#but it's been sitting in my docs for a while

[the-amber-raven]

@icyfox17 you've put this on my dash so many times that I had to write a scene about it 😅😅 This is genuinely just like pure self-indulgent fluff x1000 (You can also consider it my apology for the depressing texting fic)

--

Bobby jumped out as soon as the car slowed to park at the curb, drops of rain hitting his skin like frozen pinpricks and exacerbating the concern he’d been trying to control. 

“Bobby, the umbrella –” Athena called after him, exasperated. “You can’t help if you also get soaked.”

He cursed internally but turned to grab the umbrella. He didn’t care so much about himself, but the quicker that Buck was shielded from the freezing sheet of rain bearing down on them the better. 

Buck had noticed their arrival – that was good, it meant he was reactive and responsive to his surroundings. He pushed himself forward, using his body weight to leverage himself into a standing position, which was less good as it spoke to how exhausted the incredibly fit young man must be. 

Bobby lengthened his stride, opening the umbrella as he walked, and made it to the bench right as Buck got to his feet. 

“I’ve got you, kid.” 

His mind momentarily flashed back to the last time he’d said those exact words – but this was different, Buck’s eyes were open and he was breathing and the arm underneath his hand was moving this time.

He was alive. 

Absolutely sodden, but alive. 

“Th – thanks, Bobby – I’m sorry –”

“Don’t apologise,” Bobby said insistently, gripping Buck’s shoulder to lead him towards the running car. He was glad to see that the kid had at least worn something a little warmer for his run but unfortunately the hoodie was now completely soaked through. 

“C’mon, let’s get you into the car.” 

Buck was a little shaky on his feet, not unlike when he’d first been allowed out of bed, which was fine. 

It was fine. Buck was still recovering, it was all normal and fine. 

So long as he didn’t get set back by some awful cold. 

“Hi – hi, Athena,” Buck said, mustering up a smile for her as he reached to grip the car door that Bobby opened for him. 

“You look like a drowned rat, Buckaroo,” Athena said sympathetically, leaning across to look through the gap between the two front seats so that she could take him in properly. “Probably wasn’t the best night for getting some fresh air…”

“The doc said some daily light cardio would be good for me,” Buck explained, sinking into the backseat gratefully, his face visibly softening when the blast of hot air from the heating reached him. “I’ve done this run for the last couple of days but – I don’t even know, it was like a wave of exhaustion came and and I had to stop and it wouldn’t go away and –” 

“I’m sure that’s probably normal when you’re recovering from such a serious injury,” Athena said, swiftly jumping in to interrupt before he could get lost in the frustration that was clearly building. 

“It’s been two weeks,” Buck muttered petulantly, crossing his arms. Bobby winced at the squelching noise the fabric made.

“Which is not a long time,” Athena pointed out, raising her eyebrow at him meaningfully, making Buck sink down further into the seat with an obvious pout. His hood left a dark mark on the seat behind him. 

“Kid, take that thing off,” Bobby directed, ducking half into the car and wrestling with the umbrella so that it was mostly covering him from the rain while he took his own hoodie off. 

Buck frowned at him, confused. “What – Bobby, no, I’m fine.” 

“You’re going to get yourself sick and then you’ll really feel too exhausted for your cardio and your physio exercises,” Bobby said, his voice muffled. “Take it off; this will warm you up faster.”

“What about you?” Buck protested, still not making a move.

“I’m not wet,” Bobby pointed out. He levelled Buck with a commanding look, silently telling him to get a move on. 

“He can sit in the back with you, I’ve got the heat on the highest setting there for you,” Athena added, sounding amused. 

“Thanks, Athena,” Bobby said, a little sheepish, but of course his amazing wife just gave him a knowing look and told him to get the umbrella inside and close the door. 

Buck, realising that he was outnumbered, finally acquiesced, pulling his soaked hoodie off and trading it for Bobby’s dry one. His skin wasn’t flushed or feverish, easing some of Bobby’s concern, but it was damp and clammy, so getting him warm was definitely still a high priority.

Bobby nudged him to the side so that he could sit down properly and clip his seatbelt on and then immediately leaned forward to adjust the vents to blast their blessed heat towards Buck (he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and had barely been outside for two minutes, he didn’t need it. Rubbing his hands together to get the circulation going in his hands again would suffice). 

When Athena heard the second click from Buck’s seatbelt, she moved away from the curb, performing a U-turn to take them back from where they came from.

“Oh, you can take Elm up ahead,” Buck said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s a shortcut back to my street.”

“Buck, I certainly hope that you don’t actually believe we’re dropping you home and leaving you alone after all of this,” Athena said reprovingly.

“Um –” Buck flicked his gaze over to Bobby. It took him a second to register that the kid was looking at him, because Bobby was already preoccupied with trying to remember whether or not they had all the ingredients for his spicy chicken noodle soup. 

“Of course you’re coming home with us.” Bobby was slightly incredulous that it even had to be said; he’d thought it was so obvious that he hadn’t even bothered to tell Athena to head straight back to theirs. “What, did you think we were going to drop you off so you could shiver in your apartment on your own and end up cold and sick with no one to look out for you?” 

“My apartment has heating,” Buck muttered.

His cheeks were flushed, which was probably because he was a little embarrassed about the fussing. 

But his hands were also still shaking.

“Bobby!” Buck squawked, trying to shift away from the hand that Bobby placed on his forehead. 

Thanks to the seatbelt, he couldn’t move far, so Bobby was easily able to also check his cheeks to confirm that his temperature seemed normal. 

