back from Long Island on Thursday and went to Newport Jazz on Friday.)

As someone who was, and who was conscious of being, and who has since long been conscious of having been, more of a human being than the adults in my life (and in particular, the adults in positions of authority over me) gave me credit for being, I’ve always had in mind the idea that I would raise my children with the consciousness that they are ends in themselves even though their relationship to me, as my children, is incredibly different from any relationship they might have to anyone else. In particular, I’ve found the “gentle parenting” or “positive discipline” movements on social media incredibly fruitful for helping me think about how to parent in a positive, autonomy-respecting (and affirming) way. But some of the dissatisfaction I’ve had with some of the things I’ve seen among advocates of the movement, along with experiences I’ve had being responsible for people who were somehow in my care or younger than me, though not my kids, have also made me think about just how difficult it is to be a truly democratic parent, as well as about the limits to that sort of approach, about the significance, such as it is, of establishing and enforcing boundaries and rules, and wielding power and authority in the parent-child relationship.

The curious thing about children is that they want to chart their own courses, but they also want your affirmation and approval, even though part of being an autonomous human being is having the right to make choices that other autonomous beings have the right to disapprove of but not to restrict. So there is a curious paradox in the child, for instance, who wants to live a radically different lifestyle from that which has been endorsed for them by his parent. On the one hand, he wants to offend his parent, to do something his parent does not approve of (or, rather, thinks is wrong, because the point is that we don’t want to identify the disapproval as merely a subjective attitude of the parent rather than an attitude which, despite the fact that it belongs to a particular subject, is meant to be oriented towards what is genuinely, objectively valuable). This is because he is his own human being with his own value system, and not merely an extension of his parents’ values. But on the other hand, he wants his parents to accept and affirm his choices, not merely to hide their disapproval of those choices or to put up with them, or to affirm him in spite of them, but to actively affirm those values, to share in them. The child wants unconditional love and acceptance from his parents for who he is, whether it is who he has chosen to be or who he feels like he has no choice but to be. And so, in a strange paradox, the child wishes to be autonomous in respect to his parents, but does not wish his parents to be autonomous in respect to him. After all, ordinary relationships of autonomy are equal and reciprocal; you have the right to live your life according to your values, as long as you’re not imposing them on me; I, by contrast, am free of the obligation to participate in your living your life that way. The problem is that in the context of parenthood holding those two things together is close to impossible.

The thing is that it’s impossible to be fully democratic. Children depend on you for their needs, but they also depend on you to tell them no, to let them know where the boundaries are. A central conflict here is between Kantian and Aristotelian visions of the good, and consequently of parenthood, if parenthood is understood as the parent’s promotion of the child’s good. Part of what distinguishes Aristotle from Kant is that Kant defines the human self as guided narrowly by canons of rationality, which are substantively defined only in terms of self-consistency in willing, and at a remove in terms of respecting other people’s capacity to will consistently, and only at a further remove in terms of the substantive goods which other people pursue (consistently with other people’s capacity to will consistently), and only at a still further remove in terms of anything like the good, or a common good, or the highest good. Aristotle, by contrast, builds in the idea that there is such a thing as the right or the good right from the beginning. He has a much more substantive notion of human nature and of what is good for the human being, or at least of what counts as an answer to that question and what considerations are relevant: actual concrete determinate forms of life and virtues and capacities specific to the human being and to human community. And it is this substantive approach to determining what is valuable in human life that usually does (and in my view should) inform parenting. I would like my kids to actually grow up competent, courageous, with a strong sense of the correct moral values, knowing how to act with regard to things like gender roles and social norms, and so on. But the problem is that if I allow them to enact their autonomy, and part of building their autonomy just is telling them what to do, especially when they’re very young.

The trouble with the Aristotelian view is that it’s fraught with the possibility of moral risk. I’m especially drawn to the emphasis that Bernard Williams places on the following aspect of Aristotelian ethical thought: the fact that there’s no recourse to any way of ensuring that, come what may, you will have done the right thing, because doing the right thing is not, pace Kant, doing things in the right way, where “the right way” is independent of the actual substance of what is done (provided it’s an instance of consistent willing) and also independent of how things actually play out. To bring it all down to earth, the ideal parent isn’t the one who merely allows his child to decide for himself what he thinks the right way to live is, but the one who raises his child in what is in fact the right way to live. But that means that the parent who is mistaken in what counts as the right way to live and thus raises his child in what turns out to be the wrong way to live, or even (and more tragically) the parent who is correct about what counts as the right way to live, but who botches the execution, or who does everything right but is a victim of contingent circumstance, has failed as a parent through nothing he could possibly have prevented, and perhaps even (in the case of cruel external circumstance) through no fault of his own. And, moreover, the parent must take responsibility for this task and its outcomes, and the Kantian model is an abdication of substantive responsibility which seeks refuge in granting, or trying to grant, procedural autonomy to children.

Here are four anecdotes to illustrate the question we’re concerned with here, and to point towards a possible synthesis of a more adequate approach to parenting. All four come from Twitter, funnily enough.

A parent is trying to leave some establishment with a play area (a fast food place or something, idk) but his kid doesn’t want to stop playing. He then offers his kid a “choice”: “Do you want to run to the car or hop to the car?” Of course, the child, who isn’t a small boy, so to speak, says, “I don’t want to run or hop to the car!” As well he should, because the problem is that he doesn’t want to leave. The parent’s convenience decides whether they stay at a particular location or not, not the child’s. The child’s convenience is bounded by the limits of the parent’s (as well as whatever extensions to those limits are granted by the parent’s indulgence and willingness to be inconvenienced by the child).

