#my sister will be twenty nine end of this year | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chrisbesitos · 20 days

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chris x single!older! mom?

(chris would be 21 and reader would be 30)

SOMEONE OLDER.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chris sturniolo × fem!reader.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, cursing.

synopsis: Y/N is a divorced mom who met Chris at a beach and ended up in a date with him. But he's nine years younger than she.

Y/N, a woman in her thirty's, divorced and with a kid.

After a couple years in a failed marriage, Y/N decided she wasn't looking for any relationship for a while. She lived too many years locked in a relationship who she holds alone, her husband was an idiot and left her with Miles after the divorce. Miles is her 4 year old son, the best company she could have.

Well, Y/N wasn't looking for a relationship until she met a guy at the beach in summer. He was pretty and very gentle, he accidentally stepped on Miles' sand castle and offered his help to build it again. He flirted with Y/N a couple times and she noticed how he looked at her boobs in her bikini.

But there's a problem, well, it's not a deep problem, but Chris is only twenty-one. He's just a boy for Y/N, but he didn't seem to care.

"Honey, stay in the shallow, please." Y/N said to Miles before he could run to the water, she smiled and kept the sunscreen on her bag.

"So, you're not gonna give me a chance?" Chris asked, he glanced at her with his blue eyes and a smirk on his lips. Y/N shook her head smiling, she looked at Chris.

"You should look for girls with the same age as you." Y/N rested her elbows on the towel, puffing out her chest. Chris couldn't help it, his eyes fell on her boobs, they were big and looked so good in a red bikini. "Did you lose something in the middle of my boobs?"

"I would love to lose myself on them." Chris said hypnotized, Y/N laughed and shook her head. Chris sat by the girl side, supporting his body on his elbows. "Girls the same age as mine are not interesting like you."

"You're the kind of guy who likes women double your age?" She asked, Chris bit his under lip and nodded his head, smiling a bit. Y/N giggled, keeping her eye on her kid playing in the water. "You want what? Sex?"

"A date." He quickly reply.

"You want to go on a date with me?" She asked discredited.

"Yeah. You're cool and pretty, I want to know you better." Chris said, Y/N smirked and nods. It's okay for her to go on a date with Chris, even though he was 9 years younger than she. "And you're pretty sexy." He whispered in her ear.

Y/N bit her lip and nodded, she was disbelief with this kid. He was confident enough to come to a woman older than him and flirt like a teenager, but worked. Y/N accepted go on a date with him.

"Uh, don't even think about it, Chris." Y/N said when Chris tried to kiss her. He laughed and nodded.

They went out on Saturday, Y/N let Miles with her sister, so she could have a peaceful night with Chris. The boy reserved a table in a fancy restaurant, Y/N until there and met Chris on the front of the restaurant. He was a really gentleman, Y/N was impressed. They ordered, Y/N asked if Chris drinks wine and he said yes, so she ordered her favorite.

"Tell me more about you, Chris." Y/N asked taking a sip of her wine, Chris takes a sip too, but he masked a grimace. The woman bit her lip keeping her laugh.

"Well, I don't think I told you, but I'm a triplet." Chris said.

They chat until the food arrives, Chris talks about his life with his brothers in Boston, his hometown, and his job on the internet being a youtuber. He asked about Y/N life too, she talked about things that Chris never imagined before, but he finds interesting. Y/N underestimated Chris, he was a good guy and mature for his age. Most of the guys don't like to go out with women with kids, but Chris doesn't care, he likes Miles. He built a castle with him.

"I think it's enough for you." Y/N giggled and lowered Chris' wine glass, his cheeks and lips were getting red by the drink. "This is your first time drinking, am I right? You don't have to lie to me, Chris."

"I didn't want you to think that I'm a kid." Chris said, Y/N shook her head lowering her wine glass.

"Drink is not a sign of maturity, Chris." Y/N blink to him, he smiled. Chris insisted on paying, even Y/N saying they could share. They went out, Chris was trying to think what to say, because he had never been on a date before. He already hung out with girls, but never on a date in a fancy restaurant with a woman. It is very different.

"You're good to drive?" Y/N asked, Chris feel his cheeks burn by the embarrassment. He doesn't know how to drive, but he didn't tell this to Y/N, because was embarrassing say his brother has to drive him around.

"I'm gonna get an Uber." He said simple.

"Okay, I'll drive you home." Y/N embrace Chris shoulders, he smiled and nodded. They walked to her car, when they settled in the car, Chris took a deep breath and looked at Y/N.

"I don't know how to drive." He admitted.

"Okay, I don't care if you don't know how to drive." Y/N started to drive, she handled her phone to Chris put his address on the GPS. She drives on silent, Chris was impatient on the passenger seat. Soon they arrived at Chris' house. "So. . ."

"I'm feeling like I'm a friend of your kid, not a guy you just go on a date with."

Y/N nodded and unbuckle her belt, Chris did the same and quickly attacked her lips. She held the back of his neck, pulling him back to his seat, he desperately cupped her boobs with his hands and squeezed, making Y/N sights against his mouth. Chris pressed his forehead against her, breathing hard.

"May I...?" He asked shy, referring to your boobs, Y/N notice that he was staring them the whole night. They look perfect in that black dress, pressing them together, so tight.

Y/N smirked, she slowly tuggled down the dress strap, reveling her big and fat tits. Chris' mouth salivated, craving to put his mouth on her pretty tit. He kissed the middle of her boobs, stimulating her left nipple with his finger. Y/N knows they could get caught at the car, but didn't stop her from show her tits to Chris.

He sucked her tit, holding her waist hard while he used his tongue to stimulate the nipple. Y/N hold Chris' shoulders, biting her lips to hold her moans, Chris was doing so good. Chris looked at Y/N, she smiled to him as he let go her tit.

"Please, come in." He mumbled.

"I can't believe I'm acting like a fucking teenage with a boy who's nine years younger than me." She shook her head smirking, but she nodded. Y/N removed Chris' hair from his forehead, wet from the sweat. "Are you gonna be a good boy for me? Are you gonna behave for mommy?"

"Yes, yes! I will, I will be a good boy." Chris almost cried out, he was needy for her touch, praising to get pleasure from Y/N.

"Let's get in and I will take care of you." She whispered opening the door and Chris quickly followed her.

So, Y/N ended up dating Chris. She wasn't expecting, but after some dates and knowing each other well, she ended up in love with him. Miles likes Chris too, they became best friends and he felt really happy knowing his friend Chris was dating his mother.

Chris is very good for Miles, he takes care of him better than his biological father ever takes. He plays cars with him, gives him piggybacks, put in the bed for sleep and held him on his lap for hours when he got sick. Y/N feel filled with love, not only by her boyfriend, but by the way he treat her son.

Y/N never expect that a guy 9 years younger than she would make her feel happy and loved, but it happens sometimes and she's grateful for that.

i love this trope and now i want to write moOooOoOre ! hope you like it <3

Tags: @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy

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#chrisbesitos 𝜗ৎ #chris sturniolo #madison beer #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #madison elle beer #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets fanfic #mom reader

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beatrixstonehill2 · 7 months

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"Hey, Daddy, just a heads up, but mom wanted to know if you were interested in joining our little bet...." Amanda said.

"Oh, what's that, darling?"

"Welllll.... my friends convinced my to take Femruptarin, as you guys can probably tell...."

"Of course, sweetie, you just gave birth a few months ago."

"So, I told mom that my friends are placing bets on when I'll pop! Mom thought the idea was super cute so she asked to join. The winner gets all my savings from my OnlyFans, just as long as you promise if anyone films me popping that you upload it to my OF! You can keep the money it makes, naturally." Amanda giggled.

"Of course! That money could help me with building a new deck, and then some, I'd imagine."

"Ohhh yeah. You bet, Daddy! I make a whole lot flaunting this pregnant body of mine, these huge breasts I've developed from constantly being pregnant since forever ago! And playing with myself all day long......"

"The house will feel quiet without all the little chimes from your stream donations and you moaning like a proper porn star as you masturbate four hours on end for all those fans of yours. It will be kind of nice not needing to clean off all those tarps you line your floor with to catch your orgasms. Never seen a girl squirt so much in my life, over and over, you absolutely drench your room, and yourself...."

Amanda giggled. "What can I say? I'm a very talented girl, Daddy... So! Any estimation how long I'll last?"

"That womb of yours is like Fort Knox, you carried octuplets to ten months a couple years ago. I say you'll make it to nine months!"

"Daddy, are you crazy? I've got like thirty kids in my womb, I'm only two and a half months or so along....."

"I meant what I said. Your belly'll have no trouble getting twice the size of a yoga ball before you finally burst! I have faith in you, darling. If you're good at one thing.... other than coming like a geyser a dozen times in a row, it's carrying a school bus of kids in that womb of yours."

"OK, I'll mark you down for nine months on the dot! Mom only guessed seven and a half..... My oh-so-supportive brother only guessed six."

"He's out of his mind as usual! I know you're gonna last at least to eight months, you'll see. Mark my words!"

"I hope you're right." Amanda rubbed her belly. "I wouldn't want to disappoint Erica...."

"That sister of yours is already obsessed with pushing out as many kids as she can. She really looks up to you, you know?"

"And she looks amazing carrying quints! Can't believe she's already nineteen.... Time flies...."

"But you're twenty-five so you might as well blow up like a big balloon?"

"Exactly! I think this is the perfect send off for me, I love breeding and pumping out dozens of kids, but I just love putting on a show, knowing as many people as possible are getting their rocks off to me."

