#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.

[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)

[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

[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]

[dark-dawn]

₊˚ ⊹｡ BIRDS OF A FEATHER ｡ ⊹ kageyama tobio

✭ summary: perhaps even in the vast, chaotic expanse of all the planets and stars and galaxies, you would always find each other. in every world, every universe, again and again. or, your photo shoot is interrupted by your ex-boyfriend.

✭ pairing: kageyama tobio x model!reader

✭ contains: exes still in love, mutual pining, slight angst, post-timeskip, alcohol + smoking, everyone is very touch-starved and can't keep their hands to themselves, longing and devotion!!, happy ending <3

✭ word count: 3.6k ✭ a/n: i recently watched the movie, and now i can't stop thinking about kageyama. so here we are :)

you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio.

back then, the world seemed to constrict around you – streets narrowing, air thinning – as if the universe itself conspired to magnify the ache in your lungs. it was as though every passing moment folded in on itself, squeezing tighter with each breath, until you felt suffocated by the weight of your own existence.

but maybe you were just nineteen, and everything felt worse then.

you find comfort in the idea that among the countless universes unfurling across the cosmos, there exists one where you and him are together, where the threads of fate intertwine just right. perhaps you first meet in a quaint coffee shop on a rainy afternoon, where you’ve forgotten your umbrella, and he offers to share his own. or maybe it’s a bustling bookstore, where your hands reach for the same novel, and your eyes meet with a spark of recognition, as if your souls can recognise each other through touch alone.

and maybe there is a universe where he doesn’t become a professional athlete. he’s just tobio, a boy with kind eyes and dreams that don’t pull him miles away from you. there, perhaps, saturday mornings are spent in bed, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries lingering in the air. golden morning light would filter through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over your bodies, and your joy would radiate so intensely that your vision is filled only with each other. you’d fight over silly things, like whose turn it is to do the dishes or whether the couch should be moved two inches to the left. but even in those moments, there’s a comfort, a certainty that at the end of the day you’d still find yourselves curled up together, sharing the warmth of the same bed.

in another universe, maybe it’s not so perfect. there are arguments that sting, silence that stretches too long. and yet despite the cracks and the flaws, you choose each other, again and again.

but here, in this reality, you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio. you cried until there were no tears left, until the numbness set in and the world seemed dull and grey.

and then you learned to navigate life without him, because the world wouldn’t end because you broke up with your boyfriend. 

three years later, tobio is... well, he’s still a professional athlete, at the peak of his career now. sometimes, his name pops up on your social media feed, accompanied by images of him on the court, sweat glistening, determination etched into every muscle, into every pore. it still feels strange, seeing him there, and not by your side.

there’s an undeniable magnetism to him, a gravitational pull that draws your gaze despite your best efforts to look away. he’s a force of nature, like a raging wildfire or relentless flood; more natural disaster than a man of flesh and bone. you can’t help but feel a pang of something – nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe a twinge of envy. you always liked to watch him play, but now you’re really on the sidelines. 

seeing him on your phone is always a reminder of just how far apart your worlds have drifted, how different your paths have become. he’s soared to unimaginable heights, and you can’t reach him anymore.

you miss him. it’s an ache you can’t seem to shake.

but you’re not doing bad per se. you’re a model now, signed to an agency, and getting semi-regular jobs, too. it’s a far cry from your nineteen-year-old self who was too insecure to ever apply. you remember how daunting it was at first, the fear of rejection teetering on your shoulder blades. it lingers still, in the long hours and perfectionism, but you’re proud of yourself.

you just miss him.