A child tells his mother he wants Chick-fil-A and says, “You can pick it up or you can order it.” The mother laughs and then the child is like “Hurry up, please, I have things to do.” There’s a lot going on here. The mother says the child is mirroring her own behaviour of “giving him choices with her boundary intact,” which is curious phrasing. (Funnily enough, not too long ago there was a whole conversation about how “boundaries” are supposedly not allowed to have any influence whatsoever on other people’s behaviour, only on your own.) But the mother’s laughter also illustrates the absurdity of the “choice” being given, and the child’s follow-up further demonstrates the sense of imposition that lies behind the choice. The funny thing is that giving someone this sort of choice works like this: you basically say, “I’m giving you this choice because it doesn’t matter to me, and it doesn’t matter to me because it doesn’t materially affect my interest in this question.” But also it’s still a choice I’m giving you, except that I don’t necessarily acknowledge that in doing so I’m still keeping you on a leash, just that it’s long and less rigid than a chain, so to speak.

“You want to keep talking to your friends, I want you to clean your room. How do we find a solution that works for both of us?” Here it’s not “You want to do Y, I want to do X, let’s meet in the middle.” It’s “You want to do Y, I want you to do X.”

The Žižek example: the authoritarian parent who says “You must visit your grandmother, I don’t care if you don’t like her” versus the postmodern one who says “You know, it would be nice if you visited her, I hope you do it out of the goodness of your heart,” who not only refuses to acknowledge that he’s compelling his child’s action, but also tries to do so by compelling his emotion, thus infringing on the child’s inner as well as outer freedom.

The key lessons to be drawn from all that we’ve talked about so far are the following: being a truly democratic parent, in the sense of the parent who solely executes the job of providing for the development of a being with an otherwise independent will, is not necessarily impossible, but very difficult and perhaps not even desirable in most cases. In any case most people aren’t up to it, although of course all my admiration to those who are. But it’s possible (and I think desirable) to respect autonomy and be authoritative at the same time. This is done as follows. 

First, explain to your child where you’re coming from and why you take certain decisions, or want them to do certain things. That way, it’s not merely a form of arbitrary compulsion, “do this, because I say so.” Very often, understanding the logic behind a decision, or that there is a logic, is very useful. To be fair this is often an error of omission, but part of the problem just is that we feel so comfortable making such an error of omission (of reasons for requesting that someone else do something that might inconvenience them) when it comes to our kids. 

Second, listen to their reasons for wanting to do what they want to do, and/or not wanting to do what we want them to do, and be genuinely open. Genuinely listening to someone, enacting that irreducible interpersonal act, is different from (and superior to) merely hearing them speak in that when you listen to someone, you take their words seriously, you take them into consideration, you consider them not merely as data for your own monadic deliberation, but rather as inputs into a joint deliberative process in which the two of you are involved. There is also a negative side to this: don’t make flippant promises you can’t keep, or tell white lies, or do any other such things you wouldn’t expect to be able to do to other people you genuinely consider human beings of equal dignity.

Third, take responsibility. The only thing worse than throwing a stone is throwing a stone and hiding your hand. When you make your kid do something, especially after you’ve made every attempt to respect their autonomy by giving them your reasons and listening to theirs, but perhaps also especially (albeit in a different way) if you haven’t done them that dignity, the least you can do is tell them “I’m making this executive decision because I’ve decided, on balance, it’s the right thing. I am enforcing my parental fiat here, and I’m sorry I must, but I must. And if it goes wrong I take the blame.” You shouldn’t make your kids do things and then refuse to take blame or responsibility when they go wrong, or even act like it was their idea somehow, or deny that you made them do it.

[capseycartwright]

buddie + the elephants came out of nowhere.

Eddie could hear the laughter as soon as he unlocked the front door, the sound of delighted giggling music to his ears after a long shift. He set his keys on the hall table, kicking off his sneakers before he made his way into the living room. 

The scene in front of him was utter chaos - as life tended to be, when you had a baby, two five-year-olds, a teenager and a dog. What looked like every single pillow, blanket and stuffed animal owned by the Buckley-Diaz household had made its way to the living room, a pillow fort centre-stage, the coffee table pushed against the wall. 

Buck was lying on the floor, covered in an array of brightly coloured elephants. Ava was going through a bit of an elephant obsession, and neither of them had ever been the type of parent to deny their kids anything - even if that meant that their daughter slept amongst a sea of elephants and would demand they watch an elephant documentary at least once a week. If they could give her all the magic that her little mind could dream up, then it was all worth it, Eddie knew. 

“What’s all this?” Eddie decided to announce his presence, having enjoyed watching the chaos from a distance for long enough. Two - no, three - wild-eyed, curly haired sets of faces turned eagerly towards him, excited squeals a now familiar greeting home. Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve all of this - the house full of laughter he and Christopher called their home - but he was glad of it. 

“Eddie!” Buck grinned up at him from his position on the floor. “The elephants - they came out of nowhere! They’re in charge now,” he explained, the game he had been playing with the twins presumably convoluted and silly and - as always - imaginative. His husband gestured to the sea of elephants he was surrounded by, Ava fixing him with a serious look.

“Daddy,” she said. “Are you going to play?”

“Of course I am,” Eddie said, ignoring the ache in his bones as he crouched down, crawling into the pillow fort. He was getting too old for this. “Are they good elephants?” he asked, Ava nodding furiously in response.

“They’re really nice elephants,” Noah explained on behalf of his sister, handing Eddie a green elephant plushie. “Right, Papa?”

“Right, sweetheart,” Buck agreed, and the smile on his face was so fond and so genuine, it made Eddie’s heart melt in his chest. If anyone in this world was meant to be a parent, it was Buck - he’d proved it over and over with Christopher, and a couple of years into their relationship, when they’d taken the plunge and decided to have more kids, he’d grown more and more into parenthood in a way Eddie could only admire. He was the only person Eddie could ever imagine living the madness that was their life with. 