“There was a machine doing your breathing for you two weeks ago, kid, I’d like to make sure you won’t be needing that again anytime soon,” Bobby scolded lightly, dropping his hand back into his lap. 

“It’s just a little rain,” Buck whined, slouching back in the seat with a pout. “I just need to – to warm up and probably get some sleep.” 

“Well, we’ll get you some soup and some dry clothes and then we have a perfectly good bed you can use,” Bobby said matter-of-factly. 

Maybe the kid would sleep a little easier with someone else with him.  

He’d noticed Buck’s difficulty with sleeping over a week ago. The fact that the bags under his eyes only got heavier despite days away from the hospital would have been enough to betray him, but Bobby also had the numerous texts which came through at all hours of the night. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that many of the daytime texts must have come through after Buck attempted to take a nap, either. 

Bobby wasn’t sure if actual company would satiate whatever need Buck had that was dragging him out of sleep and pushing him to text Bobby, but he could hope. 

Hope had already worked once to give him his kid back. Maybe it could work again to put him back together. 

“You guys really don’t need to do that,” Buck said softly. 

Bobby sighed.

It was the same thing he’d said when Bobby had offered to stay at the loft for a few days after Phillip and Margaret Buckley left (he’d been quite proud of himself for refraining from any scathing commentary about how quickly they’d left – at least until Buck had casually mentioned that they’d actually been staying at their hotel even before leaving LA altogether, only dropping in a few times a day, at which point Bobby had unleashed a rant so uncharacteristically vicious that May drove forty-five minutes to buy him the brownies that reminded him of his favourite bakery in St Paul.) 

“Kid, will you stop being so stubborn and just let us look after you.” He threw his arm around Buck’s shoulders to lessen the sting of his light exasperation, leaning his head back to hide his pleased smile when Buck melted into the half hug. “It’s not a bad thing to need help. In fact, when you lo – care for someone, it actually brings peace when you get to provide it.” 

“‘M not stubborn,” Buck said stubbornly. 

Athena snorted. “You’re both too stubborn for your own good. And we both know you aren’t winning with Bobby when he gets like this, Buck, so you might as well stop complaining for all our sakes.” 

Buck nodded, but he wasn’t quite cowed enough to stop defending himself just yet. 

“I did call and ask for you to come,” he reminded them, his hands twisting together between the sleeves of Bobby’s Minnesota Wilds hoodie, “so I’m – I am getting better at the whole asking for help thing.” 

Bobby gave him a subtle squeeze with the arm that was still holding him in a half-hug. 

“That’s true,” he conceded fondly, glancing down at the mop of hair resting on his shoulder that was finally starting to dry into the curls that Buck very rarely allowed the world to see. “Thank you. I’m glad you reached out to me when you were struggling instead of trying to push through it.” 

“Thank you for coming,” Buck said quietly, directing the words to his wringing hands. “I, um – I wasn’t –” he stopped, taking a deep breath and then letting it out with an audible ‘whoosh.’ “Just. Thanks. For answering and – and for coming.” 

“You don’t need to say thank you for that,” Bobby said, matching his quiet tone. 

He shifted his head so that he could look at Buck properly – a thick swell of pride was unfurling in his chest and putting pressure on his throat. 

This kid, who looked older than the hotheaded brat that had waltzed into his firehouse six and a half years ago but somehow also managed to seem younger because he had allowed that hard protective bravado to soften, showing and accepting the vulnerability that lurked within.

The Buck of six years ago never would have asked for help.

The Buck of three years ago would have put up a bigger fuss at accepting anything more than the bare minimum of help, insisting that he could manage it himself. 

But this Buck was finally ready to accept that he had people in his corner who wanted to help. Was able to recognise when asking for help would be better for him, and knew that he had people in his corner who would provide it as soon as he asked for it. 

He understood his worth, and he understood how loved he was. 

Bobby was so, so proud of him. 

It was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing him forever. 

The familiar pain of his deferred grief crashed over him as it hit him once again exactly how close he had come to losing this incredible kid. 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, squeezing Buck to his side again and resting his chin on Buck’s head, using the warmth of Buck’s body to remind himself that Buck was right here, alive and safe and okay. 

Buck was fine. He needed warmth, some soup, some calm and quiet and a bit more time and patience and support to fully recover from his ordeal both physically and mentally but there were all things that Bobby could provide for him. 

Bobby breathed in deeply, the blended scent of rain and Buck’s shampoo filling his nostrils and, driven by some mix of paternal instinct and intense gratitude, he pressed a kiss to Buck’s head.

Buck stiffened beneath his arms, and this time Bobby was sure that it was his cheeks that were flushing – but the awkwardness lasted barely a moment and Buck slumped back into the half-hug, even shifting a little bit so that more of his weight rested on Bobby.

He couldn’t see Buck’s face from this angle, but he was sure that he was probably sporting that tiny pleased smile that Bobby adored seeing on him, the one that told him that the kid was content down to his very bones. 

Going by the fondly knowing look Athena was sending him through the rearview mirror, Bobby knew that he must be radiating the exact same level of contentment. 

riding home in the backseat

[wistericals]

helios

AN: First fanfic on tumblr! This has literally been sitting in my google docs for the past year lmao. It's kinda inspired by Bomi Nkomo De by Kojo Antwi (iykyk). Special thanks to @buckybarnesfic for beta-ing! Divider by @saradika-graphics. Hope you enjoy reading!!

Mornings with Bucky were soft.