"That's my girl. And wow, think this is the longest I've seen you go without making that pussy cum like a fire hydrant in years. I better not keep you much longer, wouldn't want you to have an accident--I see you rubbing those chubby thighs together, baby!"

"Is it that obvious? Mmmm, well how about you join me? My fans love it when you guys join in, especially you, daddy. Who doesn't love seeing a hugely pregnant girl with giant udders like these getting fucked by her daddy? Plus, all those donations we make together might just go to you anyway...."

"You know, you've got a point, darling."

#bursting kink #belly burst #inflation kink #popping kink #preggophilia #breeding k1nk #pregnant nsft

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agaypanic · 8 months

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Hey :) I was wondering if since it’s a leap year you would maybe write a oneshot or blurb or smth with James Maguire x reader (maybe like Quinn!reader from your series??) where she proposes on the 29th of February bc it’s a tradition that comes from Ireland?? I just think it would be so cute bc he just totally wouldn’t see it coming and I’ve never seen anyone do it in a fic before

Leap Day (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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Summary: You, the girls, and James are now well into your twenties. Life is perfect, except for one little thing that’s been on your mind. After taking with your friends about it, you figure you should take matters into your own hands.

A/N: won’t put it on my series masterlist, but this could be seen as an epilogue of sorts to the fella series (even tho it’s not finished yet lol) but obvi it can be read as its own thing. Also im american so sorry for any terminology and such i get wrong. reader, james, and the girls are obvi aged up

***

If you had told your younger self that you and your friends ended up staying in Derry after finishing school, she would’ve thought you lost your mind. All she thought about was graduating and leaving home, traveling the world, and escaping her pain-in-the-ass sister Erin and somewhat crazy family.

But if she saw the life you had now, she’d probably understand. Because you had everything you truly wanted.

You had a nice little job close to your flat where you managed a bookstore. It was a quaint shop that became a frequent stop for some of the local teenagers. Erin also stopped by every now and then to boast about what she had already read.

When you weren’t working, you were with your friends. You were a bit more tame than you were in your adolescence, but that all usually went out the window when Michelle got a drink or two in her. Which happened often.

But the best part of your day was when you’d go home to see your boyfriend of many years, the love of your life, James Maguire.

“So, what’s goin’ on with you and him, anyway?” Michelle asked as she messily poured everyone a glass of wine. Every now and then, you and the girls got together for a night to get drunk and catch each other up on anything that happened since the last time you’d gotten together. For some reason, you and James were a bit of a hot topic tonight.

“What d’ya mean, Michelle? You know what’s going on with us.” You laughed, taking your wine glass from her.

“I mean, when are the two of you getting hitched? Has he even popped the question to ya?”

“Believe me, Michelle, you’d all be the first to know if we got engaged.” You said a bit glumly, downing your drink and waving your glass around for Michelle’s attention to fill it again.

“He still hasn’t asked you?” Clare asked with an incredulous look. From the start, she had been a big supporter of your and James’ relationship. If it was up to her, you’d probably have a few kids and a house in the countryside by now. “You’ve been going out since we were sixteen! And you just turned twenty-five a few months ago, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” You responded, popping the ‘p.’ “Nine years and no ring.” You held your bare hand up to prove your point. “But I don’t mind too much. As long as we’re together, that’s really what matters.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Clare cooed.

“It’s shit.” Michelle countered.

“Michelle’s right, Y/n,” Erin said, grabbing a crisp from the bowl in the middle of the table. “You’ve been waiting for James to propose since we finished at Our Lady Immaculate; admit it.”

“Have not!” You laughed at the absurdity of your sister’s sentence, but the looks everyone gave you made it die down. “Okay, maybe a little. But not seriously! It was just like a dream, you know? Like Erin thinking she’ll get published or Granda thinking Ma will actually divorce Daddy.”

Everyone giggled, except for Erin, who was grumbling about your little jab.

“Be serious, Y/n!” Clare laughed, patting your hand. “You’ve been waiting for him to ask for a long while.”

You looked down at your glass, swirling the wine around with a sigh.

“Maybe a bit.” You answered quietly. It hadn’t really nagged at you too much until recently. After all, you had been together for almost a decade, and everyone else around you seemed to be getting engaged or married. You loved James; truly, you did. But it felt like you were missing out a little. “But I’m fine with waiting.”

“The question is, Y/n, how long are you gonna have to wait until he actually does it?” Erin asked, leaning forward to stare at you. You shrugged, not really knowing the answer and not really wanting to respond.

“You might as well ask him, Y/n!” Your cousin Orla said with a grin. She was always an optimist. “He might just be scared you’ll say no!”

“You know, now that you say it, that’s probably why he hasn’t asked yet,” Michelle said, taking a sip from her wine glass that had been filled more graciously than anyone else’s. “After all, James is a pussy.”

“Don’t call my fella a pussy, Michelle!” You reprimanded, yet you still laughed along with everyone else.

“I can call my cousin what I want. And the fact is that he’s a pussy!”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea, really,” Clare said when everyone’s chuckles had died down. She gasped. “This is a leap year! You could ask him on the twenty-ninth!”

“That’s next week, Clare.” You said a bit nervously. Of course, you’d marry James in a heartbeat. But the thought of proposing, especially so soon, made you a bit sick to the stomach. Now you realize why James probably hasn’t asked you yet.

“It’s either next week or another four years, Y/n,” Michelle said with a teasing smile.

You gulped, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. As you thought about it, you had to admit that it wasn’t really a bad idea. Sure, you had less than an ideal amount of time to plan everything out. But you could probably get something small but nice together.

“Okay… Who’s going ring shopping with me?” The girls squealed at your question, getting up to surround you in a drunken group hug.

***

It was the twenty-ninth, and you were a nervous wreck. The ring weighed heavy in your pocket as you paced around your dining room. Dinner was sitting waiting on the table, and you were playing your little speech of love over and over in your head. All you needed was James, who should be home soon. But as the minutes ticked by, you wished the clock would freeze so you could have more time to prepare for this.

“Darling, I’m home!” James called out as he opened the door, and you realized you were out of time. You skipped out to the front hall to greet your boyfriend.

“Hi, Jamie.” You cooed, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek before stepping away so he could hang up his coat.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, needed to finish some things at the office.”

“Oh, that’s okay, hun.” You waved your hands, both to dismiss his unneeded apology and to get rid of some nervous energy.

James gave you a quick peck before walking off to the bedroom to change, leaving you to overthink a bit more. You wanted tonight to be perfect. James deserved nothing less than that.

To pass the time, you grabbed a candle and placed it in the middle of the small table, finding a lighter to light the wick.

“It’s so nice to be home,” James murmured as he walked over to you, arms slinking around you to pull you close to his chest. He buried his face into your neck, leaving a kiss or two before taking a deep breath. “Dinner smells good.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” You turned your head to kiss his cheek before pulling away from him. The two of you sat down and started putting food on your plates.

You talked about anything and everything, James leading most of the conversation, which you were grateful for. You felt that if you had to talk too much, you’d either stutter too much or end up spoiling your surprise. James held your hand most of the time, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he talked about something amusing that happened at work.

Eventually, your plates were clear and your cups were empty. James was finishing up a story about something a few of his lads had done while they were all watching some sports game you didn’t know much about. You knew that now was your time.

“Jamie?” He hummed, perking up at the sound of his name.

“Yes, love?”

“I love you.” You didn’t really know how else to start.

“I love you, too, N/n,” James said, smiling as he squeezed your hand.

You took a deep breath, about to give the speech that you’d been preparing in your head.

“I’ve known that you were the one for me since we were fifth years. Probably since I first saw you at the bus stop. That’s probably crazy, knowing something like that so early and so young… But it’s true.” You laughed, thumb sweeping over his knuckles. “These have been the best years of my life, being with you. And it might be a bit selfish of me, but I want more of them.”

“Y/n…” James whispered, tilting his head. “What are you saying, darling?”

“We have a bit of a tradition here.” You say, wiggling your hand from James’ grasp and standing up. “Ladies’ Privilege, Bachelor’s Day, whatever you fancy calling it. Where on Leap Day, girls can propose to their fella.” You stuck your hand in your pocket, fiddling with the ring. “And seeing how it’s Leap Day now, and I have a ring and all, I guess there’s just one last thing to ask.”

James’ expression turned even more stunned when you got down on one knee, now holding the silver band up in front of him.

“Will you marry me, Jamie?”

In the few seconds of silence after that question, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. He looked at you stunned, and you desperately wanted to know what was going through his mind. How long would you have to kneel on the ground for him to give you an answer?

But then he smiled brightly, and all your worry slipped away.

“Of course, I’ll marry you!” James slipped out of his chair to join you on the floor and grabbed your face, giving you a long and deep kiss. You gripped his curls in your free hand, the other resting on his shoulder. When he pulled away, he let out an airy laugh. “I never thought I’d be the one being proposed to.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” You giggled with him as you slipped the band onto his ring finger. “Happy Leap Day.”

“Happy Leap Day, indeed,” James said before kissing you again.