---

you’re at a club when you find out you landed the most significant booking of your career.

you’re not exactly thrilled to be there – a promoter had convinced you to come, and, well, you needed the money.

the bass thumps through the floor, reverberating up your legs as you stand near the bar, nursing a drink. neon lights dance across the crowd, illuminating the faces of strangers lost in a haze of alcohol. you take a sip, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat, momentarily distracting you from the mess around you.

you pull out your phone, the screen casting a faint glow against the darkness of the club. your fingers fumble for a moment before you manage to unlock it, the pulsing music and jostling bodies making it hard to focus. a notification from your agent pops up, and you squint at the words, trying to make sense of them in the dim light. you blink, then read it again, just to be sure.

you got the job.

it’s for an athletic brand. not exactly the glamour you’ve dreamt of, but the pay... the pay is good. and working for them means exposure, means more opportunities down the line. sure, it’s not the pinnacle of your aspirations, but it’s a step – a big one – in the right direction. and right now, that’s all that matters.

you’ll celebrate later, you decide, once you’re somewhere quieter, somewhere you can properly let it sink in. maybe with friends and family, but definitely not with a text to your ex, telling him how well you’re doing, how he would be proud of you.

you wonder if there will be a day when you don’t think about him.

---

kageyama did not cry when you broke up with him. he had wanted to, he thinks, but at the time he just felt numb – like a cold emptiness had settled deep within his chest, drowning any semblance of feeling.

in the days that followed, he replayed the conversation in his mind, searching for some hidden meaning, some clue as to why it had all fallen apart. but the truth eluded him, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. he only remembers the disbelief, as if the ground had suddenly dropped out from beneath him.

but tears? they didn’t come. just a hollow ache, a void where your presence used to be.

and so, he buried himself in his work, throwing himself into training like usual. volleyball has always been his world – not just a game, but a language he speaks fluently. from the moment he first picked up a ball, he knew he had found his calling, his purpose in life. it was the very essence of who he was and is.

he still remembers a conversation you had with him – about how rare it was to know what you were destined for, to have a passion that consumed you so completely. he sometimes wonders if that’s why you had drifted apart. but he couldn’t blame the sport, not really.

sometimes, in the quiet moments between matches, he allows himself to wonder what could have been if things had ended differently between you. he envisions alternate paths, where your story together didn’t reach its abrupt conclusion – where you shared an apartment in tokyo and spent sunday mornings tangled in sheets. where every glance, every touch, was infused with a sense of belonging, of being exactly where you were meant to be.

but as quickly as these visions materialise, they dissipate into mist, swept away by the roar of the crowd. he makes a conscious effort to redirect his focus, reminding himself that the only path worth pursuing is the one ahead – toward the next serve, the next point, the next victory.

because the world didn’t end when you broke up with him. and kageyama, ever the competitor, refused to let it break him.

three years later, it had honed him to a razor’s edge, forged him into one of japan’s best players.

his pride in his career runs deep – every milestone, every hard-fought victory, every bruise and callus on his hands stands as a testament to his dedication and skill. he finds solace in the rhythm of the game, the familiar feel of the ball in his hands. it’s a dance he knows well, a symphony he conducts with ease. and in those moments, when he’s completely immersed in volleyball, the ache fades to the background, and he feels whole again.

and yet, he still misses you – still loves you. he doesn’t think he will ever stop. you were more than just a memory, you were a part of him, too. a missing piece that no amount of success or recognition could replace.

in the end, he accepts it. the longing, the ache – they’re part of the same drive that makes him excel on the court. he channels that energy, that unresolved emotion, into every match, every practice session, pushing himself to be better, to achieve more.

he finds himself tangled, however, in a web of obligations he never quite anticipated. adverts, interviews, appearances – the demands weigh heavy on his shoulders. it’s not what he signed up for, but he grits his teeth through the endless photo shoots, smiles plastered on his face for the cameras. he knows it’s all part of the game.

he can almost picture your reaction, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you watch him stumble through the world of fame and publicity. he was never one for the spotlight – comfortable only around a select few, always at ease with you.

as he scrolls through his emails, a notification from his manager catches his eye. his next commitment is for an athletic brand – a familiar name that he’s collaborated with in the past. he quickly scans the details, noting the time and location of the shoot. it’s familiar territory, a well-worn path he’s treaded many times before. at least with this one, he’s just advertising sportswear – something he practically lives in already.

he just didn’t expect to do be doing the campaign with you.