Few and far between, punctuated by late nights spent reaching for his warmth, only to be met with cold sheets. It had struck you early on in your love that he would never be entirely yours, not while duty called his name. And part of you loved him all the more for it. The other part craved his presence like a drug.

So yes, mornings with Bucky were soft, spent lazily basking in the light of his sleepy smile while his fingers traced the curves of your body, committing every dip and swell to memory.

You had asked him once, between gentle kisses, if he knew what he did to you, how a simple glance from him could leave you breathless, even after all these years. He chuckled, mumbling against your lips. 

“Now you know how I felt the second I saw you.”

Your connection with Bucky had grown from the moment you had locked eyes, slowly forged in the moments between missions and projects. A smile here, a glance there, all coming down to this; to a sunrise spent with your leg slotted between his and his hand resting gently on your hip, lost in each other’s gaze. 

You smiled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

“Always the charmer, hm?”

You could feel him smile against your skin as he held you closer, his mouth coming down to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Only for you, doll. Only for you.” 

You could have sworn that the sun rose a little higher. 

He shifted, moving so that his body eclipsed yours, the tip of his nose brushing your own. With the light caressing the panes of his face as your hands longed to, you could have sworn he was a dream. He was, in a way. Your dream. It was cheesy and cliché and you wouldn't imagine telling anyone but him, but in this moment, it was the truth, plain and simple.

He hummed, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks. “What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetness?” 

It was him, of course. Nothing but him. How could you think of anything else when he was right there, those eyes of his drawing you into his orbit. You told him so, leaning up to meet his lips with your own. His hand found the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper. A groan left him when you pulled away, your eyes meeting. 

“I love you.” 

You told him so quite often, knowing that some part of him didn't quite believe that such a thing was possible. But it was much more than that. Loving Bucky came like a gale in a heatwave, easy and strong, in a way that stole your breath and soothed your soul. It was a personal mission of yours, to ensure that he always knew that he was cherished, and extremely so. 

His grin turned saccharine when the words left your lips, a soft glow rising to his face. 

“One more?”

As if you wouldn't say it a thousand times over. As many times as he needed you to. 

“I love you, Bucky Barnes” Your eyes met his once again, your own smile growing as you lightly tapped his nose with a finger. Even with your playful spin, the words held a certain gravitas, a weight that held the two of you in the moment.

His gaze softened, the light of the early morning illuminating his features just so, the warmth of him  against you sending something gentle and fuzzy through your veins.

His head met your chest, and the weight of him settled into your bones as your fingers slipped into his hair, nails rubbing lightly against his scalp. He let out a contented sigh, his lips grazing over your sternum.

“I love you, doll. So much.”

You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head in response, breathing him in. There would be another threat, of course. Something that demanded his presence for the greater good. But for now, with the two of you tangled together, all languid movement and soft touches, he was yours. And you were his.

And that is all you could ever ask of him. To keep returning to you, steadfast as the rising of the sun. 

[moonbeam-dragon]

Prinxiety Fluff Drabble

Virgil wasn't huge on touch. He just never enjoyed it. He had gone a long time without any sort of hugging or even brushing someone's hand. It didn't upset him. He liked his space. He liked his privacy. He liked feeling cold and set apart.

He wasn't with Janus and Remus anymore. He wasn't exactly with Roman, Logan, and Patton at the time, either. He didn't have anyone emotionally close to him, so he didn't let anyone physically close to him. He didn't feel a need to touch humans.

That was until he accidentally took Roman's hand. Virgil blamed Patton for the situation that followed. Virgil hadn't minded it. He'd been flustered and irritated. But the touch itself didn't hurt. In fact, it felt great. Roman's hand had been warm and soft, only slightly calloused. He wanted that kind of gentle, calming contact again. But that meant asking for it. That meant having to be close to one of them. So that was a no. He didn't need anymore touch.

+++

Virgil tucked his face into Roman's shoulder, absorbing the prince's warmth.

It had been such a long day of trying to create something. Videos demanded ideas, which triggered stress and anxiety. By the time they'd come up with something good and started on it, Roman and Virgil were exhausted. Virgil was still shaking from the small anxiety attack they'd managed to give Thomas. They never meant to upset him so much. It was part of the process. Granted, that had been happening less and less lately. He supposed that was good.

The stress had thoroughly exhausted both Sides and they'd retreated to their own rooms. Logan and Patton were used to it. They hardly ever ate dinner as a group anymore. They didn't really need to eat anyways. It had just been a nice thing that they could do to be together. Now Virgil only really ate when he stole snacks to eat while watching endless conspiracy videos. They heard Logan and Patton in the kitchen, eating dinner themselves. They didn't care to join. Neither had the energy to have any sort of social interaction. Virgil only gathered the energy to put on his skeleton onesie, go to Roman's room, and collapse next to the prince.

Somehow, Roman had enough strength to move their bodies closer. Virgil didn't object in any way. Roman knew what he was and wasn't comfortable with. Besides, it wasn't often that Virgil was comfortable with being so close. It was a special moment to cherish if the emo let himself be cuddled this way.

So Roman lay there, holding Virgil to his chest, cozy.

[shepscapades]

Finally: The Official DBHC Etho Reference Sheet!

