#one day i'll re-emerge

[help-me-find-a-name-please-lol]

i have depriving myself down to an art form

[orcelito]

ITNL chapters 11 and 12 re-edits are posted !!! im rly happy with the changes ive made in these

also i dont think i mentioned but chapter 10 i wasnt expecting big changes but i. changed the bath scene. so that he doesnt have his damn prosthetic on in the bath. bc that makes no goddamn sense

Patch Notes: removed electronic prosthetic from the bath. made vash even more obnoxious (unrelated)

[moonstruckme]

the boys w a reader who's very physically affectionate? pre-relationship >:)

like none of them are dating yet, and she'd hug and kiss them on the cheeks, hold their hands on the way to class, carry their books/bags for them and lean on them in the common room and all three of them are flustered by it. bonus points if reader doesn't even know she does it, it's just how she is, and when they point it out she's like "oh.. i'll stop, sorry" and they're like "NONONONO" THEY'D BE SO CUTE

Yesssss thanks for requesting my love!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You insist on carrying Remus’ book bag to Hogsmeade for him, and he glares at James the whole way for letting slip that his shoulders have been aching all day. 

“Let me take that,” James offers for the upteenth time, ignoring Remus’ muttered “Yeah, let ‘im.” 

“I’ve got it, Jamie,” you say again, wobbling a bit under the weight of Remus’ books, far more plentiful than what you’d packed for the study session. “We’re here anyway.”

“C’mon, doll, let’s get you a butterbeer to warm up, yeah?” Sirius opens the door to The Three Broomsticks. “I’m sure Remus will buy.” 

Remus rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy Y/N one, not either of you.” 

“Spoilsport.” Sirius slides into an empty booth, and you set your load down beside him, turning around and pushing up on your tiptoes to give Remus a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thanks,” you say sweetly, and Remus isn’t a very affectionate person, but he’s hardly easily flustered either. So when his cheeks turn bright pink as soon as you’re not looking anymore, James can’t help but grin. 

“Sit by me, sweetheart,” Sirius says, setting his arm atop the booth. James thinks he views your flirting as a sort of contest, seeing who will go the farthest before someone needs to tap out. But if it’s a competition, it’s one Sirius is destined to lose. 

You slide agreeably in beside him, slipping under Sirius’ arm so readily that it drops from the booth in surprise, landing with a dull thump at your side. “Merlin, it’s cold in here,” you say, nestling close. “You think they keep it that way so you’ll buy more butterbeer?”

Sirius’ voice is pitchy and breathless. “Mm—probably.” 

James smirks at him, sliding into the safe zone across from the two of you. 

You take Sirius’ hand in both of yours, frowning and rubbing at it. “See, your hand is freezing! This is ridiculous.” 

Remus reappears with four pitchers, grinning knowingly at the shell-shocked look on Sirius’ face. “I’ll be expecting the two of you to pay me back,” he says to James and Sirius, setting them down and beginning to dig through his book bag. “Merlin, if I can finish Slughorn’s essay while we're here it’ll be a miracle.”

James blows gently on his butterbeer, trying not to watch too closely as you purse your lips to do the same. “Have you started on that already?” he asks.

Remus shakes his head, exasperated but familiar with James’ ways. “It’s due tomorrow, Prongs. You won’t be able to do it in the hour before class, trust me.” 

“Wait, the one on boggarts?” you ask, opening your own bag. Remus nods, and you hold up a small stack of parchment, beaming. “I finished this morning. Wanna see?”

“That'd be great,” Remus says. “What I really can’t figure out is the part…about…” he appears to lose his train of thought as, instead of passing the papers across the table, you disappear under it, re-emerging a second later to squeeze between James and Remus in their seat. 

“I know what you mean,” you say, as though this is all very commonplace, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip with the both of them. “The second part of the question is near impossible to understand, but I think I may have figured it out. Here, see…” James stops hearing the conversation as you duck down towards your work, your hair tickling his arm and your jumper riding up to reveal the small of your back. James’ eyes follow the curve of your spine, down, down, until—he feels like a total perv, and looks away. 

Across the booth, Sirius is looking simultaneously relieved to have a break from your brazen affection and regretful that you’re not still there with him. He watches you as you speak in low tones with Remus, his eyes flicking upwards to James as if to say this is insane, right?. James nods back dazedly. 

You finish whatever you’ve been explaining to Remus, hauling your butterbeer across the table to sip at it. “Jamie, do you want my jumper?”

He nearly chokes. “Hm?”

You look up at him with concerned eyes. “I can feel you shivering. It might be a bit small on you, but it could help.” 

James is cold, but watching you take off that jumper, smelling you on it, would be too much. He forces a smile, taking a sip of his warm butterbeer instead. “Thanks, but I’m alright.” 

You frown at him, setting your hand atop his on the table. “You sure, honey? I don’t mind. I’m feeling a bit hot, actually.” 

Whatever the look on James' face, it’s enough to make Sirius guffaw. Loudly. Even Remus snickers, tucking his tongue into his cheek. 

“What?” You look at them. “What’s funny?”

“Doll, you’ve killed him,” Sirius laughs, and James doesn’t feel so chilly anymore, all his blood rushing to his face. 

Your brows scrunch together worriedly. “What do you mean?” 

Remus chuckles, the only one of them kind enough to give you an explanation. “I think what he’s saying is, even James has a threshold for flirting. You’ve just flustered him. Don’t worry, he’ll recover.” 

“I…what?”

“C’mon,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, “all the touching, the hugs, the pet names? A man can only take so much.”

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry!” You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror. “I didn’t realize—I’m just a naturally affectionate person, but I didn’t mean to flirt—well, I don’t not want to flirt with you all, but I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I’ll stop, I’m sorry.” 