---

your agent had given you the heads up beforehand. “it’s the usual routine,” she assured you, though her tone betrayed a hint of urgency. “but there’s a chance a well-known athlete might join for some test shots. don’t worry about it, just be professional.” it was patronising, but you appreciated the warning nonetheless. dropping that you’d be working with a celebrity isn’t out of character for her; she has a talent for delivering bombshells with the same nonchalance she’d use to tell you it might rain.

like when she casually mentioned that your recent shoot would be featured in a major magazine, just as you were about to walk out the door. or the time she informed you, in between sips of her almond-milk latte, that a renowned director would be on set to “observe”. these little surprises were her specialty, and you had come to expect them, even if they never failed to set your nerves on edge.

arriving at the studio, you’re greeted by the usual hustle and bustle. anxious, over-worked assistants scurry around, trying to ensure everything is in place. the aroma of coffee brewing in the corner wafts through the air, mixing with the faint scent of hairspray. you take a breath, letting the atmosphere ground you. celebrity or not, you know what you’re doing.

like usual, you’re ushered into the wardrobe area, shedding your street clothes for a sports bra and leggings. the stylists swarm around you like bees, their skilled hands darting in a flurry of motion. they adjust, pin, and tweak, ensuring every seam and fold falls perfectly into place. it is a carefully curated illusion designed to sell as much merchandise as possible, and you are just another product on display.

the crew members move with practiced efficiency, adjusting lights and tweaking camera angles until everything is just right. the photographer, a tall man with an air of calm authority, greets you with a small smile. “let’s start with some warm-up shots,” he suggests, positioning you in front of the camera.

you begin with basic poses, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, finding your balance. the photographer’s assistant calls out directions, “chin up a bit, shoulders back, hold that!” the camera clicks incessantly, capturing every subtle movement.

and then, just as you’re settling into it, you hear a voice to the side of you – familiar, unmistakable. turning around, you find yourself face to face with a figure from a chapter you believed firmly closed: your ex, the famous athlete you’re supposed to be working with.

the boy you broke up with when you were nineteen.

the shoot halts momentarily as the director moves to make introductions, but –

“we already know each other.”

he’s just as handsome as you remember, maybe even more so. time has been kind to him, sculpting lean muscle and a confidence that wasn’t there when you were younger.

he’s standing there, just mere feet away, and every detail of his face is still seared into your mind – the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the furrow of his brow. you know him well, even now. every hidden scar, every freckle. you would know him blind.

he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

perhaps he intends to keep things strictly formal, a prospect that suits you just fine. it would be easier, you think, to feign ignorance, to spare both of you the discomfort of awkward interactions when you had once loved each other so fiercely.

it’s strange to be so close to him and not be able to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips.

you realise with sudden clarity that you still want to touch him.

but you can’t think like that. not right now. you have a job to do.

“we’ll get a couple of shots of you together and then you’ll be done for the day!”

---

you thought he wouldn’t be good at modelling, too stiff, perhaps, but your bodies still recognise each other, still remember how to fit together side by side.

it’s almost unfair how effortlessly pretty he is.

you’ve always felt like you had to work twice as hard just to feel remotely confident in your own skin. your beauty doesn’t come naturally, and you suppose the modelling industry thrives on that. on contorting and sculpting a new image, a new person, with every photo.

you wonder if he feels similarly, in interviews and adverts and under the scrutiny of the public eye. it must weigh heavy on him too, you think.

you hope he’s okay, and you realise you could ask him, maybe, if that’s still okay?

as the photoshoot gradually draws to a close, you find yourself hesitating, unsure whether to linger or to swiftly retreat. part of you wants more time, to look at him for a little longer, to be by his side once more. but another part of you, perhaps the more cautious side, warns against overstaying your welcome, against stirring up old emotions that may be better left untouched. you glance at him, catching his eye for a brief moment, before turning away.