“Hi, baby,” Eddie greeted softly, Buck returning the smile. “I missed you today.” 

“I missed you too,” Buck agreed, and then he smiled, again. “But someone else missed you more.” 

Eddie’s heart had melted inside of his chest so many times over the years - seeing Buck with Christopher, seeing Buck hold the identical blonde bundles that were the twins for the first time. It happened during every important moment, every silly moment, every quiet moment of their lives together - and it definitely happened in moments like this, when Luna sat, arms outstretched and a gummy grin in place as she beamed at her dad. She was Eddie’s double, and at that perfect age where she was nothing but belly rolls and delighted squeals, a few months out from walking and talking.

Having another baby when the twins were five, and Christopher was almost out the door to college - well, it was a crazy choice, to some, but as Eddie scooped her into his arms, Ava and Noah following eagerly, Eddie lost amongst a sea of children and elephants and pillows -

Well, how could it be anything except the perfect choice?

send me a ship and a sentence, I'll write the next five however many i want

[josiewrites]

Okay so for FTR X Reader, the reader is a member of FTR, has been since their WWE days and way before that. The three (much like Edge x Reader x Christian) are in a long term established relationship. The Reader is the longest Reigning AEW Women’s World Champion but ends up having to relinquish due to Pregnancy. Maybe a one shot that shows this trio through the trials & tribulations of the pregnancy & parenthood, as well as leading up to the Reader’s along waited return which is portrayed much like the way Becky Lynch returned after giving birth (Summerslam 2021 for those who don’t know)

Okay, so this was fun. I love the idea of Soft FTR, they just seem like genuinely great guys. Also, this is the part where I mention I've never been pregnant, so I'm going off some of the experiences I've heard. I hope you like it!

Best Titles

Pairing: FTR/reader

Genre: fluffy

Warnings: discussion of pregnancy and childbirth

Tag List Babes:  @writtingrose, @abadamn, @rubyred1980, @letmebeawesome, @brittsdmd, @unlikelywrestlingfan, @rollynchwhore, @cuzimacomedian, @demonqueen29, @auburnwrites, @thebestintheworld, @elitehoe

"You're joking." 

Cash's eyebrows shot up as Dax set his phone on the table beside him. 

"Why would I joke about this?" I asked, shrugging. "You really think I'd joke about this? To you two?"

Dax stood, his trembling hands clasping mine, eyes full of adoration. "Oh my god," he whispered, kissing my cheek softly. "You're actually pregnant."

I nodded, Cash stepping up beside his teammate. "I am." Cash and Dax exchanged an excited look, tears forming in Dax's eyes before they embraced. I smiled, knowing how much this meant to both of them. "We are."

I've been with these two for years, even before they joined WWE. When they joined AEW, I went with them, and quickly rose to the top of the women's division, currently holding the championship. I felt my smile falter slightly, as I thought about how I’d have to give that up while I was pregnant.

Cash must've seen my face, and he took my hand softly. "It'll be waiting for you when you're back," he said gently. "This is worth so much more than a title."

I giggled slightly. "I expect that level of sappiness from Dax, not you," I said playfully, laying a kiss on his cheek. "But thank you. Both of you. I'm so excited for our family to grow."

—

"So, do you know which of them is the father?" Britt asked the question I knew everyone wanted the answer to, the championship on her shoulder.

I was in catering with many of the other women, after I announced to everyone I was expecting and passed the title to Britt. I was at the point where taking bumps could be dangerous, and like hell would the boys let me anyway.

"Britt," Jamie chided, the shock in her voice evident, "you can't just ask that."

Britt threw her hands up defensively. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said. "Just curious. Wanted to see which of them we could expect the kid to take after."

I chuckled and shook my head, popping a forkful of my congratulations cake into my mouth. "It's all good," I said smiling. "I know you weren't being a bitch. This time." Britt shot me a playful glare, and I couldn't help but laugh. "We decided not to find out. It doesn't really matter, and they're both going to be dads anyway."

The ladies nodded, and I looked up to see Dax and Cash standing in the doorway, making me smile. I excused myself to stand and go with them. They were going with me to one of my check up appointments, just to make sure everything is okay so far. Though I could tell they were excited, so was I, I also knew they could tell I was upset. 

“Everything okay, buttercup?” Dax asked, resting a hand on my lower back as we walked down the hall. 

“Of course,” I said, but even I heard my own disappointment in my voice. 

“Darling,” Cash said softly, taking my hand. “You don’t have to lie to us. Are you upset about giving up the title?” 

I sighed and nodded, blushing with slight embarrassment. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid, it’s just a belt, but…” My voice trailed off, turning and burying my face in Cash’s shoulder. 

“You’ll get it back,” Cash said softly, patting my hair. “Remember, you’ll be returning undefeated. And that counts for something.”

“And in the meantime,” Dax said, pulling me close, “you and the baby will get to see us keep being the top guys.”

—

“You guys!” I found myself near tears as I held up the tiny red onesie. The whole roster was crowded around me in catering, all smiles for my impromptu baby shower Billy Gunn organized for me, which was sweet and surprisingly wholesome. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Kris beamed as I showed off the lettering in the front, ‘My Dads are the Top Guys’. “I made it myself.”

“It’s perfect!” I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, I was just so overwhelmed with joy and emotion from everyone. “You guys are amazing. Thank you all so much.”

I felt arms around me, and I looked up into Dax’s beaming face, Cash right behind him. “Really, guys,” Cash said, picking up a piece of cake. “We can’t thank you all enough for this, for everything.”

“We’re just excited to see the family grow,” Nick said, bumping shoulders with his brother. 

“Definitely,” Matt replied. “Now we’re just hoping you don’t go into labor during a match.” 