I had to clarify that the “current” look is for Season 9, because I’m not sure how or if he’ll change for s10 yet! The “current” version is essentially his updated “default” look! Thought I might mention also that “Back Around” on the loose timeline lineup at the bottom is a reference to a song on his playlist in which he takes some time away from everyone after re-deviating to re-remember and find himself <3

Side note: Etho wears his mask under his chin mostly just around bdubs, but he starts wearing it down more often around doc, tango, or others who are used to seeing the damage. More than anything else, he’s sure to keep it for protection purposes when he’s outside working, exploring, or anything else that isn’t just hanging and chatting with friends :]

[naptimepng]

moonlight

Pairing: John Price x GN!Reader 

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Tags: nightmares, fluff, pretty wholesome but he is also sad :(

Summary: John has a nightmare, and finds himself at the pier. 

A/N: in my head he has a nice cabin by the sea. i wrote this a WHILE ago and idk if i love it but we move. also i don’t like the ending either but bigger things 😝 my poor little war criminal, i wanna give him a hug & a kiss on the cheek ✋😔 also bee tee dubs reader and price r married

It always starts slow. A gradual surge of half-forgotten, murky faces flooding his head. Memories tinged sepia and faded with time that linger on the edges of his mind - hazy and fleeting - tugging at something that has long-since been buried beneath layers of rubble and trauma. 

He grunts - brow creasing - his features pinching as the faces slip through his fingers like sand. 

His hand tightens around your hip - blunt, bitten fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your thigh. His heartbeat like rapid gunfire against your cheek. The words catch in his throat when he grunts softly - a warning that fell on deaf ears. He can taste smoke, feel it clogging up his throat - stinging his eyes. Sand scraping against bloody knuckles. Rope tight around his neck - pulling - pulling - panic burning hot in his chest - blinking in the dark - hot cigarettes pressed into his bare skin, blood dripping down his throat, in his eyes— 

It begins to rouse you. The jerking shivers that take hold of him, the muttered warnings - shadows of barked orders spoken into your shoulder. Pulls you - unwilling and slowly - from the warm embrace of sleep enough to notice the pain that bursts behind your eyes as the bridge of your nose knocks into his jaw when he jerks in your arms.

Your mouth opens on a muffled grunt of discomfort and worry as the sleep fogging your head clears, and then his name - john? 

It’s immediate - the effect your voice has on him. A shot in the dark, and he goes still, curled in on himself and shivering. 

His eyelids are heavy and slow to open as he blinks up at you - pupils blown wide and his chest heaving. 

The panic and anguish smothered as easily as a cigarette under his boot and his eyes glint black in the dark. Completely blank and wondering what to tell you because it’s glaringly obvious what has happened, and he doesn’t want you to worry about it again in the morning. 

But your eyes are still dazed and soft with the dregs of slumber, and as you peer sleepily up at him, he realises you won’t remember any of this in the morning. So, he touches his thumb to your cheek and his mouth to your forehead and says, “‘S alright, m’love. ‘M a’right. Only a bad dream.” 

(Because a bad dream is so much easier to say than post-traumatic stress disorder.) 

Slow and still warm with sleep, you murmur a soft assent into the crook of your arm and burrow further into the sheets. He turns away from you and tries to suppress the shiver that rolls down his spine when the window - cracked open an inch - lets in a breath of cold air that catches on the sweat clinging to his bare chest. 

He stays like that for a long time. 

Muscles locked rigid to suppress the tremors shuddering through his bones. Dark brow furrowed so deep it is as if the frown has been carved onto his face. His lips pressed into a hard, unwavering line that twists into a grimace when a cramp twists painfully in the muscles of his neck. 

He looks out the window and waits for your breath to go slow and steady before he shuffles out of bed and pulls on a pair of socks. Then grabs the thin sleep shirt lying at the foot of the bed to tug over his head and plods to the kitchen - rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes with his knuckles as he goes. 

***

The night air is blessedly cold as it nips at the bare skin of his legs. It’s crisp and cool and tastes like ice. Has goosebumps raising along his arms. 

He pointedly ignores the barely perceptible tremble in his trigger finger as he lights his cigarette and watches as the flame bursts red and orange in the dark and brings it to his mouth. 

Savouring the taste of it melting into his tongue and settling warm and thick at the back of his throat. 

He stands there for a long time. Watching the sea as it laps gently at the rocks - the slow push pull of the tide. Listening to bird cries carried on the wind and watching boats and buoys on the fringes of the horizon - vague, murky things that bob gently up and down with the sway of the water. 

It’s only when the sun begins to yawn and stretch over the water and the bird cries begin to echo shrilly in the clouds that he hears the soft patter of bare feet behind him and feels a hand wrapping around his - fingers flexing against his palm as you curl them against the dry heat of his skin. Seeking warmth in his nakedness and touching your lips gently and wordlessly to the jagged scar that cuts through the soft, freckled skin of his shoulder - a reminder of the stray shard of shrapnel that had stubbornly lodged itself in the muscle a year ago. 

Russia. Wet snow and the beginnings of frostbite tingling in his fingertips. Ice clinging to his beard and on his lashes, his face numb with the cold. Unbidden, the taste of it flashes through his head and he’s sodden with melting snow - gunpowder on his tongue - cheeks stinging and muscles shaking with shivers.

Then your cold nose presses into his shoulder and he’s jerked back to now. Your hand curled around the thick of his wrist, your ring sliding smooth against his knuckles as you rub your thumb over the blunt edges of his nails before you stroke the lines of his palm with your fingertips - feel gently across his knuckles - a soft pulse of your hand around his wrist. 

You don’t say anything, and he appreciates it. Your ability to simply be with someone without the need to clog the air with words. 