Sirius blinks. “Don’t stop,” he protests. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Your confusion returns. “No?”

“No,” Remus says, some of the color from earlier returning to his cheeks. “I mean, it’s nice.” 

James nods, finding his voice again. “Flirt with us all you like, but, um…would it be alright if we flirted back?”

Your smile comes like a sunrise, slow and brilliant and beautiful. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Sirius grins at you, bravado restored. “Good, because we need to even the playing field, dollface. Come back over here, I’m cold.”

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium. 

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while. 

Frankie :)))))) 

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u 

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either 

R u ok?   

You

Yeah I’m ok. 

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER. 

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there. 

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it. 

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back. 

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Called off work weeks ago 

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz 

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol 

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams. 

Of course he came. 

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it. 

Frankie :)))))) 

R u at memorial or westwood hospital? 

??? 

You 

Memorial. Why? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Be there in 15 

You 

Frankie you don’t have to do that 

Frankie :)))))) 

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon! 

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you. 

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance. 

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying. 

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem. 

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date. 

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance. 

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter. 

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair. 

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do. 

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea. 

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t. 

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away. 

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.” 

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process. 

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight. 

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.” 

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow. 

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat. 

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay. 

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road. 

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?” 

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror. 

“I’m taking you to your game.” 

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions. 

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-” 

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.” 

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

“Frankie, I-” 

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.” 

God, maybe you do want to kiss him. 

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.” 

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.” 

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning. 

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without. 

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off. 

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you. 

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either. 

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” 

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.” 

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. 

“Drive was good?” 

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?” 

“Fine.” Lie. 

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.” 

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you. 

“Of course I was gonna come.” 

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy. 

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.” 

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?” 

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.” 

That one shuts him up real fucking fast. 

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.” 

That shuts you up even quicker. 

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat. 

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it. 

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.” 

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go. 

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!” 

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.  

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now. 

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in  instead. 

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital. 

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give. 

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get. 

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you. 

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.” 

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor. 

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about. 

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.” 

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.” 

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return. 

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down. 

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.  

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.” 

“Sorry about that, she’s um-” 

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off. 

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made. 

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?” 

“No, I just-” 

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him. 

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet. 

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[am-i-interrupting]

Can’t Go Back | Silco x Reader

Chapter 2 | Dragon’s Hoard

Summary: You had a long, complicated history with Silco before he became the Eye of Zaun. You thought you’d buried it a long time ago. It all starts to re-emerge from the ground when Vander dies and Powder is found in the hands of Silco.

You weren't always one of Babette's little pride.

Once, some long years ago, you worked down in the mines. The air was thick, you'd have to swallow it down your lungs and still you'd gasp as you did it. It'd blur your vision. The soot mixed in would sting your eyes.

You didn't think back to those days much anymore or rather you tried not to. The past would always be a part of you, it made you. You just didn't like to think about it. You'd never forget it though.

You always felt like you were dragging. You weren't walking home when you left those mines, you were dragging a body and it ached. The joints cracked, the muscles throbbed, the chest weighed down heavy.

You felt like that now.

You shook Powder awake merely an hour ago. She groaned and looked up at you with blurry eyes filled with sleep. She rubbed them and blinked several times as her vision cleared.

"Let's go," you told her. "I'll take you to my place for a little while and then we can do whatever you want."

You thought maybe the extra bribe would cheer her up but her brows furrowed.

"I don't want to leave," she said.

You blinked several times, reeling from shock. You squeezed her shoulder.

"Powder, we've gotta go," you said. "Ekko misses you. He's worried sick. Don't you want to see him?"

She wrapped her arm around her torso and looked away. She shook her head. “I'm not. . . ready. Tell him I miss him?"

“Pow—“

"She's been safe and healthy with me for the past four months," Silco said as he entered the room with three steaming drinks. He placed one blue mug with a silver, scale patterned handle in front of Powder and she took it immediately. "I think she'll be able to survive a bit longer. Coffee?"

"You gave her coffee? She's ten." you said.

"Hardly too young, but no," he replied.

"It's hot chocolate," she said. She stretched her hands out towards you, mug cupped in them. “Want some? It's really good."

"No, thank you, Powder,” you said, causing her to halt her movements as she brought the mug back to her but she shook her head and pulled it close to her chest. "Are you sure?"

She nodded her confirmation.

You worried the inside of your lip. Then pressed those same lips to her temple and ruffled her hair.

"I love you, kid," you told her.

You got up, glared at Silco who gave you a false look of innocence.

“You better take care of her,” you said with a finger digging into his chest.

“I plan on doing little else.”

You left, somehow believing him.

That is how you got to where you were now, wandering around the streets, thinking of how you were going to tell Ekko that Powder didn't want to see him right now when you couldn't even process that she felt safe with Silco.

“You were gone all night, you had us worried." Babette said as you walked into her office. You slumped down with defeat into one of her couches. "What happened? Did you find her?"

"Yeah, it was her," you said.

Babette didn't pry with words. She sighed as she stood and asked someone in the hall for something. You weren’t able to catch what.

"Ekko was caught trying to sneak after you," she said, now leaning in the entryway. "You should go see him. He cares about you-“ someone came in with two cups- “Thank you, sweetheart. He cares about you more than you know. It'd put him at ease."

She handed you a teacup, small and delicate. It was made of a white base painted with pink lines.

You took a sip from it.

"I don't know what to tell him," you admitted. “I don't know how to tell him. Powder is right there. He finally accepts that maybe we won't ever find her or Violet and now Powder is here and she doesn't want to see him.”

"Is it really better he thinks she's dead?" she asked. "Does he deserve that pain?"

There was a flash behind your eyes of a woman with dark skin and light hair tainted red.