#agaypanic #james maguire #james maguire x reader #derry girls #derry girls x reader

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humansofnewyork · 2 years

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“To be honest I didn’t think I’d make it past twenty-one. I was living day-to-day. Thinking I knew everything, thinking I was an adult. And I was angry. About a lot, like a lot. I was fifteen when I had my daughter. And she was four when I went to prison for the first time. I came out for a little while. My girlfriend and I had another child, then I went in again. But this time my daughter was grown enough to understand where I was going. And that hurt. That’s one of the reasons I never went back. That, and the conversations I had with older men. A lot of them made one mistake and were never getting out. I ‘d messed up twice, and I was getting one more chance. I served 4.5 years. The mother of my children never left my side. She’s a great woman. We met in foster care; we have similar stories. And I came home to a stable home. For a little while I didn’t have to worry about bills. I could just focus on being a father: taking the kids to school every day, making dinner some nights, cooking breakfast on Sunday. I ended up getting a job at a homeless shelter; and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. I fell in love with it. The people, mainly. Their stories align with mine. When my mother brought us to the shelter, it was the first time I ever felt poor. I was only eight or nine, but I said: ‘I’m always going to have money of my own.’ And that’s what led me to the streets. My daughters are on a different path. The oldest is a junior in high school now. Her grades are excellent, better than mine ever were. She’s got a little baby sister, so we’ve got three girls now. And I’m just a great dad, honestly. A really great dad. Just, I love my kids. And they love me. I can see it. And that’s what I’m proudest of. Because growing up I never had a father; he did 27 years in prison. I never even knew him. So for me to be a great father, that’s a thing.”

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slafkovskys · 2 months

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Wren coming home saying she has a bf.

All the guys would freak out.

the last place that a sixteen-year-old wren wanted to be on a tuesday was sitting in the stands of jj’s hockey practice, but a broken foot and her refusal to get her driver’s license like drew had done immediately after their birthday a few weeks before has her parked beside angel scrolling through her phone. her attention is only called away from her phone screen when the shrill sound of the whistle blows or any of the younger kids get a little too rowdy in the breezeway. angel only nudges her oldest with a sly grin, “you were like that once.”

“i wasn’t!” she insists, staring at her mother.

“wren, you screamed for five minutes at the nhl awards one year because your dad was holding millie instead of you.”

“i-” her defense is cut off by her phone lighting up. her cheeks burn as her eyes read over the message. she clicks the button on the side and looks out on the ice, easily finding her youngest sister in the crowd, “would you be mad if i went to dinner with river?”

“now?” angel looks at her daughter. wren covers her face, hiding from her mother as she nods her head, “why would i be mad? just tell me where you’re going and if plans change. curfew is ten.”

she looks almost unsure, “but you’ll be by yourself-”

“i’m thirty-nine years old, katherine. i can be left unsupervised. is he already here?” angel questions and rolls her eyes when wren nods, “then go. your dads will be here soon anyway.”

“love you!” she calls, throwing her arms around her mom before hobbling out of the aisle and up the stairs in her boot.

angel sighs, running a hand through her hair as she takes in the quiet that now surrounds her. drew was at play practice and millie was at the mall with her friends, looking for an outfit for a concert they were supposed to be going to in the next few weeks. angel hadn’t gotten a text from her third born in a while, so maybe the sparkly dress she had last sent her had won?

the sounds of blades cutting through ice have become a familiar noise to angel over the last nineteen years, so it’s not hard for her to slip into her thoughts. even in her alone time, her mind is plagued by her kids and partners’ schedules, events and games and practices coming up in the next week.

oh! and she had to finalize details for a baby shower because one of the rookies girlfriends was due at the end of the month. she makes the mental note to get with mia and subtly get her favorite flavor cake before the sound of jack’s familiar laugh cutting through the arena draws her back to reality.

she tilts her head to the side and watches as they walk in as a unit. all in their forties now, but she still saw the twenty-somethings that she had fallen in love with all of those years ago. while luke and jack were deep in conversation about something, quinn was trailing behind with his phone to his ear. she had heard him mention something about a leadership meeting and she wasn’t immune to the ramblings around the league. at forty-five, quinn was ancient in the league and it wasn’t a matter of if he was going to retire anymore, but when he was going to hang up his c for good.

“angel,” jack grins as he breaks off from luke and moves to the aisle in front of the one. he leans over the seat and presses his lips to hers not once, but twice before looking onto the ice for his namesake, “how’s our girl?”

“tolliver’s told her to give the other girls a chance twice already,” she pauses so that luke can kiss her before quinn ends his call and follows behind his brothers. with luke and quinn taking up the space beside her, jack sits in front and angles his body so he can still contribute, “how was practice?”

“brutal,” luke groans, “‘m gonna need back scratches tonight-”

“it’s my night,” quinn says quickly, almost gruffly, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more pronounced as he rests his elbows on his knees to look at his youngest brother almost daring him to challenge their system.

“where’s kq?” luke asks to change subject, hooking his big hand around angel’s knee and she lets him pull her leg over his own just like he did when they were in college. she angles her body towards him and hums, choosing to stare out onto the ice instead, “angel-”

“cut the shit,” quinn, freshly 45 and still drool-worthy if you asked angel, calls from her other side. a pinch to her thigh (a habit not forgotten in their nineteen years together) has her looking at the man with a sharp look, “where’d she go?”

“she… went to dinner with a friend,” angel had never been a good liar, especially to the men who knew her better than the back of their own hands. she grabs onto luke’s hand and rubs her finger over the angel wings that were tattooed on his ring finger, silently praying the coach rollover would forget that there was supposed to be an hour of practice left and blow that stupid whistle, “who happens to be a boy-”

“wren is at dinner-”

“alone-“

“with a boy?”

“he was a nice kid when he came to the house!” she tries to defend the boy but she quickly realizes her mistake when all of their eyes seem to glaze over, “she’s sixteen. you guys know that, right?”

“we were at her birthday party, yes,” jack answers in a monotone voice, “i think she was beside quinn when they blew out the candles on their birthday muffins that morning, but i may have to go watch the video to make sure my memory is correct.”

“no, you’re right,” quinn answers quickly, “this boy has been to our house?”

“she’s sixteen,” she tries to emphasize once again.

“is this like,” jack waves his hand around in the air, “a thing?”

“do i think that they’ll be married come january? no, but they’re a cute, little high school something. i don’t know if they’ve put a label on it, honest, but he’s been keeping her company since she can’t practice right now. she goes to his games-”

“god, an athlete. i don’t know what’s worse, a boy or an athlete,” luke lets out.

“how do you think my mom felt when i brought you home and then brought your brothers home less than a year later?” angel quirks an eyebrow and that sparks something else within them.

“i-” jack seems to be careful with his words, “it’s just one, right,”

she doesn’t even try to hide her laugh, tucking her face into luke’s shoulder. it takes her a minute to collect herself before she answers, “yes honey, it’s just one boy.”

“we would support her if she was, y’know, like us. we aren’t hypocrites,” quinn tries to assure the woman and his brothers nod along, “but i wasn’t prepared for one boy, i don’t know if i could handle multiple.”

“don’t worry, quinny. if my parents are ever unexpectedly in the livingroom, just know that they are about to coach all of you on how to overcome the shock of it all,” angel rolls her eyes and finally relaxes in her seat.

“she’s not on birth control, is she?” jack questions and it’s no secret what he’s actually asking. angel gently shoved her foot into his shoulder and he winces, “it’s not fair that you get to know all of these things before we do.”

“you wouldn’t survive if you knew half of the things that i did. now watch your daughter practice.”

the four of them settle into a quiet then, focusing on the 43 darting around the ice with a brunette braid poking out of her helmet. by the way all of their faces are set in a hard line for the rest of the practice, angel doesn’t even want to think about how it’s going to be when they find about drew’s boyfriend that he’s been seeing since february.

baby steps.

#hughes bros x angel #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

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TWENTY-NINE

A/N: happy birthday to my number one celebrity crush!! i hope he feels lucky, bc i have a looong list of crushes and he's been on the top for years hehe

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY: It's Harry's birthday, he is surrounded by love, but there is one person missing from beside him. You.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Palm Springs is celebrating tonight, because it’s Harry’s 29th birthday. It’s a special day for everyone, especially his fans and his loved ones. Even though he is loved all year round, on this day he always feels like it multiplies.

It’s been like any other day, he started the day with a run, then a nice breakfast at the hotel he has been staying with the crew, he had some down time he spent answering messages, he was on the phone with his mum and sister, other loved ones.

After lunch his band surprised him with a little cake, they sang him happy birthday and spent the afternoon together until it was time to leave to the venue for tonight’s show. It’s been a nice birthday, but there’s been one thing that’s been missing all day.

You.

As always, he woke up to the sweetest message from you.

My dearest love, happy birthday! I know we are thousands of miles apart, but know that I’m right there with you, celebrating the best man I’ve ever known. I love you so much, have the best day and we’ll drink to you when we reunite! Xx

He couldn’t stop smiling as he typed out his response, but had to swallow the bitterness because you weren’t there beside you. He added the Palm Springs shows way too late to make it work with your schedule so he ended up having to spend his birthday without his girlfriend.

All through the day he’s been thinking about you and while you exchanged texts in the noon, you stopped responding hours ago and Harry’s been missing you like crazy. You must be working, he knows you can’t just hang on the phone all day because it’s his birthday, but he still wishes you could’ve joined him.

Now it’s time to give a show and give back the love he’s been receiving, to celebrate with his fans who have been there for him all along. He is giving the show his all, busting his ass to light the stage on fire, the whole arena is shaking from the energy and he is high on adrenaline as he performs song after song.

“How are you feeling tonight?” he asks, crossing the stage to get some water between two songs. The crowd screams and he grins as he looks around.

“We have a couple more songs to go. I want you to–”

His speech is cut off by the lights going dim and he turns around with a confused look as the screaming enhances. He tries to seek any information about what’s happening from his band mates, but they are all just smiling back at him without a word.

The screen lights up and Harry’s head snaps towards it as a video darts playing.

“Hi baby!” his mum appears smiling ear to ear and Harry exhales with a chuckle as he shifts his weight to one leg while watching. “I can’t believe you’ve turned twenty-nine! I still remember the day you were born.” Then the video cuts to Mitch and Sarah.

