#birds and natural disasters

[madeleineengland]

The crane are calling the birds together before the hurricane hits.

Yeah cranes love to yell, but animals can sense storms in a way that we'll never understand, it's their natural survival instincts and Sandhill cranes are the oldest living bird species on earth.

Don't underestimate animals, especially birds because they follow the geomagnetic of the earth, so they know when there's been a change in the atmosphere.

Listen to the animals❗

[wachinyeya]

Birds Sing Anew After Residents of New Orleans Ninth Ward Restore 40-Acre Wetland to Historic Glory https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/birds-sing-anew-from-within-40-acre-wetland-restored-by-residents-of-n-orleans-historic-lower-ninth/

The Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans has recently witnessed an incredible eco-renaissance following decades of damage and neglect.

Led by a local community development group, a 40-acre wetlands park has been restored to glories past with hundreds of local trees that attract over a hundred species of birds, plus joggers, picnickers, and nature lovers besides.

The story begins with Rashida Ferdinand, founder of Sankofa Community Development Corporation (CDC). Growing up in this historic part of New Orleans, where Black homeownership thrived, where Fats Domino was born, and where locals routinely went out into the wetlands to catch fish and crustaceans, she watched as it suffered from years of neglect.

Poor drainage, ruined roads, illegal trash dumping, and unmitigated damage from hurricanes slowly wasted the wetland away until it was a derelict eyesore.

In the name of restoring this wild heritage indicative of the culture in the Lower Ninth, and in order to protect her communities from flooding, Ferdinand founded the Sankofa CDC, and in 2014 entered into an agreement with the City of New Orleans for the restoration of Sankofa—a 40-acre section of neglected wetlands in the heart of the Lower Ninth.

The loss of Sankofa’s potential to dampen flooding from storms meant that over the years dozens of houses and properties were flooded and damaged beyond the ability of the inhabitants to recover. Forced out by a combination of nature’s fury and government failure, the cultural heritage of the community was receding along with the floodwaters.

Ferdinand knew that restoring natural flood barriers like Sankofa was key to protecting her community.

“Hurricane protection is a major concern in the community, but there’s a lack of trust in the infrastructure systems that are supposed to protect us,” Ferdinand told the Audubon Society.

Today, Sankofa Wetlands Park is a sight to behold. Hiking trails snake through a smattering of ponds and creeks, where bald cypresses and water tupelo trees continue to grow and cling to the ground even during storms. Picnic benches have appeared, wheelchair-accessible trails connect sections of the park to parts of the Lower Ninth, and local businesses are seeing more visitors.

Visiting birders have recorded sightings of over 100 species of songbirds, ducks, near-shore waders of all kinds, egrets, and herons, and the park also acts as a home and refuge for otters, beavers, and a variety of amphibians and reptiles.

It needed a lot of work though. Thousands of invasive tallow trees had to be uprooted. 27,000 cubic meters of illegally dumped trash compacted into the dirt had to be removed. A 60-year-old canal dug by the US Army Corps of Engineers had to be disconnected, and all new native flora had to be planted by hand.

Audubon says that Ferdinand routinely can’t believe her eyes when she looks at the transformation of Sankofa into its current state.

“Seeing butterflies, birds, and other pollinators in the park is a sign of a healthy ecosystem,” she says. “All we had to do was create the right conditions.”

Slated for official completion in 2025 with an outdoor amphitheater, interpretive signage, and additional trails, Ferdinand and the CDC have their eyes set on an even larger area of wetlands to the north of Sankofa.

Along the way, Ferdinand and the CDC attracted many helping hands, and entered into many partnerships, But the catalyst for change arose from the spirit and determination of one woman in the right place at the right time, for the benefit of hundreds in this historic heart of a historic city.

[impossiblycyberenthusiast]

not doing any actual work on my stuff, simply drawing hitman au cold. Local world class assassin doesn’t wear his suit right…

[birdyverdie]

Bruhhh

[bbutterflies]

Adrino week day 7 - Sleepover

Something to dream about - read it on ao3 or below!

It was impulse, really. Chat Noir hadn’t thought. He’d seen Nino on the sidewalks, talking with some other boy – flirting, if Chat knows anything, and he definitely does – and Chat couldn’t have that.

So what if he’d been mid patrol with Ladybug?

All he knows is now he’s wrapping an arm around Nino’s waist and carrying him back up to the Paris skyline.

Nino shouts in surprise, clinging desperately to Chat’s shoulders as he’s swept off the ground. “What’re you doing?” he shouts.