"Of course not. He doesn't deserve any of what's happened to him. He shouldn't have to lose as many people as he had and neither should she,” you said as you sagged into the cushions.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

Your eyes went to the walls covered in masks. You focused on one in particular.

It was a mask, made of copper.

Engraved were little swirls and detailing for the skull. A pair of ears were at the top of it, pointed upward. The nose was long and angled but perfectly fitted to your face. A fox skull mask, old but so well taken care of. Almost chaotically, a blue color was smattered along the mask and dipped into the crevices, sinking into them and providing a contrast to the copper.

You finished your cup and set it down as you stood. You reached for it. It hadn't been put on the wall too long ago and already it was being taken down again.

“Maybe we can prevent that," you said. "Can't make people not get addicted to whatever the hell Silco out in the waters but... He's got money and money buys muscle and more muscle for him means less for us and that means we lose."

Babette reached to place her hand on your arm.

“Do what you have to do," she said softly, voice free of judgment.

"I just want to protect my kids."

"I know.”

"We're losing anyway."

"We are.”

You turned your head towards her. “You're supposed to be talking me out of this."

"I would be if you were being stupid,” she said before she patted your arm and walked back behind her desk. "You should take to wearing it again. It suits you.”

The door to your apartment creaked as it opened.

You never got it fixed. You weren't sure you ever would. Far too paranoid, especially these days. It was an old comfort.

Ekko looked up immediately. He put down the tools he was using to fix up an old music box you had tucked away and ran towards you. He wrapped his arms around your torso and shook your footing with the force of his hug.

“Where were you?" he asked, burrowing his face into your clothes.

You hugged him back, rethought the words you'd been thinking over for the past half a day.

"I got a tip on Powder," you told him.

You could feel his breathing halt. He stiffened at the words. You expected nothing less. In contrast, you actually expected more.

"Was it real?" his voice cracked with the words.

“Yeah, yeah, it was."

He pulled away from you to look up at your face. For the first time in four months, you saw real hope in his eyes.

"Where is she? Why isn't she here?"

"She is with an -" a little, half white lie couldn't hurt too badly- "old friend. She's okay but she doesn't want to talk right now. I think she's still processing everything but maybe soon."

He nodded. "Okay, okay. What about Vi?"

"We still don't know, little man." you told him.

His face didn't crumble but that little spark of hope flickered, dimmed for a moment.

"How's your progress?" you asked, changing the subject with a gesture towards the music box.

He inhaled sharply and his lips thinned into a pale line as he clamped them between his teeth for a moment. He took your distraction willingly.

“What'd you do to that thing?" he asked. "This should have been a day's fix, maybe two. I've been working on it for nearly a week and it's still not done! You throw it into a wall or something?"

"Something like that."

He gave you a look filled to the brim with judgment. "Why would you do a thing like that? I thought you were supposed to be responsible?"

“Are you going to criticize me or are you going to fix it?” you asked him.

"I can multitask," he said. “Seriously though, what the hell did you do to it?"

You walked over to the half fixed box. “It was a gift from an ex" you told him. “We split and I had a couple drinks too many."

"You're not a violent drunk" he said as he grabbed his tools and sat down.

"No, I'm not." you said.

"So?"

"So, what?" you said as you sat across from him.

“What happened that was so bad you broke it?" he asked.

You sucked in a breath. “That is a story for when you’re older.”

His brows furrowed as he examined you with careful eyes. "You never say that."

"Well, I'm saying it now." You reclined in your chair. "What do you want to eat tonight? You wanna cook something or order out?"

He didn't look up this time as he simply shook his head softly with a small smirk beginning to crawl into his lips. "Is that even a question?"

Yeah, no denying it. You made the right call. He was too good of a kid to lose anything else. They all were.

You wrapped your arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the apartment.

“She misses you,” you told him.

“I miss her too,” he said as he let his body lean against you for support.

It was a support you would always provide. You’d provided it for years before now and would continue to do so.

You had loved Ekko since before he was even born, just like you’d done with Powder and Vi. You loved Claggor and Mylo the moment they stepped into your life.

You loved all your kids.

A memory came to you.

Fari dressed in a loose, yellow dress covered with an oversized brown jacket. Her white hair was put into dozens of braids, some framing her face as bangs, others pulled up into a thick ponytail, most of them having some metal beads on them.

She was sat back in a plush chair. Her hands were dangling in her lap, completely limp between her knees.

“What am I going to do?” she asked herself softly.

“About what?” you asked as you were coloring in your waterline.

She flinched, like she hadn’t noticed you were there. You raised an eyebrow towards her in the mirror in concern.

Her eyes flickered away from yours. She spaced out for a moment. Her gaze was on the floor in front of her.

Her fingers twitched. She spoke, “I’m pregnant.”

Your head immediately whipped around to her causing the lipstick you’d been putting on to smear across your face.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you know who the dad is?”

“No!” she said. Her voice dropped as she leaned closer to you, “I didn’t even think I could get pregnant.”

You placed your hand on top of hers. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

She squeezed your hand like a lifeline, much like you were doing to her son now. Only you were holding his hand so tight so you wouldn’t lose him in the crowd.

“Hey, Jericho,” you said as you walked closer to the vender. The man sent a smile over his shoulder as he rolled some fish over a grill. “What do you want, kid?”

“Can we get some legs and calamari?” Ekko asked.

“Legs and calamari,” you echoed back to the man. It took but a moment before two boxes were slid over to the two of you. “Thank you, kindly.” You placed the hold on the counter where it was quickly scooped up.

On the walk back to the apartment, you stopped and grabbed a bottle of scotch. You knew it wasn’t the best idea but hell, you’d have a rough couple months.