“God I hope not,” I laughed as Cash and Dax kissed me on each cheek. “But we have a plan if it happens.”

—

I nervously chewed my nails as I stood in gorilla, watching both of them in the ring. Normally, I’m not nervous about them, but this isn’t a normal match. When the Owen Hart tournament was announced, Cash and Dax immediately knew they wanted to be involved, and I backed them completely.

Then they decided to face each other.

I knew this was just for the tournament, it was all in fun, but that didn’t make me less nervous. Especially with how close to my due date we were.

“They’ll be okay,” Adam Cole said to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. He had a vested interest in this match, seeing as he’d be facing whoever won. “They’re tough, and there’s no way this is getting between them.”

I smiled softly, the nerves in my stomach aching. “I know,” I said, leaning into him slightly. “I just can’t help but worry. Especially…” My voice drifted away as I rested a hand on my swollen belly. 

Cole nodded, his blue eyes sparkling. “Soon, right?” I nodded, then winced. The pain in my stomach I thought was nerves seemed to reappear. “Are you okay?” He reached out his other hand to steady me, calling Britt over.

I gasped as the sharp pain came again, nearly doubling over. Britt ran over and took my hands. “What’s up, babe? How’re you feeling?”

I looked up at her, tears in my eyes, then my glance flicked down to the small puddle at my feet. “Britt, I think my water just broke.”

Getting me to the hospital was a blur of motion. Britt refused to leave my side, making sure backstage knew where I was going when the boys finished their match. She knew she wasn’t needed for this taping, and she didn’t want me to be alone for this. In a haze of drugs and pain, I barely remember Cash and Dax coming to the hospital, both demanding to see me.

I couldn’t help but smile at their faces as they came into my hospital room, both men brought to tears at the sight of me holding their son. Our son. I passed the baby to Dax as I collapsed against my pillows in exhaustion. “So who won?” 

Cash sat softly beside me as Dax bounced the baby in his arms. “Dax won the match,” Cash said, gripping my hand tightly. 

“But,” Dax added, leaning down to kiss my forehead, “I’d say we both won the important titles tonight.” I chuckled at his cheesy comment before dozing off as all three of the men I loved surrounded me

[fancybehaviour]

Daddy Woes

Summary:

Harry is a good husband; so he sends his wife out on a much needed girls day. James Sirius is a naughty boy; so he sends his father down an anxiety spiral.

Notes:

Written for @harryandginuary BINGO!

Prompt I 23: “Why are there zucchini all over our kitchen?” “Do you not like zucchini?”

The sun had sunk low on the horizon, and in a few minutes would dissapear for the night. About dinner time, thought Ginny, as she made her way home after a long enjoyable day, her heels clicking rhythmically against the cobble. As she walked, she rewinded the highlights of her girls day out with Hermione and Luna in her head. Ginny had had an absolute hoot meeting her friends.She was sure she would continue to reminisce until the next time she could have such a day; after all being the mother of a seven month old meant that such trips were a rarity and she cherished them a lot.

Her legs ached from all the walking around she did while she helped Luna shop for her trip and she was looking forward to taking the nice long bath her husband had promised to draw her. She let out a sigh as she thought of sinking her aching legs in a hot bath, her husband perched at the edge of her bathtub as she gave him an exaggerated recount of the day's events peppered with silly nonsensical jokes, him guffawing at them all even though he had already heard them all. He did that a lot these days, laughing. Especially since the birth of their beautiful boy.

She felt a swell of love rise in her as she thought of her family; her seven month old baby son who could scream the house down and her loving husband who tried his best to give her respite from the said infant. 

"Harry?" she called, pushing the front door to close and locking it. "James darling? I'm back home. Did you boys have fun?". She continued heading towards the kitchen where she could hear noises, taking care not to trip over the many toys that were strewn about their living room. Courtesy of their many relatives and friends, James seemed to have an amount of toys that seemed absolutely ridiculous to Ginny who couldn't remember seeing so many toys even at the Burrow, that had been the residence of seven children. Making the matter even more ridiculous was the fact that James's favourite toys were actually the copper pots and pans that he liked to bang about making noise.

It was only when she reached the kitchen and took in the desecration that it was  that she realised that perhaps today, she might be the only one in the Potter household who might have had any semblance of fun.

Eyes darting from her slightly whimpering son in his high chair, to the trail of food spills surrounding him to the multicoloured stains adorning her husband's apron and his miserable face, she decided to address a whole other issue: “Why are there zucchini all over our kitchen?” 

“Do you not like zucchini?”, asked Harry, in a tone that might have been wry if it weren't for the long suffering expression on his face.

"Absolutely not. Can't believe you thought I did, the honor of questionable taste will forever be Hermione's ."

He gave a laugh that seemed more for her benefit (making Ginny wonder if parenthood had done a number on her humour too) and set about cleaning up. Ginny walked into the kitchen and lifted the whimpering toddler into her arms. She pressed a loud smacking kiss on both of his chubby, chubby cheeks, and rocked him gently, seemingly this was all that was needed for his whimpers seemed to slowly subside. She could feel Harry's eyes on them as he continued to clean up the mess; she remained silent, waiting for him to tell her what was weighing on his mind.

Instead he said, "He missed you," so she turns around to see him, looking at them softly with a look on his face that Ginny could only describe as melancholy. It reminded Ginny of her fifth year, when he looked at her like that, like she was everything he wanted but was unattainable.

It seems she was going to have to demand answers after all. Very well.

"Alright Potter, spill. Whatever happened today that has got you relapsing into your teenage angst?"

He laughed, and this time it was a genuine one; BINGO!

Pulling a chair at their kitchen table and settling himself down he said " James kept crying after you left. A lot." 

"Uh-huh. Nothing he hasn't done before. "

"Yeah. Sure. But today I just realised.."