It’s only when his cigarette has dwindled down to a pile of ashes and dregs of smoke that he feels the tension wound taut at the base of his neck and shoulders begin to loosen and dissipate. The taste of it is still bitter on his tongue and it makes him think of when he was younger and used to smoke a pack a day, deliberately and helplessly - just to feel it clogging up his throat and sticking to his lungs and it has a swell of soft, strange, bittersweet emotion rising again in his throat that he swallows down and tries not to think about. 

He flicks the charred remainder of his cigarette off the pier and watches it float and sink before you’re murmuring into his neck - come sleep john. 

And you look at him - your cheek pressed into his shoulder, eyes heartbreakingly sleepy and soft with it - bare with a kind of innocence that wedges the lump of guilt further down his throat. He mumbles a low apology into the soft, heated skin at your temple, and hushes the soft murmur of protest with a muffled grunt of something that sounds like your name and a quiet hush now. 

***

He’s going through the motions of slowly tugging his socks and sleep shirt off as you’re moving quietly about the room. Tipping onto your toes to tug the blinds closed and there’s an audible sigh as the room becomes soft and quiet with the dark that seeps like ink across the floor. 

His eyelids droop slow and heavy as his eyes become accustomed to the darkness and he reaches for you, his hand curling around your wrist before he’s drawing you to him and into the bed. 

He settles his palm across the soft curve of your hip bone and closes his eyes, letting his body melt into the warmth of your arms. His hand flexes slowly against your cheek as he touches at your temple, his thumb stroking at the soft tissue of the scar that cuts across your cheek. Grinds the unbidden his fault that needles at him at the back of his mind under his boot, and nudges his nose into the space where your shoulder meets your neck - his mouth pressing gently into the soft, heated skin beneath your ear. 

It becomes easier as he focuses on the sound of your breathing - deliberately blocking the faint echo of a pained cry that rings in his ears, and listening to your heart beat softly against his cheek. 

The quiet is welcome - a soft respite from the loudness of battle that roars in the cage of his skull - that he knows will fester cancerous at the back of his mind, but as he slips deeper into sleep, he feels your lips press gently against his temple then the underside of his jaw and a low, pleased sound rises in his throat at the warmth that settles in his bones. Like tea and sunlight and fresh linen. Moonlight across the ocean. A quiet that settles like a blanket over the loudness and the noise. Slow-moving and encompassing. Like a wave that rises and falls to lap at your toes. 

When everything falls away to dust and the nightmares go still and silent, all that’s left is you and the soft, steady beat of your heart against his cheek.

[sergle]

there is something so crazy about the cognitive dissonance between 50% of my online art presence coming from self portraits of my own body in a resting position, where it's received specifically as fat art, people refer to it as body positive / plus sized (or sometimes bbw content. it's whatever), the notes are like yeeesss this made me feel so good abt my body, stretch marks rolls etc fat women are beautiful 🙌🙌 and then I take a picture Standing Upright, and then some of Same people who have literally Seen My Body Before go ummm... what tha hell. you are LITERALLY thin ?! you are literally doing this.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.” 

[bonefall]

Don’t know if this is the right place to ask, but could you talk more about zoos? I’ve seen many people say that zoos are inherently exploitative and that we should instead focus on advocating for wildlife preserves, etc., but I’m not sure what to think of that. You seem to know a lot about wildlife protection, so what’s your opinion on this?

There are folks faaaar better than myself to talk about the issues of zoos specifically and I'll try to toss in some sources so you can go and learn more, but let me try and explain my mindset here.

Summary of my opinion on this: BOTH of these things can be poorly managed, and I broadly support both. They should exist in tandem. I am pro-accredited zoo and am extremely sensitive towards misinformation. I also do think the best place for animals to be is in their natural environment, but nature "preserves" aren't inherently perfect. They can also be prone to the capitalist (and colonialist) pressures that less informed people believe they're somehow immune to.

Because of the goal of my project being to make the setting of WC accurate to Northwestern England, my research is based on UK laws, ecology, and conservation programs.

On Zoos

On Nature Reserves

An Aside on Fortress Conservation

On Zoos

The legal definition of a Zoo in the UK (because that is what BB's ecological education is based around), as defined by the Zoo Licensing Act of 1981 (ZLA), is a "place where wild animals are kept for exhibition to the public," excluding circuses and pet shops (which are covered by different laws.)

This applies equally to private, for-profit zoos, as well as zoos run by wildlife charities and conservation organizations. Profit does not define a zoo. If there's a place trying to tell you it's not a zoo but a "sanctuary" or a "wildlife park," but you can still go visit and see captive wild animals, even if it's totally free, it's a marketing trick. Legally that is still a zoo in the UK.

(for fellow Americans; OUR definition is broader, more patchwork because we are 50 little countries in a trenchcoat, and can include collections of animals not displayed to the public.)

That said, there's a HUGE difference between Chester Zoo, run by the North of England Zoological Society, which personally holds the studbooks for maintaining the genetic diversity of 10 endangered species, has 134 captive breeding projects, cultivates 265 threatened plant species, and sends its members as consultants to United Nations conferences on climate change, and Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pit.

Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pit ONLY has to worry about the UK government. There's another standard zoos can hold themselves to if they want to get serious about conservation like Chester Zoo; Accreditation. There are two major zoo organizations in the UK, BIAZA and EAZA.

(Americans may wonder about AZA; that's ours. AZA, EAZA, and BIAZA are all members of the World Association of Aquariums and Zoos, or WAZA, but they are all individual organizations.)