“Happy birthday to the best boss and bandmate!” they smile at the camera before the picture cuts to the next person.

Friends follow family members and all his loved ones are wishing him a happy birthday in the sweet video message as he stares up at the screen, his chest swelling from the love, eyes watering slightly. He is so thankful for all the sweet wishes and nice words, it makes him forget about how anxious he’s been feeling about entering his last year in his twenties.

And then your face appears at the end and his fans go crazy.

Even though you’ve been dating for almost three years now, you haven’t appeared next to him in an official way, you never posted about each other, never appeared at events, you’ve been only spotted by the paparazzi and that’s how the world knows about your relationship. But now here you are, in his birthday video that’s displayed to thousands of people in the arena.

“Hi baby! Happy birthday, Handsome. I miss you very much and I’ll see you soon. Now go and sing your heart out!”

“I miss you too,” he whispers to himself as the video ends and the lights come back up, everyone around him clapping. He needs a couple of moments to recover, Pauli walks up to him, patting him on the shoulder before he is able to speak up again.

“That was an unexpected gift, thank you!” he chuckles. “Now… back to our regular schedule!” he holds up his index finger as he walks over to his microphone stand and the starting accords of the next song fill the place.

When the show is over he runs off the stage, his palm slapping against the hands of fans before he disappears backstage. He is a bit out of breath, sweaty and tired, but he’s still buzzing from the great show and it’s once again proven that he is doing what he loves the most.

When he walks into his dressing room he freezes instantly as he spots a familiar duffel bag he’s seen millions of times before. It’s yours.

“Surprise!” you speak up and his head snaps to the side, seeing you sitting on the couch, his mouth hanging open.

You chuckle at his reaction as you stand up and start walking towards him, but then he finally recovers and launches at you, picking you up from the ground as he twirls around with you in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” he breathes against your neck. He puts you down, but keeps his arms locked around you.

“Should I leave?” you tease him, arching an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare!” he chuckles and finally presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to spend at least a bit of your birthday with you,” you mumble against his lips as he keeps peppering your mouth and cheeks with tiny pecks.

“Now it’s my best birthday ever.”

“You say that every year, H!” you chuckle leaning back a bit as you take his face in your hands.

“Because it’s always the best if I’m with you. And I’ve spent the last… how many birthdays with you?” he purses his lips, pretending to count in his head.

“Five,” you answer for him.

“Ah, yeah. Because even before I grew some balls and asked you out, you were there with me.”

“Only took you two years,” you smirk at him. “Happy birthday, Harry. Twenty-nine will be amazing, I can feel it.”

“I know,” he nods. “Because I’ll spend it with you.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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boundlessdaisy · 4 months

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Merthur Only You AU hear me out:

A fortune teller tells young Arthur that his soulmate's name is Myrdinn Emrys. He buys into the idea for so so long.

But at 26 years old, now an English teacher, Arthur does end up proposing to his college girlfriend Gwen, a surgeon and colleague of his sister Morgana.

Anxious to start making wedding plans, Arthur comes to Gwen's office only to learn that she's in surgery. Impatient and bored, he answers her phone when it rings. Someone's secretary is calling to reschedule an appointment because her boss is going to Rome. Arthur takes the boss's name and, what do you know... Myrdinn Emrys.

Posessed by his hopeless romantic childhood, Arthur - upon learning from the secretary that her boss's flight leaves in 30 mins - runs to the airport to see his soulmate... but he misses the flight.

Feeling stupid, he attempts to reach Gwen again but her line is still busy so he calls Emrys' secretary instead and asks her where her boss is staying in Rome. Upon learning this, Arthur makes the impulsive decision to book the next flight out to Rome to meet his soulmate at last.

It's not until he's standing at Emrys' door, dressed to the nines, smelling like a flower shop, that he realizes how insane of a decision it was to come here. Christ, he couldn't just have Facebook'd her? What if she was married? He was getting married, dear God, what was he doing-- A lady opens the door. Blonde. Curvy. Was she a model? Arthur tries to stop himself from drooling and says, "Emrys? I'm Arthur," as if she would just recognize him. Well, she doesn't, and it turns out, she wasn't Emrys anyway.

She tells him Emrys won't be back until morning so Arthur packs it in for the night and says he'll come back tomorrow.

He oversleeps of course. He runs up to Emrys' room and knocks on the door. Someone's inside, thank God, says they'll be at the door in a moment. Finally, Arthur thinks, he's gonna meet Emrys. His soulmate. The woman of his dreams... is a man?

Merlin opens the door of his hotel room to see the most handsome man he had ever seen in his life... with the most disappointed look on his beautiful, beautiful face. "Can I help you?" Merlin asks. "No. No, sorry about the intrusion." Arthur replies and starts to turn away but Merlin stops him, "You seem upset." Arthur laughs. Yeah, he was upset. He tells Merlin how he flew a thousand miles to see a delusion he had when he was a kid, he really thought he would meet his soulmate, my God, he is twenty six-- Merlin presses him about it, "Soulmate?"

Arthur explains everything. How when he was a kid he went to a fortune teller and the fortune teller gave him a name. The name of his soulmate, and he held on to the idea for longer than he should and just as he thought he had fully let it go, turns out he didn't. He still believed his soulmate was out there. Hearing himself now, it sounds so ridiculous-- "What was the name?" Merlin asks. "No, forget about it, it's stupid--" "Come'on, tell me, I might know him. Who knows?" Arthur hesitates, but finally tells him, "Myrdinn Emrys." Merlin couldn't help but laugh. Arthur starts walking away in shame but Merlin stops him. "Hey, no, don't go. Listen." Merlin smiles at him, "I'm Myrdinn Emrys."

Okay, so Merlin lied. So what? Arthur likes him, or he's beginning to. Sure, he spent the first half of the day having a full on bisexual crisis, but Merlin methodically eased him out of it with a series of historical facts about ancient sodomy (just so happens to be the dissertation he's working on right now, actually) as they go around the most beautiful city in the world. Love is a strong word, but when Arthur kisses Merlin at the end of the night, he's feeling something dangerously close to that. They just fit so well together. It's like they've known each other all their lives.

They're in Merlin's hotel room when Arthur comes out with it. "I have to tell you something." Merlin keeps kissing him, "I know you're bisexual, and I'm proud of you--" "It's not that" Merlin gasps, "I knew it." "You do?" "You're secretly a prince of some faraway country who's running away from the limelight because you can't handle the pressure. No?" "Emrys. I'm engaged."

Arthur tells Merlin about Gwen, and how he proposed to her just because he thought it was what he was supposed to do. Sure, he loved her, but it just felt so... simple, what they had. It wasn't memorable. It wasn't what he thought his love life would be like. "What did you think it would be like?" Merlin asks him and Arthur admits, "Like... this. Like a cheesy romantic comedy where I rush to the airport and follow you out to Rome without question because I knew. I knew I was meant to be here. I knew I was meant to meet you and.. and kiss you. I knew ever since I heard your name-- Oh god, I have to call off my wedding."

Arthur grabs his phone and calls Gwen at once but before the call could go through, Merlin stops him. "Wait. Wait. Before you do this. I have to tell you something." He takes Arthur's face in his hands and says intently, "I'm supposed to be in England right now. Ten hours into an all-nighter at the only cafe in campus that's open at this hour; I'm supposed to be alone and miserable, but instead I'm here, with you, in Rome for crying out loud, during the best day of my life, because my colleague got sick and they had to ship me to the conference instead-- and because you're my soulmate. Do you believe that?" "I do..." "But..." "But what?" "But my name... isn't Emrys. My name is Merlin."

Arthur. storms. off. Oh my god. He was going to cancel his whole damn wedding for this... fantasy! He flew to goddamned Rome like an idiot, and for what? Just to make a fool of himself that's what. Merlin's tailing him saying things like "Arthur, come on, it's just a name!" and "What's in a name?!" as if quoting Shakespeare would make everything better. He just hated himself for buying into all of it. Of course there was no such a thing as a soulmate, just as there was no such a thing as Myrdinn Emrys.

Or at least that's what he thought until he's about to get on a plane home and someone pages Myrdinn Emrys. He tries to let it go, he really does. Who cares? Even if it was a real person, he or she wouldn't be his soulmate because soulmates aren't real. They keep paging Emrys and Arthur keeps trying to act like he doesn't hear it, but he does hear the footsteps running up to their boarding gate and the flight attendants saying "Myrdinn Emrys?" and, dammit, he couldn't help himself. He turns around, it's a beautiful woman, brunette, she looks just his type... but all Arthur could think about, as the woman he'd been waiting for all his life stood before him, was how disapponted he was that she wasn't Merlin.

Because Arthur does live in a cheesy romantic comedy where someone rushes to the airport to follow someone anywhere without question, who else does he see just outside the boarding gates but Merlin. The attendant asks him if he's getting on the plane or not. "Of course not," Arthur responds, and runs out to meet the love of his life where he stood.

Merlin starts shouting an explanation before Arthur even gets to him, "I'm changing my name. Legally. I don't care what my name is. It's gonna be a very weird conversation with my mom but if that's what it takes--" "Shut up, Merlin," Arthur pulls him into a kiss, which Merlin interrupts. "What about Myrdinn Emrys?" "God, don't make me say it." "Say what?" Exasperated, Arthur says, "What kind of name is Myrdinn Emrys anyway?" He tries to pull Merlin back into the kiss but Merlin interrupts again, teasingly this time. "It's Welsh. It means immortal. It's from these legends, around the 1200s, there was this magician--" "Merlin." "Yes?" "I can't believe I want to kiss you so bad."