“Saving you,” Chat answers.

Nino clings a little tighter as they soar higher. “I wasn’t in danger.”

“You definitely were.” Chat sets Nino down on a rooftop, though he’s sad when Nino’s hands are planted firmly on his own hips. “You were in danger of an awful conversation.”

“What? No. I was enjoying myself.”

Chat rolls his eyes. “C’mon. That guy was lame, I can tell.”

“Says the guy in a leather catsuit,” Nino says with a snort.

“Oh, you like it?” Chat asks, posing dramatically. He doesn’t mind showing off. “It's sweet of you to notice.”

Nino shakes his head.  “It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Chat picks a new pose. “So you’ve been paying attention? How sweet.”

“Okay, man, you’ve made your point. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Chat doesn’t stop, though. He just smiles at Nino. “Admit it. You’d rather hang with me tonight.”

Nino tries to keep a straight face, but a smirk breaks through. “I was actually trying to ask him out.”

“Well, now I’m asking you out.” Chat drops his pose to extend a hand instead. “Trust me. You’ll have a way better time with me.”

Nino chews on it. He studies Chat’s hand and then meets his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks. “You promise?”

“Absolutely. Besides, what could be better than a date with a superhero?” Chat doesn’t consider the implications of what he’s saying, or that Nino is his alter ego’s best friend. Right now, all he cares about is the smile on Nino’s face as he takes his hand.

And now Chat needs a plan for an incredible date. Fortunately, he’s something of an expert in that department, and being a superhero means he’ll have access to whatever he needs to make it happen.

Maybe with a little help from his partner so he doesn’t have to leave Nino’s side.

An SOS text to Ladybug for help and just a few minutes later (with a sly, all-knowing smile and a wink from Ladybug), Chat and Nino are set up on a rooftop with a blanket, a projector, flowers, candles, and more food than they could possibly eat.

“Alright,” Nino says as they settle down next to each other. “I have to admit it. You were right.”

“Oh?” Chat prods for more.

Nino gives in. “This is way better than anything I could’ve done with that guy tonight. You were right.”

Chat nudges Nino playfully with his elbow. “Told you so.”

“Plus I’m always swayed by free food.” Nino reaches for the first takeout bag. “And, I mean, what a night. A date with a superhero? My friends are gonna freak.”

Chat ducks his face before Nino can see. Yeah, Adrien was definitely going to have to fake a good surprised reaction to this news.

Right now, though? Chat Noir just wants to enjoy himself and get Nino to laugh.

Chat Noir wakes up with someone in his arms. His back hurts, and he realizes it’s because he’s on a rooftop. He’s not in a bed.

And he’s holding Nino, who’s snoring on his chest.

All things considered, he was calling the night a success.

But they both need to get home. It was late, the sun long gone, and Nino deserved to sleep in his own bed. “Nino?” Chat says gently, nudging his shoulder.

Nino doesn’t even flinch, undisturbed in his sleep.

Oh, man. “Nino,” Chat says louder, prodding a little harder. Still nothing. “Nino, wake up.”

Nino mumbles something unintelligible and wraps his arms around Chat.

Okay. Not ideal, but Chat is still calling this a win. He can make this work. Nino’s cute in his sleep, anyway, and this will be hilarious to tease him about later.

The objective still stands – get Nino home. He doesn’t need to be awake for that. Carefully, Chat sits up. Nino holds onto him still, pressed against his chest.

At least Chat won’t drop him while carrying him home. Not to mention he’s enjoying this, too, but that’s not the priority.

Carefully, Chat maneuvers Nino in his arms until he can hold him securely with one arm. He’s actually impressed at Nino’s ability to sleep through it all. Nino’s still snoring, and the sound is adorable. Chat hopes he gets to hear it again.

Priorities. Chat starts towards Nino’s apartment, holding onto him tight with one arm to make sure he stays safe. Though Nino, honestly, is doing an impressive job of holding on in his sleep.

Chat’s starting to worry about getting him to let go. Like, ever. He didn’t know Nino was this heavy of a sleeper, or he’d have probably made sure they didn’t fall asleep on a random rooftop.

Or, well… no, he might’ve still done it, because Nino was clinging to him so tightly right now and Chat was pretty sure there was no other way he could’ve made that happen. Was that selfish? Maybe. But Nino’s content murmurs in his sleep and the smile on his face were more than enough to satisfy Chat Noir.

He manages to carry Nino back to his apartment, and by some stroke of luck the bedroom window is even unlocked. Carefully, Chat maneuvers them both inside. Almost there.