"Yeah?" She asked, settling down into the chair opposite him, shifting James into her lap who seemed very fascinated with playing with her hair.

Harry watched him for a moment and then continued, "I know James crying is nothing new. Yet for some reason, it just bothered me today, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"It made me feel like a bad parent." he confesses, looking a bit surprised himself, perhaps at that he had spoken it out loud, yet continued with "I have been feeling like it a lot these days."

There.The dam had finally broken. Ginny had long since suspected that Harry was having troubles with parenting. She had caught him brooding about with a tea mug in his hands instead of going back to bed after whatever ungodly hour James Sirius had decided to wake them up. 

She tried many times,to get him to talk, but between her own exhaustion, an infant with a strong pair of lungs and Harry's stubborn refusal to burden Ginny with anymore than she was already dealing with nothing had come out of it. But now that he seemed to want to talk, Ginny did not stop him.

"I just… "he paused, and swallowed, something he did when he was overcome with emotion but wanted to bite it down.

"I want to do this right. I have never wanted so badly to do something right in my whole life. Family..it means everything to me and I want to be a good father but I'm afraid I am failing."

"You are an amazing father, Harry."

He shook his head. 

"Am I?"

"Yes" Ginny agreed furiously.

Harry looked into her eyes at that and she hoped he could read her, that he could see himself from her eyes, how she fell in love with him more and more everyday as she saw more and more of dad Harry.

Looking away he continued, "I sure don't feel like it. Today, while you were away, all Jamie wanted was his Mum. I tried everything, feeding him your milk, his favourite toys - yes the pans and pots, we are lucky we have no neighbours- feeding him all sorts of baby food and yet nothing seemed to work for long before he started wailing again. "

Ginny replied, "I don't want to sound like I'm being condescending, but this is the only way I can seem to put it- he's a toddler Harry. No one knows why toddlers do what they do. If he was fussy with you today and missed me I doubt it's because he has decided you were a bad parent."

"I know that - rationally.But the part of me - the same part of me that gets jealous of blokes trying to chat you up or worries that Ron is going to make a new best friend  - that part of me makes me think I have been a bad father."

"Today when Jamie kept crying for you, and I wasn't able to calm him down or feed him any of the amalgamation of baby foods I made- it just felt like I was in over my head, without a clue about what was doing. I might as well have been one of those dads who say they are 'babysitting' their kids and leave them up to their mothers and that's not- I never want to be that."

"I don't just want to do this right, I want be good at this. Like I am at Quidditch or catching dark wizards. I know I can catch a snitch, I know how to find a criminal on the run from law. Just like that, I want to be good at taking care of my son...but today, everything I did kept failing and that made me think.."

"James dented your confidence, didn't he," she said softly.

"He did," Harry agrees looking over at the boy who was happily sucking on his toes, completely ignorant of the spiral he had sent his father through.

Lacing her fingers with his, she said,"My mum told me, with parenting, there's bad days and good days, but you've got to understand that having bad days is not equivalent to being a bad parent."

"I imagine she had a lot of those, with seven of you," replied Harry wryly.

"Two of them Fred and George", Ginny reminded him.

They sat for a moment in silence both lost in thought.

"Gin-"

 "Harry" ,they both started at the same time, and Harry motioned for her to go on.

"I was just thinking - I had help with this. My mum, Fleur, Angelina, my teammates - I had people to talk this with. To reassure me that I wasn't doing things wrong. But you don't have that."

"No. But I've got you."

"You do," she agrees. "But also, maybe you should talk to people too. Maybe my dad or Bill or George"

He snorts at that. "If anyone had told me ten years ago that I'd be talking parenting with George.." he trails off as Ginny gives a light chuckle.

"Seriously though," she says again,       "Give it a try. I'm always here though. To listen. Or if you wanna get competitive over who is the worse parent".

Grinning, he says "I fed him courgettes Gin. He hated it. I'm winning this game." and she smiles at him, simply happy to see him happy.

"Oh and what is it?", she asks, and at his quizzical raise of eyebrows she elaborates, "that you wanted to say? You wanted to say something but you let me go first."

At that he gives her a wide smile and says, 

"Just that I love you."

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

Do you really think that this information is not accessible to trans masculine individuals? Does it not occur to you that it is determined to be worth it when they have to talk to their informed consent providers and that literally they are so uncomfortable in their body because it doesn't match their brain mapping that they opt for this risk?

Or do you just think anyone assigned female at birth is too stupid to think for themselves?

1. This information was certainly not on my informed consent forms when I talked to the nurse practitioner at planned parenthood. clitoral growth and vagina atrophy were listed as symptoms, but the causes of those things and the eventual effects were not discussed. I didn’t know what Ki67 or glycogen was before two days ago. I learned that the vaginal wall likely can’t renew itself as it dies and becomes a walking infection. This was not on my informed consent forms. I had to look through studies and google what everything meant because I am not trained in biology. So yeah I’d say this information is not accessible.

2. It occurs to me that it is determined to be worth it. It is determined to be worth it wrongly. It is not worth it. Putting yourself in chronic lifelong pain to treat a mental condition is never worth it. Never never never. Also brains are monomorphic , there are no male and female brains, I thought we debunked that forever ago.

3. No, I don’t think that. But I do think thoughts don’t exist in a vacuum. Gender nonconforming girls, especially homosexual, feel pressured to transition. I did. yes, those feelings of “I was born in the wrong body” are genuine, and even common, but the logical solution is NOT to make yourself chronically ill through experimental drugs.