A zoo going for EAZA's "accreditation" has to undergo an entire year of evaluation to make sure they fit the strict standards, and renewal is ongoing. You don't just earn it once. You have to keep your animal welfare up-to-date and in compliance or you will lose it.

The benefit of joining with an accredited org is that it puts the zoo into a huge network of other organizations. They work together for various conservation efforts.

There are DOZENS of species that were prevented from going extinct, and are being reintroduced back to their habitats, because of the work done by zoos. The scimitar-horned oryx, takhi, California condor, the Galapagos tortoise, etc. Some of these WERE extinct in the wild and wouldn't BE here if it hadn't been for zoos!

The San Diego zoo is preventing the last remaining hawaiian crows from embracing oblivion right now, a species for which SO LITTLE of its wild behavior is known they had to write the book on caring for them, and Chester zoo worked in tandem with the Uganda Wildlife Authority to provide tech and funding towards breakthroughs in surveying wild pangolins.

Don't get me wrong;

MOST zoos are not accredited,

nor is accreditation is REQUIRED to make a good zoo,

nor does it automatically PROVE nothing bad has happened in the zoo,

There are a lot more Sam Tiddles' Personal Zebra Pits than there are Chester Zoos.

That's worth talking about! We SHOULD be having conversations on things like,

Is it appropriate to keep and breed difficult, social megafauna, like elephants or cetaceans? What does the data say? Are there any circumstances where that would be okay, IF the data does confirm we can never provide enough space or stimulation to perfectly meet those species' needs?

How can we improve animal welfare for private zoos? Should we tighten up regulations on who can start or run one (yes)? Are there enough inspectors (no)?

Do those smaller zoos meaningfully contribute to better conservation? How do we know if they are properly educating their visitors? Can we prove this one way or the other?

Who watches the watchmen? Accreditation societies hold themselves accountable. Do these organizations truly have enough transparency?

(I don't agree with Born Free's ultimate conclusion that we should "phase out" zoos, but you should always understand the opposing arguments)

But bottom line of my opinion is; Good zoos are deeply important, and they have a tangible benefit to wildlife conservation. Anyone who tries to tell you that "zoos are inherently unethical" either knows very little about zoos or real conservation work, or... is hiding some deeper, more batshit take, like "having wild animals in any kind of captivity is unlawful imprisonment."

(you'll also get a lot more work done in regulating the exotic animal trade in the UK if you go after private owners, btw. zoos have nothing to do with how lax those laws are.)

Anyway I'm a funny cat blog about battle kitties, and the stuff I do for BB is to educate about the ecosystem of Northern England. If you want to know more about zoos, debunking misconceptions, and critiques from someone with more personal experience, go talk to @why-animals-do-the-thing!

Keep in mind though, again, they talk about American zoos, where this post was written with the UK in mind.

(and even then, England specifically. ALL UK members and also the Isle of Man have differences in their laws.)

(If anyone has other zoo education tumblr blogs in mind, especially if they are European, lmk and I'll edit this post)

On Nature Reserves

Remember how broad the legal definition of a zoo actually was? Same thing over here. A "nature reserve" in the UK is a broad, unofficial generic term for several things. It doesn't inherently involve statutory protection, either, meaning there's some situations where there's no laws to hold anyone accountable for damage

These are the "nature reserve" types relevant to my project; (NOTE: Ramsar sites, SACs, and SPAs are EU-related and honestly, I do not know how Brexit has effected them, if at all, so I won't be explaining something I don't understand.)

Local Wildlife Site (LWS) Selected via scientific survey and managed locally, connecting wildlife habitats together and keeping nature close to home. VERY important... and yet, incredibly prone to destruction because there aren't good reporting processes in place. Whenever a report comes out every few years, the Wildlife Trust says it often only gets data for 15% of all their registered sites, and 12% get destroyed in that timeframe.

Local Nature Reserve (LNR) A site that can be declared by a district or county council, if proven to have geographic, educational, biodiversity, or recreational value. The local authority manages this, BUT, the landowner can remain in control of the property and "lease" it out (and boy oh boy, landowners do some RIDICULOUS things)

National Nature Reserve (NNR) This is probably closest to what you think of when someone says "nature reserve." Designated by Natural England to protect significant habitat ranges and geographic formations, but still usually operates in tandem with private land owners who must get consent if they want to do something potentially damaging to the NNR.

Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) (pronounced Triple S-I) A conservation designation for a particular place, assessed and defined by Natural England for its biological or geographic significance. SSSIs are protected areas, and often become the basis for NNRs, LNRs, Ramsar sites, SACs, SPAs, etc.

So you probably noticed that 3/4 of those needed to have the private ownership problem mentioned right in the summary, and it doesn't end there. Even fully government-managed NNRs and SSSIs work with the private sectors of forestry, tourism, and recreation.

We live under Capitalism; EVERYTHING has a profit motive, not just zoos.

I brushed over some of those factors in my Moorland Research Notes and DESPERATELY tried to stay succinct with them, but it was hard. The things that can happen to skirt around the UK's laws protecting wildlife could make an entire season of Monty Python sketches.

Protestors can angrily oppose felling silver birch (a "weed" in this context which can change the ecosystem) because it made a hike less 'pretty' and they don't understand heath management.

Management can be reluctant to ban dogs and horses for fear of backlash, even as they turn heath to sward before our eyes.

Reserves can be owned by Count Bloodsnurt who thinks crashing through the forest with a pack of dogs to exhaust an animal to death is a profitable traditional British passtime.