He sets Nino down in bed – or at least tries to. Nino is still clinging to him with no signs of letting go. He tries pulling Nino’s arms off from where they’re strung around his neck with no luck. He doesn’t want to be too forceful or aggressive – Nino’s somehow still asleep, after all – but he really needs Nino to let go.

“Nino?” Chat says, and he’s not surprised when Nino doesn’t respond at all. He tries gently poking him, and gets the slightest wriggle out of poking him in his side. It feels a little cruel, but he’s desperate. “Nino, let go,” Chat says, poking again.

Nino grumbles in his sleep, adjusting his grip, and Chat seizes the opportunity. He manages to get Nino’s arms loose and swiftly sets him down in bed. Carefully, Chat takes off Nino’s glasses and pulls the blankets up over him. Nino sinks deeper into the bed with a content sigh.

Yeah. This night is a success.

Chat tries to leave. He does, actually. He really tries. He makes it almost back to the window, too, before he’s held back by his belt.

Strange.

A glance backwards shows Nino has Chat’s belt in hand. And Nino’s eyes are open (barely, but still).

“Chat?” Nino mumbles.

Of course he’s awake now. Chat smiles at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“Stay?” Nino asks.

Chat shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But… “Okay,” he says. He walks back over to the bed and sits on the edge, intending to not get much closer than that, but Nino tugs on his arm.

So Chat lays down next to him.

(Look, he’s not going to argue about it. He would really like to stay with Nino some more and a guy can only have so much willpower in one day.)

“Yay,” Nino says, and it turns into a yawn. He wraps his arms around Chat Noir and pulls him even closer. Seconds later, he’s snoring again.

Chat settles into Nino, limbs a tangled mess. This will probably be hard to explain in the morning – and even worse if someone walks into Nino’s room – but he’s quite content to drift off here in a quiet mix of snores and purrs and pure bliss.

[aworldofpattern]

The Oil Spill by Robert Wun

SS23 Couture

'A corseted mini bodice dress with an extended back panel, expanded further with asymmetrical pheasant feathers painted in black. Styled with a silk sheer skirt with a three metres long train.

Embodied by the incredible Zinnia Kumar who was a biologist working with marine life preservation and rescue from ocean’s oil spilling.' X

[theonewhocounts]

My house got knocked down by a hurricane, my school got hit by a tornado, and I once narrowly missed being hit by a volcano eruption that killed 3k+ people in Guatemala.

As a child I was once fullly tackled by a wild turkey that knocked me off my bike and stole the last blackberries of the season I'd spent all afternoon harvesting.

I'm a goddamn medical anomaly. I'm trans and taking testosterone activated a dormant degenerative eye disease that would make me straight up go blind and maybe lose my eyes if I kept taking it. So I'm currently being studied for a case study to be published in a medical journal.

[feodortum]

[m00ntunaart]

2nd STARWARS/DAEMON AU POST!!!!! This time with the CC's and the Disaster Lineage!

Obi-Wan: Maned Wolf (Kee-Ayt)

Anakin: Lion (maned female lioness) (Asieko)

Ahsoka: Gryfalcon (Tuex)

Cody: German Shepherd (Beskar)

Rex: Siberian Husky (Queen)

Wolffe: Wolfdog (Whitefang)

Fox: Doberman Pinscher (Vulpe)

Bly: American Akita (Lyra)

LORE TIME: first off! Jedi! So I thought a lot about how daemons and Jedi should work. I did end up deciding that Jedi GENERALLY have bird daemons (like the witches in His Dark Material), BUT not always. The Jedi having bird daemons is not a ‘All Force Sensitives Have Daemons Who Settle As Birds’ thing. It wouldn’t make sense in this AU since Force-sensitivity is a spectrum and at what level would someone have ‘enough’ force-sensitivity to have a daemon for certain become a bird? I didn’t like that narrative as much, it felt restrictive. So instead Jedi tend to have bird daemons, but not Force-Sensitives. Like all Jedi are force sensitive ( and have bird daemons) but not all Force-Sensitives are Jedi, make sense? This is because of how the Jedi raise children and teach them to interact with the force. Because of how Jedi are taught to view and use the force, their daemons tend to settle as birds! It’s ‘nurture’ over ‘nature’ thing. Which is why (in this AU at least) the Jedi don’t take in older children to train. Because they’ve already probably learned their own way to interact with the force (different from the Jedi teachings) and therefore will have a non-bird daemon! Hence Anakin having a lion daemon. “But what about Obi-Wan?” (Well since Obi-Wan is one of my favorites I get to spice him up lol). He was originally very Jedi like (daemon wise) but after the whole Jedi Apprentice/Xanantos enslaving him/Melida-Daan war thing, he daemon ended up settling as a Maned Wolf! I imagine he was just about the age where his daemon would settle (usually 13-15, which is the same reason this is the age Jedi initiates are made padawans), so it was a surprise that his daemon so abruptly changed and settled. Most likely the effects of being so abruptly exposed to violence and war right out of being only use to the peace of the Jedi temple his whole life. 