you quietly pack your bag and step outside for a smoke, seeking comfort in the familiar ritual. it was a bad habit – one you had picked up about a year ago from a girl you did a casting with. the cool air offers a brief respite from the swirling thoughts in your mind, but as you exhale a plume of smoke, you can’t shake the uncertainty gnawing at your insides. you’re so unsure of yourself – you hadn’t felt this way since you were sixteen, nervous about your first date with the boy on your school’s volleyball team. do you want to say hi? do you want scream at him? both? neither?

he makes the decision for you. he always was so decisive.

“this wasn’t where i’d expected to find you.”

“no?” you’re not sure if you should be offended or not. does he mean modelling?

“what’s that supposed to mean, kageyama?” the words come out blunter than you intended – they’re not the words you had planned late at night, missing his body next to yours.

but it’s been years since you’ve spoken to him.

“tobio.” he smiles reflexively – your voice always had that effect on him. 

“what?”

“you never called me kageyama.”

“tobio.” his name still reminds you of home, but it clings to your tongue like honey, sweet and heavy, coating every word.

“what do you mean?” self-doubt trickles down your throat. you wonder if you will ever stop caring what he thinks of you.

“i suppose i just pictured you somewhere far away from this world,” he pauses. “stupid, really. you’ve always been so pretty.”

you’re not sure how to respond to that, either.

“listen, i..." he begins again, then hesitates, as if grappling with his own thoughts. “i just meant to say i hope you’re doing well. that you’re happy.”

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “you know, before we left school, i gave it – what – two years before you were on japan’s team. you always were an overachiever.”

“i had good motivation, wanted to make you proud.”

the wind shifts, blowing his hair across his face. you extend your hand, fingers instinctively brushing away the strands. he stares at you, unflinching, as if the world outside you and him no longer exists. like he never wants to look away.

“you have always made me proud,” you confess.

a moment of silence, then, “i miss you.” he says it like a prayer, faithful and devoted. still, after all this time.

“don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“if today didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have seen me again.”

“i would’ve found you.”

“and how could you be so sure?”

“because some things are inevitable. fate, i suppose.”

“you can’t just say things like that, tobio,”

“i’m not saying it lightly. i mean it.”

“i know, but it’s been years. people change.”

“maybe,” he concedes, taking a step closer. “but some things don’t.”

you were already aware of his fixations long before your paths crossed – achieving what he has demands an undercurrent of obsession to temper the blaze of brilliance. you did not predict how that obsession might manifest when directed towards a person. how it might feel.

you’ve never been kind enough to refrain from taking everything he lets you, never had the sense to check the depth of a river before wading in. perhaps you will always stumble blindly into the waters, ignorant of the depths that may swallow you whole, heedless of the currents that may drag you under.

and so you kiss him.

a little noise of surprise leaves his lips, but he quickly recovers, as if he had anticipated this turn in the conversation. like it was inevitable, instinctual.

you can feel the contours of muscle through his shirt, his uneven breaths, the overwhelming intensity of his lips against yours. there’s a hint of indecision in his touch, wavering between tenderness and urgency. soft, gentle kisses intermingled with fervent, desperate ones, like he can’t decide between cherishing and consuming.

he leaves you breathless and desperately needing more as his lips trail along your jawline. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if afraid to let go, as if this moment might slip away like a dream.

you wanted this. wanted him. you don’t think you ever stopped.

“you drive me mad,” he breathes. “always, always on my mind.”

but you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio, and now three years have slipped by.

(and you’re outside a photo studio, thankfully deserted, but that’s beside the point.)

so you draw back slightly, breaking the intensity of the moment but still close enough to feel his warmth. his touch lingers, torn between holding on and letting go.

you had been in his presence for just a few hours and you felt raw, like skin scraped against pavement after a fall, exposed and stinging with every touch.  