You uncorked the bottle with your teeth. You got it out from between your jaws with two fingers that weren’t wrapped around the neck of the bottle and pocketed it. You took a swig and sighed as the deep, earthen tones burned your throat. With your next inhale it was a welcomed icy feeling that replaced the burn.

“Can I try?” Ekko asked.

You looked down at him with a raised brow. You let your head to tilt to the side as you told him, “You’re not going to like it,” but still gave him the bottle.

With the hand not holding your own, he brought the bottle to his lips, shoving the boxes of food beneath his arm.

His brows shot up and his lips curled backward. He quickly turned away and spat the liquid onto the street causing several people to yell as they jumped away.

“Gross,” he croaked out.

You took the bottle back with an amused smile.

“How do you drink that?” he asked.

“You learn to love it,” you answered simply.

“If I have to learn how to, I don’t think it’s worth loving,” Ekko said.

You laughed lightly at that. “One day, I’ll make you a daiquiri. You’ll like that better.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” he said, sarcasm lacing his words.

“You will,” you assured him.

Back at the apartment, the food was quickly devoured by the two of you. It was still warm and greasy and left a slight film in your mouth after eating it but exactly what you needed. It was a comfort.

Ekko took one leg and more calamari leaving you to finish off the other two legs and the leftover calamari in the box which was mostly just crunchy, cooked batter.

The entire time you were sipping on your scotch. You drank straight out of the bottle. Not a classy habit but you weren’t in public and you were the only one in the house who was going to drink it so it didn’t really matter.

You felt lose. It felt like oil had been poured on all your joints, your muscles, even your eyelids with the way it felt so easy to just let them close.

Ekko’s arms wrapped around you. You started but didn’t hesitate for a second to wrap your own around him.

You heard him sniffle. You opened your eyes only to see the world blurred. That’s when you realized that there were several streaks down your face, some warm, others turning cold.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you told him. “She’s gonna be okay too.”

Ekko nodded against your shoulder, smearing some tears against your neck but you didn’t mind.

Silence befell the both of you and stretched over several long minutes. Neither of you dared to let go of the other.

It was a relief to find Powder but it was a sting of pain to not have her with you. Until you had her for longer and Ekko got to see his best friend again, it wouldn’t sink in that she was truly alright. That you hadn’t lost everyone you loved dearly that night.

Ekko pried himself away from you. The back of his hand went to wipe underneath his eyes. He sat.

Both of you looked at the wall before you. A bookshelf was pressed against it harboring several books, a lot of records, and a couple knickknacks.

“I can’t fight this battle anymore,” you told Ekko. “I’m getting old. I’m tired. I’ve got to take care of you and Powder. I can’t do it anymore. No more late nights. No more coming home with the shit beat out of me. I promise.”

All the boy beside you did was nod.

It wasn’t long before he was picking up a screwdriver and your music box.

You kept nursing your bottle of scotch. You didn’t fight the memories that came to you.

“One scotch on the rocks for you,” you said as you pushed a glass towards Silco.

He bowed his head in recognition and thanks as he picked it up. He had a notebook that he was writing away in. You spotted a couple drawings of what looked like fans.

“Whatcha working on?” you asked him.

“Felicia and I have been trying to come up with a way to get ventilation into the mines,” he said.

“That’s really fucking needed,” you said.

“I know, that’s why we’re doing it.”

“Harhar, no need to be a smartass. I was just trying to make conversation with you because you tend to make it next to impossible.”

For the first time that night, his eyes looked up at you. A gorgeous sea foam green that made your eyes widen just a bit and your ear twitch for a second as you fought to keep a straight face.

In the several weeks you’d worked at The Last Drop, Silco had never looked at you head on. His head was always slightly downturned, always occupied with one thing or another.

“I don’t make it impossible,” he said. “We talk almost every time I’m here while you’re working.”

“Oh, yeah, because it’s such interesting shit we talk about. ‘Hey, Silco, what would you like today?’ ‘A scotch on the rocks’— sometimes you make it interesting and go— ‘with a twist this time.’ ‘Alright, here’s you’re scotch.’ and sometimes, sometimes you won’t just bow your head in thanks you’ll actually say it! What thrilling conversations we have!” you said, absolutely taking the piss by doing a downright awful impression of Silco’s sooth, sultry voice.

Silco’s brows furrowed just a hair and his lip quirked up in the tiniest show of a smile. He shook his head, bangs rocking from side to side as he did.

A part of you believed that was the man he still was, buried deep down. A part of you was probably naive and holding onto what should be a long dead belief in people’s ability to be good.

It was something that should be gone, living down in the Lanes. The Undercity was full of crooks and thieves and downright despicable people.

You knew that well. Everyone down here did.

You also knew it was full of people with caring souls, good advice, sweet words, and sweeter actions. It was a place of community and strength.

No matter what happened, everyone banned together.

If Piltover wanted it to be an us vs them society, that’s what it would be. The relationship between the two places more unstable and more toxic than the mines and the air within them.

The Undercity was filled with people you cared about, even if most of them were gone. There were two right in front of you but you couldn’t reach out far enough to touch them.

Powder was now more traumatized and scared than ever. Why wouldn’t she come with you? She clearly missed you and Ekko. You’d helped raised the girl since she was born.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Silco had too. He’d been there the day Powder was born, pacing from side to side as Felicia screamed in the other room.

He had been there nearly every day that you had until she was five years old. Until that day on the bridge that you loathed to think about where you’d never seen him again until yesterday.

There was some part of the man you knew in there. You felt it. You hated that you did.

Why couldn’t it just be easy? Why couldn’t he just have changed completely until you didn’t recognize him at all. Not physically, not mentally, not a damn thing to be seen of the man you knew.

Five, almost six years without seeing him and he was so different but still the same. You supposed you probably were too.