(Extra) The 3rd page of the post! Cody and Obi-Wan’s daemons! Beskar and Kee-Ayt! Even though in my doodles Beskar seems to be very grumpy and even hatful towards Kee-Ayt, DO NOT BE FOOLED. Beskar adores Kee-Ayt. Their relationship just mirrors how I headcanon Cody’s and Obi-Wan’s. Where they will harass and bitch at each other to hell and back. Sounding from the outsider’s POV like two people who hate each other. When in reality these two are joined at the hip and love each other. They just will never admit it because “we have reputations to uphold!’ (Anakin says “what reputation? the reputation that one of you would murder the other if it wasn’t for the fact the GAR would court marshal the other?”) But yeah, Beskar makes fun of Kee-Ayt’s long ass legs. The mini ‘comic’ is about how I imagine that since all the Clones’ daemons are dogs/canines, when they win a battles they have a ‘Victory Call’ where they all howl. Beskar offers for Kee-Ayt to join in, but Maned Wolves can’t howl. They do this thing called a Roar-Bark (look up a video it’s so loud). This is the first time Beskar hears Kee-Ayt roar-bark and it scared the shit out of her.

(Extra Extra) The 4th page of the post! This is mostly doodles of Rex, Anakin and Ashoka’s daemons (Queen, Asieko and Tuex). All three reflect the close relationship that Rex, Anakin and Ahsoka have. Hence Tuex nesting on Queen and Asieko trying to groom Queen (who doesn’t appreciate the rough lion tongue bath she’s getting). (In fact Asieko tries to groom Tuex and Kee-Ayt too, but Tuex is too small and Kee-Ayt just starts biting Asieko bcs she doesn’t appreciate the bath either lol). We also have Tuex dive bombing Asieko (a common occurrence whenever Anakin and Ahsoka bicker). Tuex also does this to literally anyone who slightly annoys him or Ahsoka. And lastly the little doodle of Rex and Queen screaming! Idk if you’ve ever seen videos of Huskies, but oh boy are they loud and dramatic. I think with all the stress and insanity Rex has to deal with leading the 501st, he and Queen often have therapy screaming sessions. They deserve to. 

(ALSO, I will be making follow up reblogs with lore/plot stuff for each individual character)

[reindeerswillsavethisworld]

Honestly, I find the idea of Tucker being cursed with bad luck so fucking funny. Like, imagine that the majority of mishaps and unfortunate accidents were due to the Tucker’s bad luck, but the idea of him being a trouble magnet just. Didn’t cross their minds. If anything, everyone from Danny’s circle of friends, acquaintances and (fre)enemies believes that it is Danny who’s cursed with shitty luck because of all the bullshit he and his (relatively) happy band of clowns get involved with.

And then Tucker leaves for vacation with his parents for a week, and it’s the quietest Amity Park has ever been. No ghosts, no natural disasters, no creepy circuses with their sicko ringmasters; the sun is shining and birds are chirping, the school is less horrible than usual, Vlad is on some sort of business trip and left the town, Sam’s mother decided to leave her alone for a change and Danny even gets enough sleep at night! They’re thriving, man!

Tucker, meanwhile, is locked in a twisted survival horror with only his beret for a company and is having a horrible week. Afterwards it was assumed that it’s because some kind of creature akin to Youngblood followed him to make his life a living hell, therefore Sam, Danny and Tucker decided to stick together as much as possible to prevent it from happening again. And the cycle continues.

[saunteringvaguelydownwards]

No no, my darling grumpy bat, look what WE did. You freely admit your complicity upthread!

Still... mine is an evil laugh 😈

gifs [x]

[exhaled-spirals]

« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

[alchemistc]

"Any plans for your days off, Buck?"

Buck knows his grin is a little feral, but he's kind of hoping that'll throw them off the trail. It's barely been a year, and in that time they've had three natural disasters, one copter crash, a boss intent on making Buck's life a living hell, and two almost break-ups.