[woodchoc-magnum]

Put this question in a few people's asks bc I wanted to get a range of opinions... but with an E/A breakup imminent, do you think the writers planned this for them from the beginning, or did they see the overwhelmingly negative feedback and change course? Don't get me wrong, I'm THRILLED Eddie is having doubts and I can't wait until she's off my screen, but it seemed like the show was at least trying to get us to like her for him (I have zero explanation for that dreadful fancam otherwise 😂)

I genuinely don’t know the answer but...

This is my dumb af theory.

If the writers had planned to make Buddie canon or at least have realisations at the end of Season 4, it was necessary for both Buck and Eddie to have other love interests at first to reiterate what they don’t want.

It’s especially important for Eddie, who has not been in a relationship on the show with anyone but Shannon, and we can assume that for the last ten or so years of his life he has only been with Shannon and no one else. So he needed a rebound in order to figure out what he really wants/needs.

I don’t think they would’ve expected quite such a negative reaction to Ana? But I also wonder if one of the reasons they cast her was because she and Ryan really have no chemistry at all. Even though we don’t know much about Ana - and I have written her to be a villain from time to time - she’s a generic nice, pretty, woman who on paper is perfect for Eddie. So maybe they deliberately cast someone he has no chemistry with to show that even though they look like a perfect match, for whatever reason, it just doesn’t work.

Ryan’s a good actor - if he was told to act like he’s in love with Ana, I’m sure he would be able to do that. There’s a reason they’re both so unbelievably awkward together.

In saying that - and that is giving the writers the benefit of the doubt a little, because we’ll probably never know the real truth - I definitely think her scenes have been cut down due to the negative reaction. The scene in the Parenthood episode (the revolting couch scene) was almost definitely cut.

I also have a slightly mean theory that nobody on the cast (except Cocoa) likes her, and that Ryan especially doesn’t like her at all. I have no basis for this, it’s just a fun little mean theory.

I am pretty confident she’ll be dumped in the next episode - our boy is having some dope realisations yo - but whether that was the plan all along depends on whether they were actually planning on making Buddie canon, and after that last episode I am feeling like Buddie is definitely becoming canon in Season 5 (I might look back on this post in a year and go oh ho ho how cocky I was but that’s future me’s problem)

Maybe they never originally intended for Buck and Eddie to become canon but they’ve certainly put themselves in a position to make it happen, and I’m extremely hopeful that this is the road we’re going down.

Let’s face it - if this was a male/female couple we would all be thinking it was inevitable at this point.

I also have ANOTHER amazing theory - with absolutely nothing to back it up - that the fancams were meant to confuse and distract us

And also that Ryan and Oliver were never really fighting and are still friends IRL, but that’s just me having a hopeful “loves a happy ending” kind of a brain

UNLESS Ryan has dumped Oliver because of all the freshnlean stuff in which case I would understand.

These are my theories I hope you liked them

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 28b: Just Add Water Part 2

Shots and the ‘Shungle’

Previously on Island Hopper:  Chapter 28: Just Add Water Some things are instant.  Not usually sons.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

FanFic Master List

 The days blended into one another after that.  Mornings began with waking a reluctant child to give him his long-acting insulin.  Jamie started taking Perkaj into the stall with him after I was done with my shower, washing Perkaj’s hair, wrapping him in a towel and sending him in to me.  While they were out of the apartment I would rush into my own clothing. On Perkaj’s arrival back in the apartment I would dry him off, brush his hair, and give him a little privacy while he dressed.  

He was amused by the bustle and pace of our household.  If we ever tried to rush him, he would respond after a deep sigh, “Oh, Mama Peach, I am lazy,” or “Oh, Baba Shamie, I am lazy.”  Jamie assured me that ‘lazy’ didn’t have the same negative connotation in Majel, but it still made me laugh every time Perkaj said it.

Perkaj was also surprised by how often we bathed, but after a few days Jamie said the boy had started to industriously scrub his skin with a washcloth and soap while Jamie washed his hair.

Breakfast was when he would test his blood sugar and give himself injections with an amount based on his level and how hungry he felt.  In the beginning he turned up his nose at the steel cut oats we would usually have for breakfast, but he was delighted by bread with honey or jelly and peanut butter.  Eventually with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, we were able to coax him to eat the ‘porridge’ as well.

Jamie had to leave for school a few minutes early so he could drop Perkaj off at his house, or if he was running late I would take him. There the little boy would be fussed over by his family and then walk to school with his brothers and sisters.  His mother would pack him a lunch to be eaten at school, when he would check in with Jamie for testing and another dose of short-acting insulin before joining the other kids on the lawn for lunch & recess.

After school, Perkaj would come home with Jamie.  They would test his blood sugar to make sure it was high enough for play and family time and give him a snack if it was on the low side.  Most days of the week  Jamie would walk him the rest of the way to his house, returning to our apartment to do grading and planning for the next day.  Around six I would take my turn to travel to Perkaj’s house, supervise as Perkaj would prick one of his poor fingers again, and then the little guy and I would assess his dinner plate with his parents & auntie, talking about the insulin amount needed before eating.

At 7:30, one of Perkaj’s family members would walk him to our house where we would tuck him into bed with a story.  One more test and snack or insulin would finish his long, eventful day.  

After Perkaj headed to bed was when Jamie and I made sure to cuddle up to each other, having a little contact while reading or writing letters by the  warm light of the bedside lamp.  More  often than not one or the other of us would nod off accidentally and wake up only when the other person turned off the lamp. Jamie or I would rouse long enough to climb under the sheet and turn to the other for a goodnight kiss before we would drift back into slumber.  

Our life felt strange, broken up into little chunks like this-- repeated interruptions and moments of being apart when we would normally have been together. It wasn’t easy, but I steeled myself with the fact that there weren’t any other good options.  This—serving the health of the islanders—was why I was here; not marriage, not sex, not selfishness.

“Ijab konaan,” Perkaj cried, sitting at the table with his tester and insulin pen in front of him. “Emetak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, smearing the dust from an afternoon of active play into gray streaks on his skin.