On their flight back home, Arthur exclaims, "Oh shit." "What?" "I forgot to call off my wedding!"

#im just gonna keep doing these like shark tank #i have covid and im only watching romcoms #merlin #arthur #merthur #bbc merlin #au #au ideas

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apolloissobbing · 2 months

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Writing Babies

I love you all but some of you do not know how to write children, specifically babies. So today I'm going to break down everything I have learned from helping raise three kids (my little siblings). Not to mention the last two are still one and almost two respectively, as well as a cousin who is almost three. I will be using them as examples.

Zero-Six months: In the first six months a baby isn't going to be doing shit besides getting off its binky in the sixth. Though it is good to note that sometimes parents won't completely take their kids off of binkies, most tend to just transition them to only using their binky at night to sleep. The main reason I've found for this is so they aren't drinking so much formula at night. However, I will say some babies will start babbling around the end of this period, as well as starting to roll over at 4-6 months, which is crucial to crawling.

Six-Twelve months: This is when we start doing things!!! Specifically walking and crawling. Most babies will start crawling at 7-12 months, and most start walking from 10 to 12 months. However, it isn't uncommon for a baby to start early or late. I started walking at nine months, but my little sister didn't start walking until she was a year and six months, and my brother is a year and two months and he hasn't started walking yet. Now, towards the 11-12 month mark, babies might start saying full words. Using my brother as an example, he turned one two months ago (in May) and now has a few words he says. He says go, more, please, bye, mama, dada, and baba. My little sister, however, is turning two in August and has a larger vocabulary. She says names and tells when she's hungry or cold, or when she needs a diaper change. Younger babies don't have a big vocabulary, and most won't start saying full sentences until they're two years old. I will say this again, it is not uncommon for children to start earlier or later, so if you really want the one-year-old in your story to be talking and walking, specify the months.

On the topic of months, you know how a lot of people get annoyed when parents say 18, 20, or 14 months? Well, that's because until they're 2 1/2 - 3 there is a difference!!! They're still developing. Once you get to about 4 or 5 you can just say, 4 or 5, but a two-year-old is a lot less developed than a two and two and a half-year-old. Every month is a month a baby learns something. Hence why I'd say my sister is twenty-two months to a parent, but say she's two and a half to someone who doesn't know.

Remember to do your own research, but I hope this helped!!

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writer stuff #baby development #thats such an odd tag #I forget there's people older than 20 on the internet sometimes #or like #people who have children

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nerdygaymormon · 3 months

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Favorite LGBTQ movie and TV quotes

“Um, I do drink red wine, but I also drink white wine. And I’ve been known to sample the occasional rosé. And a couple summers back, I tried a Merlot that used to be a Chardonnay, which got a bit complicated… I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?”

— David Rose, Schitt’s Creek, Season 1, Episode 10

“That felt so good to say. I feel like I just solved an escape room I’ve been trapped in my entire life.”

— Fabiola Torres, Never Have I Ever, Season 1, Episode 5

“Look, I’ll be hurt either way. Isn’t it better to be who I am?”

— Eric Effiong, Sex Education, Season 1, Episode 7

“Everybody’s story is different. There’s your version, and my version, and everything in between. But the one thing that all of those stories have in common is that moment right before you say those words when your heart is racing, and you don’t know what’s coming next. That moment’s really terrifying. And then once you say those words, you can’t unsay them. A chapter has ended, and a new one’s begun, and you have to be ready for that.”

— John, Happiest Season

“The good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them”

— Ellie Chu, The Half Of It

"When I'm with Brittany, I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love. I've tried so hard to push this feeling away, and keep it locked inside, but every day just feels like a war. I walk around so mad at the world, but I'm really just fighting with myself. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm just too tired. I have to just be me."

— Santana Lopez, Glee, Season 3, Episode 7

“Now, there is a long and honorable tradition in the gay community, and it has stood us in good stead for a very long time. When somebody calls you a name…you take it and own it.”

— Mark Ashton, Pride

“So I'm bisexual. So what? It's LGBTQ for a reason. There's a B in there and it doesn't mean Badass. Okay, it does, but it also means Bi.”

— Callie Torres, Grey's Anatomy, Episode 1105

“We’re standing here in Philadelphia, the, uh, City of Brotherly Love, the birthplace of freedom where the, uh, founding fathers authored the Declaration of Independence, and I don’t recall that glorious document saying anything about all straight men are created equal. I believe it says all men are created equal.”

— Joe Miller, Philadelphia

"Yes, I wear foundation. Yes, I live with a man. Yes, I'm a middle- aged fag. But I know who I am, Val. It took me twenty years to get here, and I'm not gonna let some idiot senator destroy that. F*** the senator, I don't give a damn what he thinks."

— Armand Goldman, The Birdcage

"Being gay is your thing. There are parts of it you have to go through alone. I hate that. As soon as you came out, you said, "Mom, I'm still me." I need you to hear this: You are still you, Simon. You are still the same son who I love to tease and who your father depends on for just about everything. And you're the same brother who always complements his sister on her food, even when it sucks. You get to exhale now, Simon. You get to be more you than you have been in... in a very long time. You deserve everything you want."

— Emily Spier, Love, Simon

"The greatest gift we can give each other is our authentic selves and sharing that. Sharing our truth is what will make us strong. So here I am. I am both human and alien. And I am a trans woman."

— Kara Danvers, Supergirl, Season 4, Episode 19

"But I feel more when I look at a picture of Kristen Stewart than I do when I kiss him."

— Elena Alvarez, One Day at a Time,

"You can’t change it. You can’t fix me. Because I’m not broken, I don’t need to be fixed, OK? I’m me!"

— Ian Gallagher, Shameless, Season 5, Episode 12

"Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life."

Eliot Waugh, The Magicians, Season 1, Episode 1

"Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place. So, thank you."

—Raymond Holt, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Season 5, Episode 10

"I might be…bisexual, and you guys know I hate labels, but this one feels important right now to own the space I’m in and to make sense of it."

—Kat Edison, The Bold Type

#happy pride 🌈

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infinite-riches · 6 months

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I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Summary: He felt numb. Ground down. Empty.

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up.

It’s like this every morning.

Or: John "Soap" MacTavish is a burnt out gifted kid who finally hits his limit.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 3090

Warnings: none :)

A/N: Burnt out gifted kid Soap has been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of weeks- enjoy <3

As always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Twenty-nine years old. He had gotten so far in 29 years, and yet it somehow still wasn't enough.

16.

His mam and da had always told him how proud they were, what a good example he set for his younger sister, and how his older sister could learn a thing or two from him.

School always came easy to him. He flew through coursework for maths and sciences, especially chemistry, much to the chagrin of his older sister, Isla, who spent many a night pouring over her textbooks, and his younger sister, Nora, who saw his achievements as something to be bested. To top it all off, he was a star athlete— the best goalkeeper the county club had seen in years.

But when it came down to it all, he didn’t feel like he was enough it didn’t feel like he was doing enough.

Then there was that little flyer— an ad from the local recruitment office plastered with some line about “being more for your country”. That memory of the weekend his cousin brought him on base to show him around cycled through his mind, and what he remembered seemed interesting.

He called his cousin and was on base the following weekend, too.

It became a habit. Eventually, it was less about seeing his cousin and more so about talking to his roommate, who specialized in demolitions.

Soap was hooked. He could imagine the formulas and calculations in his head, and it finally felt like something big was clicking into place for him.

18.

Try as he might, they couldn’t let him join until he was properly 18, no matter what story or excuse he came up with. But once he was in? It was everything he needed— the structure that helped him thrive in school, the firm commands like the ones his football coach gave, plus, the goal of making the SAS shining in the distance.

No one could deny how driven John MacTavish was. He excelled in every aspect of training and even then didn’t let himself stop. His commander had his recommendation for the special forces written up before John could even ask— 3 months before he was even eligible.

John pushed himself even harder. He trained almost day and night, determined to make it through selection on his first attempt. He got his hands on any training material he could and spent every spare second he had scrounging up any spare information he could get from his CO.

20.

It was the hardest 5 months of his life. And at the end of it all, he became the youngest to ever pass selection. All his hard work had paid off in spades, but he still wanted more.

So he learned everything he could. Took the opportunity for specialized training, devoured whatever books he could get his hands on, worked out until his muscles ached and begged for mercy, studied until he fell asleep atop his notes— whatever he could to try and quell that desire for more.

He was Icarus, flying higher and higher.

25.

He was home for the holidays when his phone rang. It was John Price.

“I’m heading up a new task force and want y-” had barely left the older man’s lips when John said yes.

He was on a flight out a week later, despite his family’s protests and Isla’s pleas for him to slow down and enjoy life just a little while he was young.

The words did nothing to shake his hunger like his sister had hoped they would. He was fully consumed by his need for more, and the 1-4-1 was his ticket. He knew he couldn’t throw this opportunity away.

27.

Two years under the leadership of Captain John Price and Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had pushed him even further. He was supernaturally clean in the field, a menace with C4, and something to be truly feared when he had his hands on his favorite sniper rifle.

Even with his hardened edge, he retained all the warmth and joy of a ray of sun.

Price and Ghost had decided it was time for him to start taking on more responsibility, starting with the rookies, so Soap took over their training anytime the team wasn't deployed. Rookies looked on as if he was something more than human. An impossibility in the world they all dedicated themselves to.

And then his bedroom door would shut, and everything would crumble to pieces. Unlike Atlas, he couldn’t bear the weight, and the sky would slip from his shoulders.

28.