It's too soon, to know for sure, except Athena and Bobby had known, and Hen and Karen had known even if they were too scared to admit it at first, and Chim and Maddie may have taken a little longer to get there but they'd known.

And Buck knows. He knows he's never felt like this about anyone before. Knows no one has ever had the ability to infuriate him and calm his fears quite like Tommy Kinard can. Knows they could have done this like they joked about six months ago and they wouldn't have regretted it.

Hen is making a face like she's trying to decide if she wants to know whatever head-tilt-cheek-bite sexual innuendo Buck's got in the barrel, because she only appreciates that about half of the time and Buck's praying she decides on no because he's a terrible fucking liar and he doesn't like keeping things from people. But it's sort of a secret, for the next 48 hours, and Buck also wants to bask in it, wants to enjoy keeping it to himself for just a little while.

"Our Buckaroo is all grown up and refusing to over share about his sex life, praise be," Chim chips in, and Buck tucks his chin to his chest and hopes his pink cheeks read as embarrassed.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and around him lockers slam and voices drift over him. He's only got eyes for the text that just came through.

Bird's ready, suits are pressed, room is paid up. You wanna go to Adele, after? I think I know one of her people.

You know everyone, stop bragging, I'm already impressed

I'm always gonna try to impress you. You still at the station?

Yeah but not for long. I'll see you in like forty

"--right Buck?"

Buck blinks, hums, stares across at Chim.

"Please tell me you're not sexting at work right now."

"Technically, we are off the clock."

"I'll remind Clipboard Buck of that next time he shows up."

He's zipping up his bag when his phone buzzes again.

See you soon, baby.

He's pretty sure he's gonna get away with it - Hen and Chim are arguing about some reality show as they all trudge toward the open bay doors, and though he can hear their voices further back, Eddie and Bobby still seem to be deep in conversation.

Ravi comes out of left field, because of course he does, just finished inventory still clutched in his hand as he rounds the engine closest to Buck. "Hey, Buck, you and Tommy wanna catch that movie tomorrow night? I picked up a shift but I've got like twelve off in between."

Buck winces. Damn, so close. "Sorry, bud, we actually won't be in town."

Which he's realizing now is pretty uncharacteristic of the both of them, and Hen and Chim have clocked it, so he's gonna have to make a run for it, but he catches sight of raised brows and questioning expressions and he can't give them nothing.

"Tommy's taking me to Vegas, we might see Adele, okay bye!"

They absolutely let him make a break for it, let him scramble into the Jeep, let him send them all a quick wave before he peels out of his parking spot, and Buck spends the drive to Harbor viscously ignoring the steady buzzing from his phone.

---

Tommy snags the backpack from his shoulder before he's fully out the door, and tugs a belt loop to pull him close. Buck is pretty sure he'll never get over how much he likes being manhandled, just a bit.

"You wanna tell me why Chim and Hen both wished us a good flight?"

"Ravi ambushed me on my way out the door. Technically, they don't know anything about anything, except maybe Adele."

Tommy's fond smile makes Buck feel all warm and tingly inside, and he basks in the glow as Tommy nudges a knee between the open bow of Buck's legs.

Tommy's expression morphs, a bit, lips dropping as he tilts his head. "You having second thoughts? We don't have to-."

"No. No second thoughts."

"Evan, I know how close you are to your family. If you want to wait, make this something you can share with them, we can hold off."

He's so goddamn charmed by this man - by how he cares, by how well he knows Buck, by a million and one tiny things that Buck gleefully hoards his knowledge of like a dragon over his caverns of treasure.

"I kinda don't want to share you, for this." It's the first time since Tommy's brought it back up that Buck's been able to express exactly why the prospect makes him so giddy, but there it is. Possessive jealous Buck rears his ugly head again, only Tommy has always been a little charmed by that. At least when Buck expressed it in a healthy way.

"The moment they know, it's gonna be a spectacle," Tommy agrees, fingers curling over Buck's side.

"Exactly. So. Take me to Vegas and wife me up before one of them shows up trying to tag along."

He expects the dramatic eye roll, and Tommy's fingers digging into his sides. He doesn't expect the ear-ringing whistle echoing through the bay door to their left, or the smirk on Lucy Donato's face when she lets her looped thumb and pointer finger drop from her lips.

"We should definitely go before any of them remembers to hit her up for more details."

"Why would she -."

"Yeah she caught a look at the manifest and snooped until she found the rings."

"So you're actually worse at keeping a secret than I am."

"They're all gonna know before we land back home."

"Hen's gonna break like thirty bylaws trying to decorate a county owned chopper."

"Evan, seriously, we can still -."