Of course he didn’t want it.  Of course it hurt.

Jamie looked up at me, his eyes full of compassion and desperation.  We had to get Perkaj to buy in to his own health if we were ever going to get our own lives back.  

All of a sudden I had an idea.  I grabbed a syringe from my black medical kit and a vial of sterile saline.

“How many carbs are you going to eat, Meester Shamie?” I asked him. He eyed the syringe and then looked back at me, narrowed eyes giving way to a tiny smile of understanding.

He took a deep breath, looking at the soup and muffins on the table. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “I  know I’m hungry, and I’m lukuun kilep, so I’ll have five servings… some noodle soup and three muffins. How about you, Miss Peachay?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” I responded. “When it’s hot like this, ijab konaan moni, so I’ll have three.”

Without looking off to the side at Perkaj, I picked up the tester, a strip and a lancet. “I wonder what my blood sugar is right now,” I mused. I pricked my finger, the sudden shock of pain giving me shivers, then pressed the drop of blood to the testing strip. “Eighty-five,” I remarked.  “That’s good for before a meal.”

Jamie took the tester I offered him and did the same. He winced and stuck his finger in his mouth after he’d touched it to the testing strip. “Seventy-six? No wonder I’m starving!” He passed the tester on to Perkaj, who had grinned at Jamie’s over-the-top reaction to the prick of the lancet and blood on his finger.

“Okay,” I said. “Five servings means five units.”  I held the vial up as I inserted the syringe and drew out several milliliters of saline. Then I handed the syringe to Jamie.

Up until then he’d been playing along with me.  When I handed him the needle his face drained of color. His raised eyebrows communicated clearly, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Perkaj had tested his sugar and was already clicking the units into his insulin pen.

“One for being little high,” he murmured to himself. “And tree for carbs.”  He screwed on the fresh needle tip and looked over at Jamie. “Why you waiting, Baba Shamie?”

Jamie frowned. “Ijab konaan,” he said, his eyes showing some genuine fear. “Enaj metak.”

Perkaj’s response was adorable.  He patted Jamie’s arm like I’d seen my husband do to him  countless times over the last few weeks. “Is okay, Baba,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head. “It not hurt forever.”

After that, there was no way Jamie was going to let his fear of pain stand in his way.  

“Let’s do it together,” he said.  “Will you count?”

“Juon, ruo, jilu,” Perkaj counted.  On ‘three’ both boys jabbed themselves with their needles and pressed down on the plungers.  They made faces at each other as they did, and when the syringe and insulin pen were returned to the table, Jamie pulled the little guy in for a hug.

“You’re so brave!” He exclaimed. Perkaj grinned and grabbed a muffin.

Out of necessity we discovered that about five minutes after Perkaj fell asleep he would be dead to the world for a solid fifteen minutes.  If we’d saved enough energy, we could engage in a clandestine lovemaking session, covered by the bedsheet, trying to keep the bed frame from squeaking or the headboard from banging against the wall.

Unfortunately, I was gun shy after our ‘coitus interruptus’ and Jamie seemed to be internalizing the stress of parenthood even more than I was. He was still affectionate, and would frequently wrap his arms around me for a hug, come up behind me when I was doing dishes and rub my shoulders, or pull my head to his chest when we lay next to each other in bed reading.  But after my experience being married to him thus far, it wasn’t like him. It was surprising that Jamie wasn’t lusting after me, wasn’t taking liberties with my body, wasn’t making it clear he wanted nothing more than to have me naked.  

Perhaps even more disturbing to me, I was okay with the lack of sex. I tried to reassure myself.  Jamie and I were still cooperating with each other, accomplishing an important thing.   We were still working together, laughing together.  Despite the inconvenience, Perkaj was adorable and Jamie was adorable with him. But both of us were exhausted at night. We were all sleeping in the same room; less alone time meant fewer opportunities when the same idea would strike both of us, when raised eyebrows or a simple caress would be the snowflake that started an avalanche.

But as my dad had said, this was ‘just a season.’

And what a season.  Along with the hot, dry conditions that made it challenging to keep my garden healthy and brought the mamas to clinic fanning themselves and telling me they were lukuun bwil, the level of the catchment continued to drop until the bucket would scrape against the cement bottom of the tank when we drew our drinking water.

One afternoon after school Perkaj announced that he was going to stay and help Baba Shamie cut the grass.  Apparently he and Jamie had been talking on their walk home and Jamie had shared his plans for the afternoon.

“Ikonaan jibaneke,” Perkaj said.  “I want help you!”

Perkaj helped me water my plants and then used the hand-held grass clippers to assist Jamie by trimming the grass near our outbuildings and well.  Jamie used an old school scythe to cut the grass, a wicked looking curved blade on a long wooden handle with two grips.  When he held it on his shoulder as he headed out to the field, he looked like a tropical themed version of the Grim Reaper, with khaki shorts, a tee shirt, and flaming red hair.

I followed the boys as they worked, using a rake to heap up the grass and lift it into our wheelbarrow. Jamie had decided that composting was a necessity to increase the quality of our soil, so we were layering grass clippings with palm fronds and kitchen waste in a heap in the back corner of the property.

I was across the yard when two girls walked hesitantly up to Jamie.  He leaned on his scythe, giving them his attention.

“Meester Shamie,” one of them said, “we no have water to drink.  Our catchment is emmat...empty?

Jamie looked at them, at their water container, and at the big jug by the still, three quarters full from the days’ filtration. He glanced at me.

“Of course,” I insisted, “we have enough to share.”

As Jamie poured water into their bottles, I crossed the yard to the well. Someone would need to draw more well water to refill the solar still.