Or you can literally just pretend that you accidentally chased a deer for several hours and then killed it while innocently sending your baying hounds down a trail. (NOTE: I am pro-hunting, but not pro-animal cruelty.)

The Forestry Commission can slobber enthusiastically while replacing endangered wildlife habitats with non-native, invasive sitka spruce plantations, pretending most trees are equal while conveniently prioritizing profitable timber species.

I have STORIES to tell about the absolute Looney Tunes bullshit that's going on between conservationists and rich assholes who want to sell grouse hunting access, but I'll leave it at this fascinating tidbit about air guns and mannequins which are "totally, absolutely there for no nefarious reason at all, certainly not to prevent marsh harriers from nesting in an area where they also keep winding up mysteriously killed in illegal snares, no no no"

BUT. Since Nature Reserve isn't a hard defined legal concept, and any organization could get involved in local conservation in the UK, and just about anyone or anything could own one... IT'S CHESTER ZOO WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!

They received a grant in 2021 to restore habitat to a stretch of 10 miles extending outside of their borders, working with TONS of other entities such as local government and conservation charities in the process. There's now 6,000 square meters of restored meadow, an orchard, new ponds, and maintained reedbeds, because of them.

It isn't just Chester Zoo, either. It's all over the UK. Durrel Wildlife, which runs Jersey Zoo, just acquired 18,500 acres to rewild in Perthshire. Citizen Zoo is working with the Beaver Trust to bring beavers back to London and is always looking for volunteers to help with their river projects, and the Edinburgh Zoo is equipped with gene labs being used to monitor and analyze the remaining populations of non-hybrid Scottish Wildcats.

The point being,

Nature preserves have problems too. They are not magical fairy kingdoms that you put up a fence around and then declare you Saved Nature Hooray! They need to be protected. They need to be continuously assessed. They are prone to capitalist pressures just like everything else on this hell planet. Go talk to my boy Karl he'll give you a hug about it.

"Nature Preserves" are NOT an "alternative" to zoos and vice versa. They do not do the same thing. A zoo is a center of education and wildlife research which displays exotic animals. A nature preserve is a parcel of native ecosystem. We need LOTS of nature preserves and we need them well-managed ASAP.

We could never just "replace" zoos with nature preserves, and we're nowhere near the amount of protected ecosystem space to start thinking of scaling back animals in captivity. Until King Arthur comes out of hibernation to save Britain, that's the world we live in.

An Aside

My project and my research is based on the isle of Great Britain. The more I learn about the ecosystems that are naturally found there, the more venomously I reject the old lie, "humans are a blight."

YOU are an animal. You're a big one, too. You know what the role of big animals in an ecosystem are? Change. Elephants knock over trees, wolves alter the course of rivers, bison fertilize the plains from coast-to-coast. In Great Britain, that's what hominids have done for 900,000 years, their populations ebbing and flowing with every ice age.

Early farming created the moors and grazing sheep and cattle maintain it, hosting hundreds of specialist species. Every old-growth forest has signs of ancient coppicing and pollarding, which create havens for wildlife when well-managed. Corn cockle evolved as a mimic of wheat seeds, so farmers would plant it over and over within their fields.

This garbage idea that humans are somehow "separate" from or "above" nature is poison. It's not true ANYWHERE.

It contributes to an idea that our very presence is somehow damaging to natural spaces, and to "protect" it, we have to completely leave it alone. NO! Absolutely NOT! There are places where we have to limit harvesting and foot traffic, but humans ALWAYS lived in nature.

Even the ecosystems that this mindset comes from rejects it, but this shit doesn't JUST get applied to British people who become alienated and disconnected from their surroundings to the point where they don't know what silver birch does.

It's DEADLY for the indigenous people who protect 80% of our most important ecosystems.

It's a weapon against the Maasai people, stopped from hunting or growing crops on their own land. It's violence for 9 San hunters shot at by a helicopter with a "kill poachers on-sight" policy, as one of the world's LARGEST diamond mines operates in the same motherfucking park. The Havasupai people are kept out of the Grand Canyon that they managed for generations because they might "collect too many nuts" and starve squirrels, Dukha reindeer herders suddenly get banned from chopping wood or fishing, and watch wolves decimate their animals in the absence of their herding dogs.

It's nightmare after nightmare of human displacement in the name of "conservation."

That all ties back to that mindset. This idea that nature is pure, "pristine," and should be totally untouched. There are some starting to call it Fortress Conservation.

You can't begin to understand the criticisms of modern conservation without acknowledging that we are still living under the influence of capitalism and colonialism. Those who fixate on speaking for "animals/nature/trees who don't have a voice" often seem to have no interest in the indigenous people who do.

Listen. There's no simple answer; and the solution will vary for each region.

Again, my project is within the UK, one of the most ecologically devastated areas in the world. There are bad zoos that the law allows a pass. There are incredible zoos that are vital to conservation, in and outside of the country. There's not enough nature preserves. The best ones that exist are often exploited for profit.

I hope that my silly little blog sparks an interest in a handful of people to understand more about their own local ecosystems, and teaches folks about the unique beauty even within a place as "boring" as England.

But, my straightforward statement is that I have no patience for nonconstructive, broad zoo slander that lumps together ALL of them, and open contempt for anyone who tries to sell nature preserves like a perfect, morally superior "alternative." We need them BOTH right now, and we need to acknowledge that zoos AND preserves have legal and ethical issues that aren't openly talked about.