Buck only knows one sure-fire way of stopping Tommy from spiraling too much - he uses the little bit of leverage he has plastered to the open door of his Jeep to catch Tommy's lips, and the resulting pleased hum shivers down his spine. Evan takes a moment to be pleased that Tommy hadn't shaved this morning like he'd threatened, and then he's tilting his head for a better angle and losing himself in it long enough that a few more wolf-whistles make their way across the tarmac -- Wendell and York, most likely, but when Buck finally breaks the kiss to dart a look over Tommy's shoulder, everyone has made themselves scarce.

"You gonna marry me or not, Kinard?"

It's a rare thing, but sometimes, when Buck makes him a little extra wild, Tommy does this growling thing that Buck always feels down to his toes. Tommy kisses him breathless again when Buck responds to this growl with a satisfied smirk.

---

"How much you wanna bet Hen convinces you to do a vow renewal within six months."

Buck's busy nipping at a spot of flesh just above Tommy's transverse abdominis, so it takes a second for his brain to catch up with the words.

"It's gonna be Maddie, and she's gonna rope you into it before you realize what's happening."

Tommy hums, pleased, not denying it, and runs a hand through Buck's hair, palm curling over his crown. It takes Buck a moment to figure out why it doesn't feel quite as familiar as it always does, and then he's reaching for it with a hand of his own, the tips of two fingers sliding along the smooth metal surface of Tommy's ring.

The smile he shoots up from the general area of Tommy's groin is all puppy-dog grin, and he basks in the soft, warm grin Tommy sends back. Buck tracks the crinkle of Tommy's eyes like a lifeline.

"I'm gonna lord it over everyone's head that we didn't get married because of, during, or after a health scare or a natural disaster."

"You asked me two days after we made up because of a flash flood we both thought we were gonna lose each other to, but okay."

Tommy's smile is soft. The fingers that slide around his scalp to brush reverently over his birthmark are even softer. "That time doesn't count, because we didn't follow through. You thought I was joking."

He had, honestly, at first, because they'd technically still been broken up at the time and the adrenaline and the terror at nearly losing one another had still been close. It'd taken him three days and Tommy angrily re-ringing his house key back onto Buck's keychain to realize Tommy maybe hadn't actually been joking about hopping in the chopper the next time they both had 24 off.

He's glad they'd taken the extra time, though. Glad they'd had time to drive halfway across the state in search of a ring shop they could be sure they wouldn't run into anyone at, glad they'd had the time to get new suits tailored, glad he'd had time to fuss over vows he'd still cried about while he was saying them, glad they'd done it without an Elvis impersonator standing just off to the side.

"You're stuck with me now," Buck tells him, and Buck knows Tommy's delighted bark of laughter will keep him warm for years.

[p0orbaby]

Mud, Sweat and Tears

summary: you like the outdoors, leah doesn’t, what could go wrong ?

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request ! thanks !

word count: 1.5k

-

It’s Saturday morning, early. Unforgivably early. The kind of early where the sun’s still hiding behind the trees, and any reasonable person would be asleep. But you’re not reasonable, and you’re not asleep. You’re packing the car with fishing rods, a tent, and Leah Williamson, who’s standing in the driveway, half-awake, holding a thermos of coffee like it’s the only thing tethering her to this planet.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Leah asks, squinting up at the sky like she’s expecting it to open up and swallow her whole.

“Yes,” you say, a little too cheerily for this hour. You’re from a camping family—one that considers sleeping bags and bug spray essential items. For you, weekends are made for hiking trails and catching fish with nothing but a stick and a string. Leah, on the other hand, is the type of person who thinks “roughing it” means staying in a hotel without room service.

Leah sighs, long and dramatic, and you can tell this is going to be a weekend of constant commentary. You love her, but she’s never been one to suffer in silence.

You get in the car and drive. Leah stares out the window, probably counting the number of coffee shops you pass that she’s being cruelly denied. You try to distract her with stories from your childhood, tales of catching frogs and sitting in a fishing chair eating beans out the tin, but Leah’s only response is, “Couldn’t you just do that in your garden?”

-

When you arrive at the campsite, Leah’s first question is, “Where’s the toilet?” You point to the woods, and she stares at you like you’ve just suggested she eat dirt.

“You’re kidding,” she says, though she knows you’re not.

You grin. “It’s called nature. People have been doing it for thousands of years”

“People also used to die at thirty,” she shoots back.