“this is a terrible idea,” you whisper, the words heavy.

“i don’t care. i’ll follow you wherever you go.” he has always been one to worship, always the type to pour the entirety of his being into his devotions.

and who were you to argue with him – to oppose such faith?

---

the photos of you and him go viral. oddly enough, you’re not surprised – there’s something about the way you fit together, the connection evident in every frame. people comment on how familiar the two of you look, how effortlessly intimate.

then, one of tobio’s fans unearths old pictures of you and him together, tucked away in the depths of his twitter account. you both look so young, almost unrecognisable compared to the refined public images you now project. there’s a rawness to the photographs, a sense of innocence preserved in pixels. you stand shoulder to shoulder, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, and you both radiate such genuine happiness.

his previous tweets were a monotonous stream of game highlights and obligatory promotions, and it’s clear he rarely uses his account for personal matters. yet, among the myriad of mundane updates, there is a tweet asking him if the two of you are back together.

and then, in a move that could only be described as infuriatingly nonchalant, he responds with a single word.

“yes.”

[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.

[lieslab]

To be alone with you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: After your boyfriend makes a bet with his band members, the two of you go on a camping trip that ends in a disaster.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3K

_ _ _

Ever since you were younger, you weren’t an outdoorsy person. You hated the warmth of the sun in the summer. The bugs were too much of a risk. The last thing you wanted to do was go outside, let alone multiple days for a camping trip. 

It was your boyfriend’s suggestion. He promised you that it’d be fun and you’d both have a great time. A great time, your ass. You assumed that you’d be at a campsite with premade tents. The kind that were already set-up and you could rent them out. 

You had no idea what kind of trip you were in for until Minho parked the car. You grabbed your backpack and got out. He popped open the trunk and dropped out a tent. An actual tent wrapped securely in a traveling bag. 

“You cannot be serious,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

All you got in response was a cheesy grin and Minho chucked your sleeping bag at you. The weight of it caught you off guard. You stumbled back, nearly hitting the ground in the process, which caused him to laugh. That was just the start of this endless nightmare. 

Tucked in a pair of leather hiking boots, you made the correct choice. The walk to the actual campsite was almost a mile. The whole time you grumble in disapproval while Minho mocked you. 

“You do realize that thousands of years ago, this was how it was, right? No internet, no toilets, no air conditioning, nothing. Just people and the endless outdoors.” 

“That’s why they were constantly dying.” 

“Are you going to complain this whole trip?” 

“Can you blame me? I’m soaked in sweat, the mosquitoes keep biting me, and I’m practically going to die from dehydration.” 

“We’ve only been walking for five minutes!” 

“Five minutes?” Your eyes widened in shock. “It feels like we’ve been walking for five hours!” 

He rolled his eyes and continued trudging along the dirt path. In the forest, you were surrounded by trees and the chirps and warbling of nature. Birds were chattering mid-day and the rest of the animals were scattered out and about. 

Minho dug out a flask of water and pushed it towards you. You took it with a sigh, unscrewed it, and began to slowly sip. You really hadn’t prepared enough for this trip. When it was first brought up, you refused. You refused until the rest of his band members made a bet. 

They bet Minho a hundred bucks that you wouldn’t last three days in the wilderness. He bet against them and you weren’t one to let your boyfriend down. You were determined to prove them wrong. 

After walking for nearly a half hour, you mumbled that your legs hurt. Minho dropped the tent onto the ground and jerked off his backpack too. You had no idea what he had packed. The entire thing was bulging and was on the verge of busting. Earlier, he barely got it to zip. 

He was in a pair of cargo jeans and a t-shirt. It was warm enough outside that the two of you didn’t need jackets. On the other hand, you were regretting the denim overalls. It seemed like a good idea, but they were itchy and too hot. You should have gone with Minho’s suggestion earlier and worn a pair of denim shorts and long socks. 

“How much farther?” 

“Another half a mile, maybe.” 

You tipped your head back and groaned. 