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Weird question time, this time for all my fellow POTS/dysautonomia peeps: Do you ever get narrow pulse pressure? And of so, how do you like...make it stop doing that? (pulse pressure is the difference between the top number and the bottom number of your blood pressure. If it's less than 1/4 of the top number, it's considered narrow. if it's less than 25, in my experience, it feels really bad) (also like caveat I have been to several cardiologists over the years they have ruled out the really bad options for what could cause this, but if you are having narrow pulse pressure and have not been to a cardiologist it might be one of those "go to a doctor now do not pass go" kind of things. I am, admittedly, a little unclear on that and I am not a medical professional)

[pine-needle-shuffle]

Memory

"Have you ever thought about being like them?"

"Huh?" Gaze shifting from the ocean view of Junon, Cloud gave Zack a puzzled look.

"Y'know. The-" Zack made a spinning motion with his hand, face contorted in thought. "The Harpies. It seems so...free up there."

Looking back out to sea, they watched as winged soldiers took flight, soaring gracefully away from port. "Yeah, I guess."

"'You guess', come on Cloud! Can you imagine? With wings like those we could go anywhere. And like, they're heroes!" Zacks hands moved wildly, caught up in his own excitement. "Isn't that why we joined? To be like them?"

Clouds eyes drifted down to his own hands, which rested over the rail, and tilted his head a bit. 'In a way.'

"Geal says I'm talking nonsense, something about how the weight those wings carry will crush you. And, obviously that there's no way I could have them anyway." With a pout, he leaned his face into his palm, brows crossed in annoyance.

Cloud snickered to himself, "I think Commander Hewley might be right on this one."

Zack turned abruptly, feigned hurt written across his face, mouth agape in offense. He took Cloud in with the nook of his elbow, ruffling his hair. "Oh, your taking his side now? Traitor."

Act faltering, Zack couldn't help but laugh, a grin running ear to ear by the time he let go. Bumping shoulders, the two look back out, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the sea. "I'm still right, though."

Cloud shook his head. "Sure."

~~~

With a jolt, Cloud was roused from his sleep. 'Ocean must be rough today.' Untangling his wings from the hammock, he did his best to flip himself onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm gonna kill him."

[localplaguenurse]

Hi my name is Yoshikage Kira and I have short blond hair with wavy stylish bangs that I keep pushed back except one bouncy strand and a lot of people tell me I look like David Bowie (AN: if u don't know who he is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to David Bowie but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a serial killer but my life is quiet and peaceful. I have pale skin. I'm also an office worker, and I work at Kame Yu in Morioh where I’m a salesman (I'm thirty three). I'm a stand user that wants to blend in (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly stylish suits. I love wearing cat motif suits and they match my stand Killer Queen. For example today I was wearing a periwinkle suit with a cat skull tie, green and white striped button up shirt, and brown shoes. I had gotten eight hours of sleep and I was well rested. I was walking in the park. It was very sunny and the sky was yellow, which I was very happy about. A lot of students from the school stared at me. I blew them up with Killer Queen.

[delusinaldreamer19]

Am I…after being mostly inactive online for over a month…about to publish the first chapter of an entirely new Sebagni fanfic?

Perhaps :3

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[dykedvonte]

Discussing the NCR (Fallouts NV's Military Industrial Complex)

Fallout regularly discusses the idea of the military, its faults, its strengths, and most importantly, the psycho-social aspects of it regarding those who are members. We have seen a direct critique of the military generalized through the Enclave's overt nationalism, the hoarding of resources and indoctrination through the Brotherhood of Steel, and an almost eerily modern critique of the whole military-industrial complex through the NCR in New Vegas. In these series of posts, I will be focusing primarily if not exclusively on the last one.

The NCR we see in the game is strictly the military side of things and the depiction of active occupation during a time of eminent war, conflicting factions, and resource scarcity. It is in this we are missing a major factor that negatively affects the view of the NCR in the game and out: Civilian life along with citizen opinion on the military. While we do get Mojave civilian opinion on the military (often neutral or negative) we do not get those who are New California Republic citizens, not those who actually discuss the military more so not understanding the importance of the occupation and the President's choices.

We do not see how life is regularly lived by the average citizen as we have not seen New California in New Vegas, though, we get words and glimpses that the people are relatively content in the growing country minus the fact many people are not happy with the choice of encroaching on the Mojave. This most similarly reflects it's real-world application that many civilian citizens reject acquisition and war due to the economic effects it has on the country and the general violence/loss associated.

In this, we come to an issue of losing a perspective that is unique to the NCR as a military representative. The Brotherhood is notably a place where its active members are intertwined with its efforts, the young are raised to be scribes, paladins, etc... To where even if one is not fighting for The Brotherhood, they are still intertwined, it's propaganda is the life. The Enclave is even more cut n' dry in that it is mostly made up of government representatives. It is a group even smaller than the former, even more selective and intertwined that their propaganda IS a form of Eugenics. The NCR is unique in that there is a clear distinction between what is the military force, the civilian population, and the choice if one wants to be a part of the former.

There is a distinct difference in the cultures of the factions you are born into and those you must enlist or join (forcibly for some). While this is a long-winded way to get into the actual discussion I want to facilitate throughout these posts I wanted an initial background post to understand the aspects I am and am not exploring and explaining along with a hub post to link everything I intend to discuss in the coming days and weeks, starting with:

Why Do People Join the NCR?

...which will be discussed and linked back here like everything else regarding to this topic.

Links: TBA

[puppppppppy]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........

[kitabasis]

If my brain could stop creating new story ideas and/or making old ones resurface that would be great thanks