You set up the tent while Leah hovers nearby, looking like she’s trying to work out how to teleport back to London. She’s mumbling to herself, something about bears and serial killers, and you catch the phrase “the beginning of a horror film” as you hammer in the last tent peg.

“It’s not that bad,” you say, shaking out the sleeping bags. “Look, we’re surrounded by trees, fresh air, the sound of birds—”

“—and the nearest bathroom is in the next county,” she interrupts, arms crossed.

You laugh, but she’s still frowning, looking at the tent as if it’s a creature that might bite her.

“Is it too late to go back?” she asks, and she’s only half-joking.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “You’re going to love it. Just give it a chance”

Leah doesn’t answer, but you can see her mentally reviewing the terms of your relationship, wondering if it’s really worth it.

-

The first hike is a gentle one. You choose a path that’s scenic, with views of the lake, thinking it’ll win Leah over. She starts off strong, even enjoying herself for the first ten minutes. But then she hits a rock with her boot and lets out a string of words that would make a sailor blush.

“I don’t know how you do this,” she mutters, rubbing her toe through her boot. “I’m a footballer, and even I think this is excessive”

You offer her a hand to steady herself over a tricky bit of trail, but she swats it away. “I can do it,” she insists, right before she stumbles and nearly faceplants into a bush.

You help her up, biting back a laugh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbles. “But if I die out here, I’m haunting you”

“Noted,” you say, still smiling.

A little further down the trail, you stop to point out a bird—something you’ve seen a hundred times but you know will be new to her. Leah squints at it, trying to look impressed.

“Wow,” she says, without any real enthusiasm. “A bird”

“You’re not even trying,” you accuse, though you’re still grinning.

“I am,” she argues. “I’m trying to stay alive. This is a survival situation now”

-

Fishing is the next disaster. You’re by the lake, showing Leah how to cast a line, when she gets the hook tangled in a tree branch on her first try. She’s staring at it, hanging like a Christmas ornament, and you can see the moment she decides fishing is the worst thing ever invented.

“This is stupid,” she declares, as you untangle the line.

“No, it’s relaxing,” you correct. “It’s about patience”

“I have patience,” she retorts. “I put up with you”

You laugh, but Leah’s dead serious, looking at the water like it owes her something.

You manage to catch a fish—small, but it’s something. Leah just watches as you handle it with ease, her expression a mix of admiration and abject horror.

“Now what?” she asks, eyeing the fish like it might jump up and slap her.

“Now we let it go,” you say, holding it gently before releasing it back into the lake. “Catch and release”

“So we’re torturing fish for fun,” she sums up, crossing her arms.

You roll your eyes. “That’s not the point. It’s about being in nature, enjoying the peace and quiet”

She looks around, like she’s searching for this peace and quiet you’re talking about. “If by ‘peace and quiet’ you mean insects and dirt,’ then sure”

“Come on,” you say, leading her back to the shore. “You’re doing great”

She grumbles something about Stockholm Syndrome, but she follows you, brushing a mosquito off her arm with a look of pure betrayal.

-

The first night is the real test. You’re lying in the tent, cozy in your sleeping bag, while Leah fidgets next to you. You can hear her shifting around, trying to get comfortable, letting out exaggerated sighs every thirty seconds.

“I can hear you,” you finally say, eyes still closed.

“This ground is trying to kill me,” she replies, her voice muffled by her sleeping bag. “How is this comfortable?”

“It’s not supposed to be a hotel bed, Leah,” you say, still amused. “It’s camping”

“Right, camping,” she mutters. “Which is just paying money to pretend you’re homeless”

You laugh out loud at that, and Leah finally cracks a smile, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

After a few more minutes of restless shifting, she huffs again. “I need to piss”

You point towards the trees, again. “Nature’s calling”

She doesn’t move. “You’re really not joking, are you”

“Nope”

Leah stares at you like you’ve just suggested she drink the lake water. “I’m not going out there alone. What if something eats me?”

“Like what?”

She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Bears. Wolves. A very aggressive squirrel”

You sit up, knowing you’re not going to win this one. “Fine, I’ll come with you”

You both get up and trudge out into the dark, Leah clinging to your arm like she’s convinced the woods are full of monsters. After she’s done, you’re walking back to the tent when she suddenly stops.

“What?” you ask, turning to look at her.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers, eyes wide.

“Hear what?”

She doesn’t answer, just pulls you along faster, practically dragging you into the tent. You both dive in and zip it up like you’re sealing yourselves in a bunker.

Leah’s heart is racing as she gets back into her sleeping bag, and you can’t help but smile at how seriously she’s taking this.