“You could have stayed home.” 

“And let your friends win their stupid little bet? Fuck that! Let’s go.” You jerked your bag back on your back and began heading up the path. Minho chuckled, grabbed his stuff, and began to follow you. 

With your head down, you began to trudge on. You were struggling, but your determination was fierce. You were going to prove your worth if it was the last thing you did. On and on the two of you went. 

“We have another five minutes, I think,” Minho announced. 

You let out a soft sigh of relief and slowed your brisk pace. The two of you had been trudging along in silence for a while. You couldn’t believe you were actually starting to enjoy it, but only a little. 

The crunching of the twigs beneath your feet. The soft smell of pine lingered in the air. Pine cones scattered around the area near your feet, along with pine needles. Occasionally, you’d kick one or two of the pine cones from your way. 

You reached up with the back of your arm and rubbed off sweat from your forehead. Exhaustion was an understatement for you. You hadn’t done much and yet you were exhausted. 

The sudden brown flash of fur darting across the path in front of you caused you to scream. You jerked backwards and slammed into Minho’s chest. He reached out and steadied you via the handle on your backpack. 

Your heart was thudding in your chest as you glanced over between the trees that the thing disappeared between. “What the fuck was that?” 

“All that over a small harmless chipmunk?” 

“Oh my god!” Your hand slammed into your chest and clutched your heart. “I nearly had a fucking heart attack, holy shit.” 

He laughed and jerked an arm over your shoulders. “Come on, we finally made it. You can go be miserable in the middle of this empty space.” 

He led you towards a large spot in the forest. The mossy area was shaded beneath towering trees. You glanced around to survey the area and let out a soft sigh. You slung off the backpack and let it drop to the ground. 

“So this is our home for the next three days?” 

“Yep. Better get used to it.” 

“And what am I supposed to do?” 

He gestured to the tree behind you. “Entertain yourself. Go ahead and climb a tree, unless you think you can grasp some patience and help me put up the tent.” 

“Put up the tent?” You echoed with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Did I stutter? Did you think that we were just going to sleep beneath the stars? With the wild animals?” He scoffed and shook his head. “The tent has to be pitched.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t buy one of those pop-up tents.” 

“And I can’t believe you haven’t stopped complaining since we got here.” 

You huffed, spun around, and headed towards a tree. Minho watched you with eyes full of amusement. He couldn’t help it, this pouting bratty thing you had going on, it was wildly entertaining for him. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To climb a tree, so I can watch you put up the stupid tent!” You shot back. 

You huffed and began to climb the first tree you saw. Branches curled out in multiple different directions. You placed your foot on an opening, used your arms, and jerked yourself up with a huff. 

You placed one foot up, grabbed a branch, and climbed higher. Higher and higher you went until you found a nice spot. You were about ten feet off the ground and Minho rolled his eyes. 

He spun around, grabbed the tent bag, jerked it open, and dumped out the contents. You watched in silence as he began to grab the fabric and lace the bendable poles through them. Your head found the sturdy side of the tree trunk. 

You let your body rest against it and shut your eyes. You didn’t get too much sleep last night, since you were up most of the night wondering how today would go. Honestly, you had been dreading it since you agreed. However, a bet's a bet and you didn’t want to let Minho down. 

Unfortunately for you, with his back turned, Minho was focused on perfecting the tent. The sound of the birds was pleasing to his ears. When he noticed a squirrel peeking down at him from a tree, he smiled. 

The needled and moss ground beneath his feet felt nice. It was nice to be out of the studio and the dorm. He sucked in a deep breath and relaxed. For the next three days, the weather was supposed to be perfect. Not too hot and not too cold; all sunny without a chance of rain. 

This was a blessing and he was glad to partake in it. Camping wasn’t something that he did often. Despite your annoyance and bickering, he was happy to spend time alone with you. He was sure that you’d get used to it rather quickly. You were good at adapting to whatever situation was thrown your way, even if you complained about it. 