“Shit!” Ekko swore as he struggled to keep the screwdriver in place.

You’d grown softer with these kids. If it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be. . .

Who the fuck were you kidding? No matter what happened as soon as you were faced with Silco again, you probably still would have surrendered.

You weren’t strong enough to hate him truly. No matter how much your mind was telling you that you should be.

[teojira]

(Planet of the apes) Please can you give me anything about Caesar like head cannons a fanfic anything please I am just in the mood for Caesar :(

[Assortment of Caesar headcanons]

Summary: Just random headcanons for Caesar x reader <3

Warnings: Monster/Human romance, angst, can't think of anything else!

A/N: Caesar my BELOVED, I hope these are okay anon! You didn't specify if you wanted romantic or platonic so I'll do a mix of both that you can read as either or! I love my man sm

Caesar is an old man at this point, he's tired. This being said, he is not above pinning you down and resting his entire fucking body weight on you.

You can struggle all you want, you cannot lift him up and you just have to sit there and let him do what he wants. And what he wants is to have 5 minutes of quiet with his favorite human, okay? Let him have this.

Caesar also takes it upon himself to help groom you, parting your hair, scratching at your scalp and checking you for anything, taking your face in his hands and twisting and turning your head every which way.

Very very huge worrier, he worries for you so much and it comes out as anger. He's not mad at you for doing what he seems stupid shit, he's mad because he's scared of you getting hurt and he can't fix it.

He usually won't leave you alone without at least one ape he trusts in the beginning, he's worried about another ape like Koba emerging, so for his sake, please stick around with Maurice.

Maurice loves you by the way, and so does Nova. Since you're immune to the sickness, you're able to freely interact with her, so whenever you're not with Caesar or Cornelius, you're with them.

Caesar watches you alot when you're not looking, especially when you're laughing and smiling with the young girl. It fills his heart with warmth, even more so when you include other apes in on your jokes.

Give him hugs, he'll never admit just how touch starved he is, the only apes he has physical affection with often were Cornelia, Blue eyes and Koba. He won't admit it that he misses it, but he gets a little huffy if you go on to hug Rocket and not him.

You make him feel younger, almost like how he used to be when he was with Will. Yes, he's a leader and he will always predominantly be the collected and righteous leader, but he has his little shit tendencies that come out when he's around you.

I don't care what anyone says, Caesar is asshole at his core, he's just repressed it because he's a leader. He's the kind of person to have a bug in his hand, and gesture for you to open your palm.

"Open your hand."

"...I don't trust you."

"You do trust me, now open."

And then you have a centipede in your hand and you screech and he just smirks and huffs out a laugh.

I've said it before but he is so overprotective, you will not leave the confines of the colony if he can help it.

He knows you're a grown adult, and that you are capable of holding your own but he doesn't care. He much rather have you here when he can keep an eye out for you.

That being said, he will go with you if you're insistent, he has to teach Cornelius how to hunt and fish anyways, so you come with. It's a family day trip:)

Caesar doesn't like guns, but he gives you a pistol, it's a huge sign of trust due to losing his wife and son by them, by being shot by them, and you know he's trusting you with his life.

Speaking of trauma, he littered with it. Sleep doesn't come as easy to him anymore, he's too anxious, to the point you're scared he'll have a heart attack.

The only way you've found that he'll relax enough to sleep is when you and Cornelius are by his side, his arms wrapped around the both of you.

He finds it hard to tell you about Cornelia, especially since you're both teetering on the verge of something more, he feels like he's betraying her, but you reassure him you'll wait for him as long as he needs. Never overstepping any boundary he has.

He loves you, truly he does, he didn't think he could continue on, even with getting everyone to relative safety, but you've always been there, loving not only him, but everyone else around you. He doesn't know what he'd do without you.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

California zoo accessibility data dump

I just recently got back from a short (and fully covid-cautious) zoo road trip in Oregon and California, and wanted to share my notes re: accessibility at the facilities I visited. I'll get this all integrated into the spreadsheet, too.

Wildlife Safari - Winston, Oregon

This is a large drive-thru safari park with a free walk-about area attached that contains some small exhibits. Guests stay inside their cars the entire drive-thru, although there's at least one place to stop and sit in a gazebo to rest and use the bathroom (porta-potty only). You can pull over to watch animals for longer, and go through multiple times if you missed anything. It's a long drive-thru and there isn't really a good way to truncate the experience if you've got some kind of emergency. The roads are not flat, but they're well maintained and not bumpy.

The walkabout area is very small and contains bathrooms, food options, and other guest services. The paths are mostly concrete and well tended, although you do have to cross the steam train tracks to get to lion/some of the lemur viewing. I believe the Australia walkabout area was also unpaved. There's lots of parking in a big, flat, paved lot.

Sacramento Zoo - Sacramento, CA

This is a very cute, small inner-city facility - a good option if you don't want to try to walk a huge zoo in one day. There's lots of shade from all the plants and a good amount of benches throughout, including picnic tables with shade canopies. The paths are almost entirely flat and paved, with the exception of a boardwalk ramp up to the giraffe feeding and okapi viewing platforms. The cafe has gluten-free and vegetarian listings (maybe vegan?) on their menu. No straws are provided for animal safety, but if you need one, they can give you a reusable curly-straw from the slushies (kinda long and awkward for a normal cup) as an accommodation. They've got both water fountains and water bottle filling stations. Being build in a larger city park and recreation complex, there isn't a dedicated parking lot just for the zoo: the closest is across the street, shared with another attraction, and is kinda small. I've never had issues finding parking when I've gone, but sometimes it does involve a bunch of walking to get to the zoo entrance - if you have mobility or stamina limitations, probably best to get dropped off at the entrance and wait (there are benches).