Through the sunny hours of the day while Jamie was teaching, I had taken it upon myself to keep the reservoir of the still filled with enough well water to keep the trickle of distilled water constantly flowing. When one water jug was filled, I would transfer the hose to the next jug and place the cap on the now-full container.

“Jibaneke?” The little voice asked from behind me. “I help you, Mama Peach?”

Perkaj might have been only seven, but he was an expert at the wrist flick necessary for getting water from the well, and the rapid hand -over -hand motion to bring up a full coffee can. He filled the five gallon bucket in half the time it would take me, then beamed up at me as we carried the bucket together to pour into the solar still.

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek through the sloped glass cover. “Well water enana?” he questioned, brown furrowed.  

“Is it bad?” I responded. “Not bad.  Just doesn’t taste good  for drinking .”

“But Mama Peach,” he said with his forehead wrinkled, “Aolep well water,” Perkaj said.  

It was all well water? I didn’t understand what he meant. Rupert had brought the lower grades over to teach them a lesson about the solar still and evaporation, so I had seen them peering in interest at the setup. I was sure Rupert had explained how the process removed minerals, salt, and impurities from the water.

“Ke?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He showed the motion of the water with his hands -- the upward wafting of moisture, at which he said, “Well water,” then indicated the abrupt stop at the sloping glass, “Well water also” and then showed the drops falling into the collection channel. “Aolep well water,” he finished, holding up his hands as if to encompass the whole water cycle.

“Well, not exactly,” I tried to explain, hesitantly trying out my baby Majel.  “This is a small version of how the earth makes fresh water.  When the water goes into the air, it leaves behind germs and salt and bitter minerals.  Do you see the white crust on the black fabric?  That's the bad part-what was left behind.”

Perkaj peered into the still through the condensation -covered glass curiously.  “Oh.” He exclaimed, wide eyed.  I wasn’t sure he’d understood, but at least I’d tried.

The day stayed hot past sunset, the air barely holding any humidity.  Without a breeze, the house didn’t cool off even when it got dark.  Jamie had tried to cuddle me, but any place our skin contacted we would stick together, and any movement would feel like trying to detach from an octopus.

Perkaj was snoring quietly in his bed when Jamie got up and headed to the door, shoving his feet into his flip flops.  He headed outside without an explanation; I figured he needed the restroom.  

I was lost in my book when I startled at a faint sound behind me. Was that shifting gravel outside the window? I paused to listen. We’d opened the curtains because it was so damn hot, but that meant anyone outside would be able to see me… and could see that Jamie wasn’t here with me.  Still, none of the island men would even try to  bother me.  I wasn’t a single woman anymore, and they wouldn’t dare insult Meester Shamie…

“Tssst tssst,” a voice hissed from outside the window.  “Tssst tssst.” I pretended not to hear them, hoping inwardly that Jamie would return any minute and this person would fade away into the night and stop embarrassing themselves.

“Miss Peachay,” the voice sang, “I want to talk to you.  Tssst tssst.  You want to go to the shungle with me? Kwe konaan bwebwenato?”

As the invitations continued, I turned slowly to squint out the window.  The light from the apartment shone faintly on the pole supporting the short wave radio antenna.  There was a large hand gripping the pole, and next to the hand… there was curly red hair.

“You dip wad!” I hissed.  “I nearly peed my pants!”

“Shhhh,” he responded.  “Grab a quilt.  Come to the shungle with me.”

Perkaj was sleeping, so I figured what the heck.  I obeyed, grabbing a quilt and the mosquito net, turning off the lamp, shoving my feet into zories, and joining Jamie on the road in front of the clinic.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking me by the hand and leading me across the road.  There was only a little sliver of moon, but it was enough to keep us from crashing into trees as we wove deeper into the ocean-side palm forest.  

We got far enough that we couldn’t see the clinic light anymore, and giggled as we spread out the quilt and covered ourselves with the mosquito net.  

Out of the house it was actually cooler, and I sighed in relief as I looked up at the stars, Jamie’s arm behind  my head.

I couldn’t help it, laying on that quilt, covered by that mosquito net, looking up at those stars. “Oh, Frank…” I breathed.

My husband froze, and then he reacted. “Oh, you did not just call me Frank,” Jamie exclaimed.  I giggled as he rolled over on top of me.  “You take that back,” he ordered, his hand forcing its way under my tank top.

I laughed again, meeting his lips with mine, helping him peel off his shirt, wriggling out of my shorts and panties.

It had been so long and the circumstances were so novel I was fully engaged, blissful at his hands on me,  kissing his neck, reaching for him with my hand.  I attempted to change positions, to urge him inside, but he seemed determined to dominate me, insistent.

His hands were on my breasts and then his mouth was, teasing my nipples, biting them gently.   His hands were on my thighs and he was between my legs.  But he seemed to just be teasing me, pressing his pelvis towards me but then pulling away as I opened to him.

I realized he was waiting for something.

I took a deep breath. “I know who you are,” I whispered.  “Jamie.  Soulmate.  True love.  Partner.”

He paused, relaxed against me, kissed me gently between phrases.

“Provider,” I continued. “Protector. Gift of Providence.  Father of my babies. Friend.  Jimjeran.”

When we joined, finally, I was crying. I reached up and found his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine as we moved together, as we connected, as we bonded ourselves together once again.

The whine of mosquitoes chased us inside, but not before we heard a wolf whistle from Anni and Kona’s yard as we crossed the road in front of the clinic. “Miss Peachay, Meester Shamie!” She exclaimed.  “You go to shungle?”

We headed inside to the sound of her laughter.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work and school, I noticed Jamie scratching himself rather intently  on the ass.  

“Hey Meester Shamie,” I joked, “How did you get a mosquito bite?”

He grinned at me adoringly. “I wonder, Miss Peachay.”