It took every last ounce of strength he had to kick his boots off and shed his sweat-stained clothes. He stood under the scalding stream until his skin went numb, the thought of having to wash his hair a nauseating concept.

The words still rang in his ears. “Son, I think you should look into officer training.”

Price wanted more. He wasn’t enough.

It was all too much.

29.

He had every intention to go for his officer training, but then there were the missions. More and more just kept landing on Laswell’s desk, and in turn, they were handed down to Price.

He felt numb. Ground down. Empty.

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up.

It’s like this every morning. He has to force himself out from between the sheets. Despite how exhausted he is. Despite how much he hates cold linoleum in the mornings. Despite how little coffee helps nowadays.

The cold air on his warm skin made him shudder.

He put one foot in front of the other, retracing the same steps from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that… on and on.

He all but refused to look at himself in the mirror. He had lost weight, looking gaunt and pale. He could barely remember how bright and full of life he was at 27.

The day started with a briefing. The data recovery team had finally managed to repair a damaged hard drive retrieved on the last mission. As hard as Soap tried, the information quickly became jumbled and tangled with his other thoughts.

Ghost had stopped him the night before outside the mess. “Things look like they’re starting to calm down again. Have you given more thought to officer training?”

Soap had felt like he could have crumbled right then and there and finally let the weight of everything overtake and destroy him.

Instead, he did what he does best and played along, stacking something else on his plate. “Yeah, L.T., still a couple of months out from the next intake, though.”

The memory played on a loop in his mind. Officer training. Officer training? Now? He was so tired already…

The day went by like every other, filled to the brim with training, both his own and his rookies’, plus any mission prep, and now, preparing for officer training. There was no time for anything else, certainly not himself.

And then it was evening— another restless night, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling.

Useless. Weak. Lazy. Not enough. Worthless.

And like usual, Soap found himself on autopilot, feet carrying himself towards the gym.

The treadmill sounded like pure torture, but he didn’t trust himself to deadlift in this state without a spotter. Punching bag it was.

He didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles and rarely did anymore, allowing himself to relish in the sting of freshly split skin and warm blood.

The minutes disappeared one after another, and suddenly Soap was lost deep within his own mind. Too deep to catch himself when the day finally caught up with him, the lack of food making him dizzy and sending him off balance. He collapsed into the bag, blood-slick hands grasping to make purchase on the sweat-dampened material as his knees made vicious contact with the unpadded floor.

He didn’t know how long he sat there in a haze and didn’t know he was crying, either. Not until Ghost crowded his vision, blocking out the buzzing fluorescents, face twisted in worry, lips moving but strangely lacking sound.

“-nny! Johnny, can you hear me?” The Scot looked up at him, ocean-blue eyes overrun with tears and confusion clear on his face.

“Ghost? What-?” Soap tried to put the missing pieces together, but no matter how hard he tried, there were still empty spots.

Ghost kneeled next to him, the faintest edge of panic in his voice, his firm grasp turning Soap’s face in his hand. “Where are you bleeding from?”

All Ghost could make out was a mess of smeared blood, sweat, and tears. There were no obvious injuries he could see. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“Bleeding?” Soap’s gaze seemed fuzzy as if he were far away.

“Yes, Johnny, you’re bleeding. Please, help me out here…” Ghost was begging.

Ghost doesn’t beg. The thought made Soap’s head swim even more. He reached up, resting his hand on Ghost’s outstretched arm. “‘m fine, Ghostie.” His voice was thick with tears.

A wounded noise escaped Ghost at the sight of Soap’s knuckles. They were covered in blood, and he could see the edges of torn skin. Blood trailed down the tanned skin he loved so much, wrapping around his firm forearms like trailing vines. “Johnny…”

“‘m fine, L.T.” Soap started to pull himself away from the Brit, wobbling despite not even being on his feet.

“John, please talk to me. Let me help.” Soap could see the concern and fear in Ghost’s eyes, and that cut him to his core and sent him spiraling.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying, I promise. Please, L.T., I can do this.” Soap’s words were a babbling mess as the tears returned in full force.

Ghost pulled the smaller man into his chest, holding him tightly and running his fingers through Soap’s hair.

Everything was starting to click for Ghost— the way Soap’s eyes didn’t shine like they used to, how his smile no longer reached his eyes, the way his laugh sounded dull. His Johnny was falling apart, and that thought made Ghost want to fall apart.

He knew he and Price had been pushing the Scot, but the man had never given any indication that it was too much. He took everything he was given in stride and seemed ready for more at any moment.

“Shh, Johnny. It’s okay, it’s okay…” He pulled Soap even closer, trying to soothe the broken man. “Everything is okay.”

It took Soap about an hour to snap out of the breakdown he had been stuck in.

And with one look, Ghost broke Soap’s walls, and everything came pouring out.

“I can’t do it, Ghost. Ever since I was little, I was supposed to be the best. School, then football, then the army. It was good at first, easy even. Took in everything I could get my hands on. But then the energy just… disappeared. And I tried. I tried to keep going and keep getting better. I tried to be everything you and Price want but I just… I can’t. It's too much. I’m sorry. I can’t be everything you want, and I understand if you want me off the team, I just want you to know I tried.” His words were interrupted with little sobs as he laid his soul bare for Ghost, head buried in the larger man’s chest.

And Ghost finally understood why Soap looked like a husk of his former self— because he was. He had given everything until there was nothing left, and then still kept trying.

“Oh, Johnny…” Ghost guided the Scot back, gently cupping his face with both hands. “I love you just as you are. Never could want more than what you are, ‘cause you’re perfect, Johnny. And I’m so sorry I didn’t see what this— what I was doing to you.” He placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, holding him close yet again as the sobs returned.

“You love me?” His voice was soft, stuttered, and choked with tears as he lifted his eyes to see Ghost’s, the barest glimmer of hope shining through. He had feelings for his lieutenant that ran deep, but he always assumed they were one-sided. That the flirty banter was just something to break the tension on missions, something that carried over from Las Almas.

A small laugh rumbled through Ghost’s chest as he cupped Soap’s jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing against the stubble. “Yes, Johnny. I love you. Now let's get you cleaned up.” Carefully untangling Soap from his arms, he began to push himself to his feet.

“Wait!” Soap caught Ghost’s arm, bloodied fingers wrapping around the pale skin of his forearm, catching the man before he could stand. Ghost caught his gaze, looking for what else could be wrong. The concern made Soap melt a little more.

“I love you.” Soap pulled the larger man into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for how worn he looked. “And I hope you still want me…” The words came out muffled from where he had buried his face in Ghost’s neck.

“Johnny,” Ghost felt like his heart had just split straight down the middle, torn apart by the Scot’s worry. “I’ll always want you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Soap’s head despite the balaclava, and let the man find comfort in his chest for a few more moments. “C’mon, you need your rest.”

Without any protest from Soap, they untangled themselves, getting to their feet. Ghost guided Soap through the halls, hands intertwined, not fully able to trust that Soap wouldn’t lose his balance with how out of it the man looked.

Soap gave Ghost a look as they walked straight past his door, but Ghost only carried on, not stopping until they were at his door. He directed Soap inside and to the edge of the bed, placing another masked kiss on his forehead. “Stay here, I’m just going to get some things for your hands.”

Soap could hear the tap start to run in the small connected bathroom as he let his eyes wander. The space was clean and organized with precision, not unlike his lieutenant. The one space that captured his attention was the windowsill. It was cluttered with photos, some torn or worn with age, blackened at the edge, others that were well kept but just as old— none of them were recent. Soap could only assume they were family, but he couldn’t know for sure, because it wasn’t something Ghost had ever talked about.

“Johnny?” Ghost was standing at the head of the bed, not wanting to sneak up on the Scot.

“Hmm?” Soap caught his gaze and blushed, not expecting to find Ghost without his mask. He dropped his eyes to the floor and shifted over, making more space for Ghost.

“No need, love.” Ghost knelt on the floor in front of Soap, gently lifting his hand and beginning to carefully clean his bloody knuckles. Soap hissed and jerked at the sensation, trying to busy himself with studying the room, the sudden itch to do something returning.

Ghost noticed the way Soap seemed agitated by being left to do nothing. Initially, he thought it to be the Scot’s natural drive, but now it seemed more likely to be driven by whatever anxiety had pushed him past his breaking point in the first place.

“Talk to me, Johnny. Tell me about that new chemical composition you were testing last week.” Soap seemed to relax a little at that, his mind undoubtedly finding comfort in the familiarity of something that came so easily to him.

Ghost worked as Soap prattled on, explaining all the different components he had tested and why. The ease with which he spoke made Simon smile. It had become so commonplace to see Soap so wound up that this was like a breath of fresh air. This was his Johnny, the one he had fallen for all those months ago in Las Almas.

As Simon finished, it was painfully obvious that Soap was flagging. His eyelids were heavy, and he was starting to sag back into the mattress. Gently, Simon helped Soap out of his bloody mess of a t-shirt and into one of his own, laughing to himself at the way it hung off Soap’s slightly smaller form.

“I’ll be back, okay? Just going to get myself ready for bed. You get comfortable.” Simon placed a kiss on his forehead, lips warm on Soap’s cool skin.

“Here?” The confusion was clear on Soap’s face, despite the exhaustion.

Panic began to rise in Simon’s chest, worried he was pushing too fast. “Do you want to go back to your room?” His words were soft, not wanting to pressure the exhausted man.

Soap thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not if you want me here.” Soap couldn’t resist anymore, desperately craving to be held in Simon’s arms, to let someone else do all the heavy lifting, just for a little while.