San Francisco Zoo - San Francisco, CA

The SF Zoo is huge. There's lots of green / garden / swamp space that doesn't have habitats in it, but it means exhibits can be pretty far away, so plan your route accordingly. (Going out to the grizzly bears is the longest loop). Depending on the time of day, there's not always a ton of shade for guests either. There's a decent amount of benches, and quite a few are in decent proximity to animal viewing. After a somewhat long but not steep hill right at the entrance, the paths are all paved and fairly flat. There's a hill going down into/up from the Australia area / kids playground, but it's the only one I really noticed. There's a long elevated boardwalk through the lemur habitats that connects to the top of the new Madagascar construction - if you can't do stairs, as of Spring 2024, that's the only way to get up there to look down on the mandrills or see the top of the fossa habitat. (It's still under construction, so there might be an elevator in the building in the future). Back by the grizzlies, there's an old indoor rainforest building - while there's buttons to automatically open the door going in, I didn't find any on the first inside door going out. It makes sense they don't want both doors to open at once since it's a bird airlock, but not having independent ones on each door meant the day I used an ECV I got stuck in there until a nice staff member noticed.

All three times I've ever been to SF most of the little food kiosks haven't been open, and the vending machines for drinks have been hit and miss - so bring your own, or stock up at the cafe if you need to have supplies with you - but there are water fountains and water bottle filling stations around the zoo. There are interpretive audio boxes through the zoo in English and Spanish, used with a key you get at the entrance(?), but I heard a lot of complaints in passing about some of them not working. There's lots of parking at the zoo in a flat paved lot, and there's a specific dropoff area on one side for rideshares/mobility needs.

Oakland Zoo - Oakland, CA

To be clear up front - Oakland was the hardest facility to visit on this whole trip, with regards to mobility. We went twice, and I used an ECV (electric scooter) one and walked the other. Neither option was easy and both were exhausting. Oakland is a super hilly facility - you basically have to drive up a major hill to get to the zoo. The bottom half of the lower zoo can only be reached by going down pretty steep paths. The hills are also not graded to be "flat", so if you're in a wheelchair or ECV, you're going to have to lean to compensate for the tilt and balance the chair... while controlling it going down a steep hill. It's exhausting and kinda scary. (I don't even let other people carry my camera because $$, but I had to ask for help so I could focus on driving the ECV on those hills). There's also a lot of areas of the pathways that are not in the best repair, or patterned with pressed-in images, and multiple places actually have brass bugs embedded in the pavement so that they stick out above the surface. Lots of tripping hazards and/or things to rattle your teeth out rolling over. A couple places in the upper zoo (the California wilds area) the paths switch from paved to sand and back again, for drainage, maybe? On the upside, there's a lot of benches everywhere, including directly across from prime viewing areas.

Getting up to the upper zoo requires using a gondola - there's no walking option. You can actually take wheelchairs and ECVs on these, but you have to be ready to advocate for yourself. Normally, they don't stop the carriages completely, and expect people to walk on while they're still moving slowly. You can ask them to slow them down for you (I did, because knee issues plus torque is bad), or stop it completely if you need the time/help. When I took an ECV on, they had me disembark and get in one carriage, and they loaded it into the subsequent ones. This is fine because I can walk and stand on concrete for a while without it, but I'm not sure how that practice would work for people who need their mobility aids the whole time. They were very nice about managing the stopping and the loading and didn't make it feel like an imposition, too. If they stop the carriages completely at any point, there will be a loud buzzer/alarm when the ride starts back up. If you're close, it's pretty loud and startling. As they leave the track at the bottom the gondolas tip and dip a little, which can be scary if you're not expecting it - I think it's just the transition of the car from the loading bay onto the track itself. The rest of the ride is very smooth. The track is pretty high up and gives a great view of the bay and the surrounding cities, but face uphill if you don't do well with heights. Once at the upper zoo, the path from bald eagles through jaguar is mostly a boardwalk, but it's not too bumpy.

Oakland's parking is hard if you're not there early in the day, IMO. The overflow parking gets pretty far from the entrance, and starts to go up the hill towards the upper zoo. If the lot looks busy, drop anyone with mobility/stamina issues off at the entrance before parking. Unlike many other zoos I've visited, Oakland's ECVS have added sunshades, which is really nice (and which I should have used).

Monterey Zoo - Salinas, CA

This is a fairly small facility with most habitats on one level, but some big cats and bears are up a pretty big hill. The walkways are paved and flat, and there's an ADA-graded boardwalk ramp that takes you to the top of the hill. The pipes used for the handrails on both the stairs and the ramp get very hot in the sun, however. There's a boardwalk up to the rhino overlook. They indicate that their bathrooms are accessible, but the ones in the main building didn't have bars for transferring - I didn't check the ones up on the hill. At one point in the day speakers along the path started playing really loud pop music (drowned out the birds) and it was very overwhelming. There's lots of handicapped parking spots across from the front entrance, but if you don't have a tag, the rest of the spots are up a bit of a hill and a small walk from the entrance. They do have a note, though, that they can help if you need accessible parking and don't see any, so you could probably call/have someone to go in and ask for an accommodation.

Sequoia Park Zoo - Eureka, CA

This is another nice small facility, very doable for a half-day trip. The paths are paved and flat, and there's benches available. There's a lot of shade, although it can depend on the time of day, and places to fill a water-bottle. The sky-walk through the redwoods is accessible, but might be a little difficult depending on mobility limitations - its' a very sturdy boardwalk through the canopy of the tall trees. (I had more thoughts on this from my last visit, I'll dig out those notes). If you can do even part of it, it's worth it, and there's places to turn around. Because it's in a residential area of the town there's not a huge dedicated parking lot, but lots of street parking and a decent lot directly across the street. I've never had difficulty finding parking, and you can drop people off at the entrance easily.