“Nothing’s out there,” you say, trying to reassure her.

“I’m not taking any chances,” she mutters, pulling the sleeping bag over her head like it’ll protect her from the unknown terrors of the forest.

You lie back down, still smiling to yourself. “Goodnight, Leah��

“Goodnight,” she mumbles, and you can tell she’s already planning how to survive the night.

-

By the end of the weekend, Leah’s still grumbling, still complaining, but there’s a softness to it now. You catch her smiling when she thinks you’re not looking, like maybe—just maybe—she’s starting to see why you love this so much.

You’re packing up the car, and Leah’s pretending to help, mostly by standing around and giving unhelpful advice.

“You know,” she says, as you load the last of the gear, “this wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be.”

“High praise,” you say, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“I mean, I’m never doing it again,” she clarifies, “but it wasn’t awful”

You grin, knowing that’s as close to a victory as you’re going to get. “I’ll take it”

Leah gives you a look, one that says, despite all the complaining, she had a good time in her own way. “You’re lucky I love you,” she says, and it’s the first time all weekend she’s said something without a hint of sarcasm.

“I am,” you agree, leaning in to kiss her.

And as you drive away from the campsite, back towards civilisation, Leah finally falls asleep in the passenger seat, the weekend’s adventures catching up to her. You glance over at her and smile, thinking maybe you’ll get her to go camping again one day. But for now, you’ll let her sleep, knowing you’ve survived the wilderness together.

Even if she still thinks it’s trying to kill her.

[shilohgreen]

to kill the dead again was nothing to him. mankind simply isn't the top of the food chain anymore, and collectively, they'd suffered the wrath of their species being taken down a peg. this is survival, and not so unlike what other species endured before the outbreak. those who struggled to grasp this reality were firstly, proving where they belong in the chain with no will to adapt, and secondly, demonstrating the wool that had rested so comfortably across humanity's eyes for centuries.

still, killing people sat wrong in his stomach. he's done it before, he did it today, and he'll do it again, but looking at himself afterward is difficult. he's grateful for daryl springing into action and, silently, he follows his lead. he holds the bodies still while he slides the knife in and confirms that what is dead STAYS dead. by the time daryl is breaching the silence again, will is walking towards the last of their victims to finish their ritual.

he doesn't spare the energy to roll his eyes at daryl, though he thinks it would've been well deserved. "don't do that." his voice is stern, but not unkind. "we each made our choices." and they made them for valid reasons, all rational people doing their best with the circumstances handed to them. will wouldn't be finding any survivor's guilt tonight.

"for all we know, i would also be dead by now otherwise..."

for a moment, he stares at daryl, wondering if he would enjoy the comfort of eye contact and finds himself compelled to offer it. or maybe he's replaying in his mind the visual of flesh between daryl's teeth, trying to parse through both its significance and his feelings on the matter. regardless, his deadpan stare is tinted with the warmth of reassurance for a man motivated to find it.

"we'll need to move soon. i, uh... didn't hear them mention anyone else, but i'm not personally interested in finding out if they had friends."

he notices that daryl's avoiding the body and sighs pensively, thinking of the wife that waits with bated breath at the prison. may as well give her something to hold while she cries, if nothing else. "let's get him down." and he places himself equally between the rope and the body, waiting to see which half of this job daryl would volunteer for.

Daryl offers an ever unhelpful non-answer: "Doesn't matter."

Because he is hurt-- a bullet grazed his arm, there were punches and kicks to his back and torso, and there's going to be a glorious black eye later-- but not in any way that counts. The ache in his body is familiar almost to the point of childhood comfort; Daryl allows Will to confirm he is, in fact, in one piece, and then nods once before walking away from him.

"We gotta get these fucks in the head 'fore they turn."

Blood shouldn't be so comfortable a second skin. But when Daryl had ripped flesh from a man's jaw with his teeth, when he'd sliced his knife through a woman's throat and had red spray all over him, all he'd really been thinking was that they'd die if he didn't. The whole thing had been unbalanced to begin with-- he and Will were only two men, and a group of six had an obvious advantage-- but at least only one of the morons they were facing had a gun.

Knife in hand, Daryl pierces the skull of one of the fallen. Then another. He's pointedly avoiding the person they'd come to rescue in the first place: the man strung upside down on the branch of a tree, throat slit to bleed him dry. He was dead before they got here, but Daryl tells himself at least we'll be able to take him back to the prison to bury.

"I'm sorry," he says, once his blade is driven through the eye of a third corpse. "I should've sent you back to the prison.

"Didn't have to come with me."