“Always. Get yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” The door to the bathroom clicked closed, with the moonlight being the only thing to illuminate the space now.

Soap looked over his freshly bandaged knuckles, gently rubbing his fingers over the tape.

Simon loves me. He wants me. Wants me how I am.

It felt good to be wanted, especially by the man he had been pining after for so long, but he couldn’t deny how unsteady he still felt. Everything still weighed so heavy on his shoulders.

He shook the feeling away, kicking off his sweatpants and slipping in between the sheets of Simon’s perfectly made bed. He was hit by the subtle scent of peppermint, cedarwood, and eucalyptus, somehow warm and cool and home all in one scent. He let himself melt into the comfort of the space, the gentle sounds of Simon rummaging about in the bathroom providing the white noise that was making it harder and harder to stay awake.

Soap startled at the mattress dipping next to him, rubbing the first dregs of sleep from his eyes.

“It's just me, Johnny, go back to sleep.” Simon's voice rumbled through the quiet space. Soap nodded, humming happily as he felt Simon lay behind him, an arm thrown over his waist to hold him close.

“Love you, Simon.”

“Love you, Johnny.”

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish

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scifrey · 8 months

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NINE-TENTHS

Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which his family says he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking idea what to do with his life.

The only thing going his way is the cute coffee shop regular, a homo draconis named Dav (who, in his humanshape, is a total hottie.) Still, it'd be easier if Dav didn't have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire when he's startled. Like the café kitchen.

When Dav breaks draconic taboo and volunteers as a replacement bean-roaster to apologize for the inferno meet-ugly, sparks really fly. Everything's finally happening for Colin, until he learns that hooking up with Dav means that under dragon law, Colin is absorbed into Dav's hoard.

Possession may be nine-tenths of the law, but becoming his boyfriend's property does not make this whole identity crisis thing easier. Especially now that Colin must navigate politics, paparazzi, and legal questions about his personhood. Colin's still angling for his Happily Ever After, but the growing scrutiny on his relationship with Dav threatens their budding romance.

And if he's not careful, Colin's fight for agency may just destroy symbiotic human/dragon relationships worldwide.

🐉☕❤️

A sassy, queer, alternate universe romance from Publishers Weekly's Best Books of 2011 author J.M. Frey. Wrapped in discussions of autonomy and colonialism, Nine-Tenths meets in the middle between Red, White & Royal Blue and the Temeraire series.

🐉☕❤️

Part One

There's this thing in stories called the "inciting incident".

And mine? It's a goddamn doozy.

It’s the part of the book, right at the start, where the lovers have their meet-cute, the farm boy leaves for the wider world, the Chosen One is attacked by her first evil monster, blah, blah, blah. You know what I mean. It's the place where everything opens up and you have no idea what you're in for—only that it'll be exciting.

I know all about Inciting Incidents because I was going to be a writer.

No, I thought I was going to be a writer. Historical romance, that’s my jam. Dukes, rakes, windblown-gowns, dropped handkerchiefs, cliffside confessions—I am a slut for that stuff. Forget real history (totally flunked ‘We’re-Feeding-You-Colonialist-Narratives-Disguised-As-Education’ 101). Give me made-up kingdoms and far-flung pirates. Give me the fantasy of a happily ever after that lasts beyond ‘the end’. Give coffee and stories, and I am a content boy.

But right before he got sick, in the summer between my first and second year of university, my Dad and I had a serious talk about writing. How much work it is. How long it takes to start paying off. Backup plans.

And then… after, I thought, well, he wasn’t wrong. If life was going to be pointlessly, stupidly, cruelly short, then I should spend my time trying to do something good, right? I switched majors. Science makes sense. Science is logical. Science creates vaccines and saves lives. Science can bring species back from the brink of extinction. Science doesn’t break your heart.

All of this is to say that I can—with complete and utter certainty—point to the exact moment when my life became a trash fire. It was my twenty-fourth birthday, and my big sister Gemma gave me the dumbest, but totally plot-inciting gift: a sunrise alarm clock.

The Incident starts like this, in Mum’s pokey poppies-and-roosters kitchen, with Gemma leaning on the back of my chair:

"I have a perfectly good alarm clock." I hold up my phone, then let it slap back down onto the plastic tablecloth. "Goes ding when there's stuff."

My sister heaves the kind of sigh only eldest-born siblings make, indulgent and frustrated at the same time. I love making her make that noise. It's hilarious.

"It wakes you up gently," Gem says. "So you’re not cranky."

"I’m not cranky in the mornings."

Everyone laughs. I may have snapped at Stuart this morning when he shook my foot through my childhood bed sheets like an aggressive chihuahua. Okay. So I'm cranky in the mornings.

"I don't see how it's supposed to work." Stu grabs the clock. "How can you see the light if your eyes are closed?"

As the younger brother of twin siblings, I am used to having the toys I’m playing with pulled out of my hands. Instead of trying to snatch it back, I fiddle with the iridescent green bow that was on my present, then stick it to my ear. Mum smirks at my accessory, but otherwise her prim little 'all my babies are home to roost' face stays in place.

I'm the only one of us who went away to school, and stayed away. Gem came back to live with Mum straight after she finished her undergrad, so Mum wouldn't be alone in the house. Stuart never left the city, though he's got his own place now. But that's why I stayed away after I graduated last year. Mum and Gem don't need me, and if I came back, Stu would try to get me to join his crew.

I go weak in the knees for the kind of person jacked enough to pick me up and consensually throw me around. Standing on a roof next to a whole crew of pretty roughs trying to help them replace shingles? That's gonna lead to me swooning and dying of a broken neck. Stu doesn’t want that on his conscience.

Because she's a bossy know-it-all, Gem takes my present from Stu and opens it to show me how it works. She huffs. "You can see sunlight through your eyelids. It just works, okay?"

Stu helps himself to another piece of my birthday cake, licking the icing off his fingers and the serving knife. Mum slaps the hand holding the knife, and Stu flushes up and sets it down. He descends on his third piece like a wolf, but at least now he's watching his manners.

"There's an instruction manual," I point out as Gem tosses the booklet on the table.

"The day you read the instructions," Mum says, "is the day I'll know for sure the fairies really swapped you."

It's an old joke, being the Changeling child. I'm the only one of them with dark hair. The rest of my family are blond as heck.

Mum’s grinning into that little curl in the side of her mouth that holds secrets. Dad always called it Mum's 'Peter Pan Kiss’. He'd wrap his arms around her waist and kiss that corner, and Mum would swat at him for ruining her lipstick.

Thinking about Dad reminds me he's dead.

I hate the swoop-and-stab sensation in my chest that comes with remembering. Especially when there's a moment you want to share, and you turn your head to his chair and start composing the sentence in your head: "Hey, Mum's doing that—" and then you stop.

You stop composing. Stop turning. Stop thinking about sharing. Stop breathing.

Because that chair is empty.

Dad's dead.

And you'll never get the chance to point out the Peter Pan kiss again. Or watch Mum swat him. Or listen to him tease us for falling for Mum's Old World fairy stories. Or hear his stupid har-har-har donkey laugh, thick with his French accent.

It's my birthday.

He's not here.

I'll have another birthday, next year, and he won't be there for that one either.

I try to control my breathing, but Mum hears it hitching. I'm already staring at Dad's terrible empty chair, so it's not like I can hide what I'm thinking about. Mum curls her fingers over my knuckles.

"I wish he was here too, mo leanbh," she says softly.

Stu and Gem go quiet.

"Sucks," I cough out, deciding to give no one the pleasure of watching me actually cry. I'll save it for later, when I'm back in my own apartment. Not because of any kind of 'real men don't' toxic masculinity bullshit, but because I hate the fuss. They take the shit my therapist tells them about being my support network too much to heart.

"More tea, Mummers?" I ask instead.

"Time for something stronger, don't you think?"

Next Part | Read on Wattpad

Trailer Music: "A Thousand Years" by The Piano Guys Cover Art: @seancefemme

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ghostlyboysstories · 3 months

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Some extra information about my ocs on my current WIP:

Roan Hanes was 21 when he died. He hates alcohol. Can’t stand looking at it or smelling it. That’s due to his past family and growing up around alcohol all the time made him hate the substance. He had three younger siblings, two brothers and one sister, and he lived with his father for the first eight years of his life.

His father was a good man and was often hiding Roan away whenever his mother came to visit. She thought Roan had died after childbirth, and was in relief because she was really young. Her family didn’t approve of the relationship between Roan’s mother and father, so naturally, his father thought it best to raise him on his own, away from the prying eyes of his ex wife’s family.

Roan’s mother was a good person, though her rage was what scared him the most. She would often throw things around and shatter plates. Roan knew she didn’t mean to scare or hurt him or his siblings, but that’s exactly what she did. She would often snap out of her anger, be it an hour or six, and would rush to him, apologizing for everything she had done.

His father died when he was nine and he went to live with his mother full time. Not understanding what had happened since he was young at the time, Roan tried to go to his mother to find comfort in her, but most of the time, she just shoved him away.

“You look so much like him,” she’d say.

It wasn’t until he was twelve that he finally understood. Roan lost himself into taking care of his younger siblings. Getting them ready for school, taking them to the local park, getting them ice cream on the scorching days in the summer, and running errands with them. His mother’s mental stability had declined over the years, so he sought out to work a part time job when he was fifteen. At this point in time, Roan had barely seen his mother leave her room. He would leave food out for her and a glass of water at all meal times. He had to drop out of public school just to make sure she was getting what she needed.