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 2

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

Taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28

Also available on Wattpad.

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The first time Gally's knowledge about the new Greenie gets challenged, is a few weeks after his first arrival.

Truth to be told, the Builder was surprised at the new boy's tiny stature when he first emerged from the Box. His limbs were frail and looked sickly, his face so tiny, tinier than Newt's, and he was about five feet four, barely reaching above Gally's chest. Needless to say that he was less than impressive. Physically anyway.

He attributed it to thinking that maybe Mai was young, and so brushed it off as part pf the Creator's plan, no matter how twisted and sick they got.

But the first time Gally gets suspicious, is one very specific night.

It's been a few days since his last conversation with the Greenie during dinner and it seems that he's made himself quite comfortable with Frypan in the kitchen. It's currently evening and everyone's slowly falling into bed after a hard day's work. Gally has been speaking quietly to one of his Builders, only to realize that he hasn't showered yet.

"I'll be back." He says, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from his hut, a towel slinging over his shoulder, before he walks in the direction of the showers.

The stalls are further away in a more hidden part of the forest, far enough that it gives you some semblance of privacy for those who don't feel comfortable bathing in the open. Gally doesn't really mind, it's just a shower after all, and they're all boys.

He walks through a few of the scattered branches along the paved off trail they'd created, before his ears pick up on the sound of running water.

Probably a lone soul, he thinks, before pushing open the wooden door.

"Oh shuck!"

No sooner has he stepped in that a towel is suddenly flung in his face. Gally yells out in shock, stumbling back in surprise as his hands try to find purchase onto the wooden walls of the half-built stall. He's so busy trying to get it off him that he barely register's a voice screaming:

"Don't look!"

"Wh—"

"I said don't look!"

"Okay okay fine!" He yells back, holds out his hands in a semblance of mercy, "I won't look."

Silence. And then, the voice speaks again with hesitation, "you—you promise."

"Yeah," Gally pauses, "yeah I promise."

Why is he even promising such things?! This is ridiculous! Gally has every right to rip this towel off him and yell bloody murder about how rude this is— but something in that person's voice has him hesitating. There's fear and something else, something he can't quite put his finger on.

So he waits, as promised.

And after a few minutes — or what feels like eternity, the voice re-emerges, "alright. I'm done."

Slowly, so as not to scare off the boy, Gally reaches up to pull off the towel from his face.

"Mai?"

His eyebrows rise in surprise, but the said boy seems to be intent on averting his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, falls into his face and for a minute he looks so lost that pity swells in the Builder's chest.

But then, logic breaks through and prompts him to ask, "what are you doing, you slinthead?"

"I--I'm sorry I panicked."

"You panicked? For what?" Gally rolls his eyes but the flush taking over Mai's face is enough to cause him to soften a little. He proceeds to dump his own towel and change of clothes onto the latter's shoulders, "right. Since you're here, might as well prove yourself useful."

"Wha--" Mai stutters out, red in the face, and Gally lets out a sigh of exasperation. He pushes the younger boy out of the shower stall, "stop being such a wuss, Greenie." before slamming the door in Mai's face. -----

For a minute, Mai stands frozen. Not sure what to do.

Here she is, holding Gally's -- yes, Gally -- clothes and towel as if they're casual friends, as if they're more than passing acquaintances. She's not sure what to do with them, not certain whether she should be chucking them over the stall and making a run for it. That idea sounds tempting, but Mai's too much of a coward to face Gally's wrath afterwards.

So she decides to stay, biting her lip upon hearing the faucet twist and Gally's tired sigh. He sounds like he needs that shower, and yet why can't she stop picturing his broad shoulders without his shirt? Is is chest as defined as it looks? He's so tall, Mai wonders whether he gets it from his dad or his mom. And his arms...

Stop it! She snaps herself out of her daze, what is wrong with you?

Her cheeks are burning when she reaches up to touch them, and Mai quickly tries to think of something else to calm down her heart that's suddenly beating like a hummingbird in her chest.

It's not like she's blind either. Gally is attractive, mainly because he's so huge and tall and everything that girls would want in a guy. So can anyone really blame her?

She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't hear Gally until he shouts out her name two or three more times.

"--Mai! Don't tell me you ran away you shank!"

"Oh--uh--I'm here!" Mai fumbles with the towel, wondering whether she'll be able to chuck it at him. But the shower door swings open a fraction, enough for Gally's hand to pass through.

She swallows, watching as his bare hand grabs onto the towel and disappears behind the wall. Next come his clothes, and she almost sighs in relief when the Builder finally steps out fully clothed, hair damp, and skin glowing red from the shower warmth.

Gally's swiping the towel through his hair upon noticing her staring at him, "what?" he asks gruffly, voice echoing in a lower baritone that has Mai's spine in shivers.

She whips her head away, "nothing."

"You got a problem with naked guys or what?" he can't help but ask, side-eyeing her in the process.

"I--No! It's just--I--" Mai stumbles through words as she tries to rack her brain for a coherent response. Biting her lip, she finally mumbles out, "I'm not used to it, is all."

Gally hums, "Never heard of that one before. You like guys?"

The question comes so out of the blue that it takes the girl a few seconds to realize what he's asking of her. What he thinks she is.

And before she can think twice, she blurts out, "yes."

Gally's eyes widen. He looks at her for a minute as he digests the information. Mai looks back at him, cheeks blazing with red despite realizing that he might bully her for this kind of confession.

Maybe that's why she's quick to add, "don't tell anyone." she pauses, hesitates, "please."