Up on the tree, your body began to relax. The ambiance of the birds was nice. When Minho was done, he planned to take the two of you to a nearby stream to relax. You liked finding different kinds of rocks. He was hoping it was something that you’d enjoy. 

While you were scouring for rocks, he’d be pulling out his fishing pole and attempting to catch dinner. He had packed a few side dishes, but freshly cooked fish was delicious. He even packed some seasonings to spruce it up. 

You were squeamish, so he was on his own for cleaning the fish. If he was lucky, maybe you’d attempt to help him catch one. At least, as long as he put the worm on the hook because you hated anything squirmy.

He began to whistle as the tent started to take shape. After doing this multiple times before, it kind of became a second nature. You still observed from the tree until your eyes slipped shut. The last thing you remembered was the back of Minho’s layered hair and then- 

Thunk! 

He froze with the tent pole still in his hands. His eyes darted around, but nothing was out of place. He jerked his head back towards you and that’s when he spotted the empty tree joint that you had been perched on. 

On the ground, you groaned as pain blinded you. Your head felt fuzzy and the air had been knocked from your lungs. It took you a moment before you could breathe in air again. 

“Babe?” Minho called. He began to rush towards you. 

You were on your back with your head up against an overgrown tree root. His voice sounded faint and your eyes drooped. He dropped to his knees beside you and gently cupped his face. 

When you glanced up, he looked down at you with eyes full of concern. “Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Did you fall?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Can you speak?” 

“Everything hurts.” 

“Well that’s what happens when you fall out of a tree. Were you trying to get down? Did you slip?” 

“Fell asleep.” 

He glanced up and his mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes narrowed as he took in your words and shook his head. “That was a dumb idea. Nothing good comes from falling asleep in trees when you’re that high up. Are you injured?” 

“My wrist hurts.” 

“Which one? Did you hit your head? Do you remember falling?” 

“Can you stop pestering me and just let me sleep?” You grumbled and your eyes slipped shut again. 

“No, you don’t. Hey,” He aggressively gently patted your cheeks. “Don’t do that. Stay with me and stay awake. Come on, don’t fall asleep.” 

“But I’m tired.” 

He stood up, bent down, and scooped you up. “If you stay awake, I’ll buy you ice cream.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. Any kind you want. Screw it, we can have ice cream for dinner, but you have to stay awake. If you fall asleep, you’ll lose your chance.” 

You were exhausted, but the offer was too good to resist. Minho was always insistent on healthy and filling meals. He just wanted you to take care of yourself. Ice cream for dinner was an absolute blessing. 

“Can we get the good kind?” 

“What kind?” 

“Can’t remember. Just the good one.” 

He chuckled and began walking back down the trail you both followed to get here. He couldn’t carry you and take the stuff along too. Who knew if you were severely injured. Just by the way you were speaking and your actions, you might have had a concussion. 

“Minho?” 

“Yes?” 

“It’s kinda nice out here.” 

He laughed and continued walking. He kept glancing down to make sure nothing would topple him. He didn’t want to add another injury to your body. 

“I can’t believe you had to fall out of a tree to admit that.” 

“I was gonna admit it.” 

“When?” 

“Eventually.” 

“Yeah, right. How do you feel? Does anything else hurt?” 

“Feels like I fell out of a tree.” 

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Straight to my car and then the emergency room.” 

It took you a few moments to soak in his words. A frown dropped across your face. “What about the bet? What about the guys?” 

“Who said we’re going to lose the bet? We don’t have to tell them what happened. They don’t have to know that we didn’t stay in the wilderness. I’ll take you to a hotel after the hospital. We’ll get you a fancy hotel room. We’ll share a nice king sized bed and I suppose I’ll let you cuddle me. Can’t forget about the ice cream for dinner to go along with that.” 

“Thank you, you’re the best.” 

“Maybe you should fall out of trees more often.” 

“Take me camping again and that can be rearranged.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[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."