He would get occasional notes, written in shaky handwriting, “Thank you, my sweet boy. I’m sorry,” but other than that, Roan didn’t talk to his mother. He always wrote to her, telling her about everything that happened every day(“The twins pranked their teachers today. Swapped places on them right under their noses!”), and held onto the hope that one day, she’d be able to leave her room.

His death will be revealed in a later snippet because I have to have some element of surprise here!

Arrow Millon is a private investigator for the local police department. They started doing their work for the Hanes Family case in the family’s backyard, hoping that maybe they’d be able to understand what happened more if they were at the victims’ place of residence.

They ended up buying the house. It was abandoned and worn down, and everyone was too afraid to go in, much less live there. Arrow was nineteen when they started working on the case, the police department thought a rookie like them could handle it, and now twenty two at the time they(accidentally) summon Roan after taking a chance and talking to the dead through a ouija board they found hidden under a floorboard in the old work shed; Arrow is surprised to actually see Roan for the first time. Roan says their connected to each other in the mortal realm, and Arrow assumes it’s because they’ve worked on his family’s case for so long, but that’s not the case(surprise hehehe) and sort of forgets about it.

You’ll have to see when Arrow finally connects the dots for yourself hehehe >:3

They don’t really talk about their family and Roan suspects they didn’t accept them like his grandparents didn’t approve of him. He’s both right and wrong.

Arrow is also super snarky whilst Roan is like “you need to drink water,” “made you something since you’ve been working late,” “want some coffee?” Type of guy. Acts of service to show his appreciation for Arrow. Arrow secretly has a journal of poems dedicated to Roan because he’s the first person to stick around them(“and he’s dead. how do I manage to make friends with a dead guy?”), and he likes to write about the people he cares about.

The tags(thank you so much for showing interest in my writing! y’all are amazing!): @the-ellia-west @somethingclevermahogony @illarian-rambling @sabewebb @rorimoon9597 @diabolical-blue

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 4 months

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Against the Tide - Master List

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Summary:

Olivia is the only one of her parents' children old enough to remember when Vora was home. Her mother was only newly pregnant with Olivia's younger sister Thalia when the long war between Vora and the much-larger country of Clario came to an end. It wasn't a victory for Vora, merely a truce, and one which dictated that Vora cede its ruling power to the bigger country and its former Prime Minister and his family relocate to Clario.

It has been twenty years since she last saw the shores of her home, and she still misses it.

AN: AU wherein Silvio is still the Crown Prince, just not of Benitoite. The female love interest is a woman of color. Grimmjow is human. Please mind the tags and any warnings posted at the beginning of chapters, as they will tell you important things you need to know about the content within.

I'm finally getting around to finishing this rewrite, and I have to thank @batteryrose for bringing my OC, Olivia to life (you can find the amazing art he did here). Please go check out his other art!

Chapter List:

Chapter One: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Two: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Three: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Four: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Five: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Six: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Seven: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eight: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Nine: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Ten: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eleven: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twelve: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Thirteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Fourteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Fifteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Sixteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Seventeen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eighteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Nineteen: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twenty: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twenty-One: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twenty-Two: Tumblr | AO3

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfiction #bleach #ikemen prince #ikepri #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #olivia dubois #my queuepid's bow

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salixsociety · 2 months

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Salmon Song

On fishing, undeath, and gratitude.

Since our wedding recently, my spouse and I have been house-sitting for an old acquaintance of theirs. Not counting the dachshund befittingly named Chili Dog, the most beautiful thing about this house is the creek flowing through the backyard, which I sit next to as I write.

Being a branch of a bigger river on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, countless salmon make their way upstream every year, to spawn and to die. Some, only a year old, some almost ten. They are king salmon, in these waters. Easy to recognize: they lack the characteristic hump of a sockeye, and their bright red back is spangled with small black dots. Every time one swims past I am unable to look away, too mystified to even take a picture. Right there, in front of me, barely concealed by the monkshood, geranium and fireweed, is a fish willing to sacrifice anything to swim into death. To twist and turn to make their way through shallow waters. To agonizingly fight for seconds, sometimes minutes without air, to climb rocky rapids. To rot, to be the living dead, on their way to spawn children that may never reach the sea.

Alaskan summers pass by in a flash, but in exchange for eight to nine months of harsh winter, summer appeases us with many gifts. Fish being one of them. Last week my Dove, their brothers, mother, my sister and I went dipnetting. Being short many pairs of waders, it was mostly me and my spouse doing the fishing. We do it in the tidal delta of one of the biggest rivers around, where the fish enter the river from the inlet. It is important that you go as the tide is changing, to fish in accordance with the pattern of the salmon. When the tide is going out, you catch the fish that are falling back with the stream, having been exhausted by their fight up and taking a moment to rest, and the fish that are actively swimming to the ocean. Then, when the tide is at its lowest, for a while it won't change. We call this slack tide, and the odds of catching salmon are near zero. You may, as we did, accidentally catch a flounder or a sole in your net instead. Then, when the tide finally comes in again, just as you think you ought to call it a day... they come again. One after the other, in such rapid succession that you can barely finish killing and storing the first before another one is thrown on land. In the end, we caught twenty-four sockeye, and one big sole.

We decided to keep a large sole out of curiosity, mostly. They are legal, and large for a river flatfish. Though not as famous as salmon, soles and flounder are fascinating creatures, like any in midgard. Their eyes are both on one side of their body; which side depends on the species of flatfish. They aren't born this way, in most cases. Many flatfish are born symmetrical, and only start experiencing an 'eye migration' in adolescence, when they move to the seafloor. Some, like the sole we caught, are masters at the art of camouflage: their bodies are the color of the marine floor they lay on, and their skins are textured like sandpaper, to catch bits of sand and blend in even better. Some, though to my knowledge none in Alaska, can even change the color of their skin to match their environment. Not all flatfish are bottomfeeders, but soles are, eating mostly invertebrates. They are a healthy fish to eat, in some cultures even a delicacy! But not the preferred fish in Alaska, as their meat is not fatty, and even a big sole doesn't yield much meat.

When I first moved to Alaska and started learning how to fish, the prospect of killing the fish I caught made me nervous. I didn't know if I could do it, and I didn't want to let my spouse down, nor did I want to condemn a fish to suffering. I don't like to fish for sport, I think it cruel, so letting a good fish go was never an option. I pushed through, and tried, only to discover that my arthritis ridden fingers are not strong enough to pull out a fish's gills effectively - even the little grayling I had caught. Ironic. Since then I have delegated the killing part to my spouse, but I was relieved. I can do it. And somehow, it doesn't hurt.

Having gotten much closer to my goal of living off the land now, I have learned a lot about killing, and made my peace with it. Mostly I have learned that taking a life is not inherently immoral. Just as I do not hate a moose for trying to trample me in self defense, and I would not hate a bear for eating me, this salmon, not yet in its spawning colors, does not hate me for my need for sustenance. Just as I do not hate the eagle that swooped onto and killed the little gosling with a skin disease that I had been diligently nursing, she did not hate it, as she would not have hated me when I would inevitably kill her out of mercy, and eat her out of respect. My respect for life is in my willingness to take it, because such is my place in nature. I contribute much more to my environment, and spare many more lives, when I kill twenty-four salmon with my own hands, process them with my own knives, store them in my own freezer. When I kill out of mercy, or out of need for sustenance; when I kill with respect, I am one step closer to living off the land, and one step closer to protecting balance in my environment. One step closer to true, complete, utter connection.

The salmon has long been known to be a fish harboring much magic. A favorite example is of course the fact that Loki transformed into a salmon to escape the wrath of the gods, only able to be caught with a magical net. It is said that the narrow back of a salmon, likely especially on a sockeye or 'humpy', was because of Thor's strong grip on the fish when he was finally caught. There are of course also the necessary saint stories, especially in Scotland, where the fish is regarded as very faery. Associated with wells of wisdom, the ability to tell the future, and even astoundingly old age, such as in the tale of Culhwch and Olwen. Salmon was also renowned for its strength, Irish heroes sometimes being described as 'leaping like a salmon', and in other Celtic myth we see salmon somehow managing to give people rides on their backs. The word 'salmon' reportedly even comes from Latin 'salire': to leap. Most amazingly to me, however, is their process of natural undeath, as my Dove so aptly put it. The way salmon cease to eat and start to rot even on their way to their spawning grounds inspired much awe and lore in ancient societies. These fish, in Alaska affectionately called 'zombie fish', are no longer edible, but they give us many stories instead. Most importantly to me, their living death was often interpreted as the salmon swimming, on their own, into the underworld, before our very eyes.

One book that has been on my TBR since it was referenced by Robin Wall Kimmerer in Gathering Moss, is Totem Salmon by Freeman House. In it, House talks about mentally dissecting the sound of a stream. Doing so has inspired me greatly, partially also to write this blog. There truly is a symphony of sounds concealed in the babbling of a creek. I hear the water rushing over the rocks that form the beaches and rapids. I hear it slosh as it hits the log in the westward bend. I hear it plop periodically as it moves around one particularly large boulder and every now and again, the striking and emotive arpeggios that are the splashing of salmon fins as they make their way up.

When I started writing this story, a beautiful king salmon appeared before the spot I'm sitting at, fighting its way upstream. Many times as I progressed through my story did it fall back with the flow of the water before my eyes, only to reappear. Easily recognizable, with its already rotting tail and dorsal fin. Shortly before I started this conclusion, I heard and saw it climbing up the shallow narrows and disappear around the bend.

May you swim safely there, and safely back. Rest in peace.

#animism #folk magic #apothecaric allerlei #germanic pagan #folk witchcraft #paganism #norse heathen #green witch #witchblr #salmon #deeply inspired by my beloved spouse

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