There's a small pause, before Gally dips his head into a nod. Mai lets out a breath of relief. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be the type of person that gives out useless gossip, nor does he seem like he'd blabber to any of his close friends. Bullying her though, that might be on his list of must-do's now that he's aware of her supposed sexual preference.

They're nearing the Glade now and Mai's readying herself to come up with an excuse when the Builder beats her to it.

"I want extra eggs."

Mai almost stumbles and catches herself. She blinks up at him, "you want—"

"Extra eggs in the morning. You heard me," Gally's eyes are intense on hers and he folds his arms, "or I can spill your dirty little secret—"

"It's not dirty!"

"Should I then?" Challenge glistens in his eyes, amusement dangling from his lips.

"No— ugh— fine. I'll give you extra eggs." Mai's shoulders slump. She just hopes no one will take notice of this sudden preference.

"And extra curry at lunchtime and dinner."

She throws him a glare, "that's too much."

"Then I guess I'll spread the word first thing tomorrow--"

"Okay fine fine! Yes, you'll get extra curry. Just--don't tell anyone." Mai feels like begging might prove useful at this point, the way Gally stands there looking satisfied of how much of a wreck she's being because of him, "please, Gally."

He holds out his hand, grinning, "it's a deal, Greenie." 

"My name is Mai," she mutters while gripping his hand. She can't help but notice how it engulfs hers entirely. Jesus, this guy's a monster.

"Good that," he's already turning to go back to his hut but then stops in mid-action, an amused smile thrown over his shoulder, "goodnight Greenie. And stop staring, you look like you might drool."

"Oh shut up Gally!" 

But the boy is already gone and walking away by then, his laughter echoing through the air. Mai rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she makes it back to her own hammock squeezed in-between one too many. 

Great. She's definitely not looking forward to tomorrow.

[otomiyaa]

Day 30: Magic

Frieren x Himmel | Nim's Lovely Tickletober

Word Count: 700

Collab with @dokidoki-muffin! [Link to artwork]

It was nothing new of course, but Himmel couldn't help himself and secretly enjoyed it every single time: Frieren's chaotic encounters with mimics.

The elven mage's legs were kicking wildly as she tried to free herself from the heavy fake chest she got caught in this time, causing Himmel to rub his lips as if that could hide the smile on his face.

"Again... Alright. This might take a while. I'll explore the next room in advance," they heard Heiter say behind them. Eisen just followed the priest without a word, leaving Himmel alone with Frieren and her struggles.

Turning back around, beholding the elf’s lazy dangling legs, something crossed Himmel's mind. Something he had thought of already a couple of mimic accidents before this one. The blue-haired hero looked around, realizing this was actually the perfect opportunity.

"Frieren?" He took a step closer to stand by her side. Frieren stopped struggling, not seeming to be in that much of a rush to get herself out.

"Yes?" she chirped. Himmel chuckled.

"There's something I've been wanting to share with you. Actually, I've picked up a trick that can help you free yourself from mimics," he explained, trying hard to contain his anticipation.

Frieren hummed. "A trick? Like... magic?"

"Well… You could say that." Not really, but if she was buying it, he was more than happy to play.

"Hm... I haven't heard of such a spell. You learned about it?"

She sounded surprised and curious, making Himmel wonder if Frieren was really this easy to prank. Then again, this was the elf who got stuck in a mimic for the umpteenth time, because of her blind lust for discovering new spells.

"Yes. It went something like this," Himmel elaborated, as he carefully knelt down by Frieren's side.

"If you happen to find yourself in a pickle..." Himmel slowly took off Frieren's boot, observing her with a side-eye, but she didn't even seem to question it.

"...we can solve it... with a tickle!"

Proud of his homemade spell improvisation, Himmel immediately began to scribble his fingers over Frieren's foot. For a good second she didn't respond, as if she needed a moment to process those words and sensations. But all of a sudden, loud giggles could be heard from within the chest, and she started to kick and squirm.

"Hehehey!!! That's no mahahagic at ahahall!" the elf squeaked in surprise.

No kidding! Himmel smiled fondly and continued his tickly assault.

"Are you sure? Seems quite magical to me," the hero stated innocently while admiring Frieren's sweet bubbly laughter. It was so unlike her to laugh like this, and it was like music to his ears.

"Can you get out now?" he asked while she continued to giggle uncontrollably.

"Nohoho!"

"Then we will need to try harder~" Himmel reached for her other foot and took off that boot as well. He grabbed her ankle and tickled her sole with some more happy scribbles before wiggling his fingers into her toes, causing the mage to squeal.

"Heeeehehehey! Dohohon't!"

At last, Frieren's struggling was actually effective and Himmel could see her slowly re-emerge from the mimic trap.

"Almost there," Himmel sang, smirking at the sight of some new target space.

Quickly letting go of her foot, he leaned forward to give Frieren's sides some gentle squeezes.

"WOHAHA!"

With a surprisingly loud roar, Frieren finally popped out of the mimic and fell backwards… Right on top of Himmel.

Blushing like crazy at their sudden close proximity, Himmel could hear her wheezy breaths and feel her movements as she squirmed above him.

"That was the worst magic ever," Frieren pouted while she clumsily crawled off him, scrambling about on the dungeon ground to put her boots back on.

Himmel hurried to get on his feet before she did, and he held out his hand to help her up.

"But it did work," Himmel claimed victoriously.

Frieren looked up at him with a sigh, her cheeks still painted with a cute rosy color, and sparkles in her eyes.

She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"Well… That's true. I'll forgive you for now," she declared, but it was plain obvious how flustered she was, going the other way after a swift turn.

"Now where did those other two go? Thanks a lot for leaving me behind~" the elf mage murmured, sounding all shy and embarrassed.

Hehe. Himmel smirked and followed after her.

He indeed hoped she did forgive him, for he would actually love to do that again...

[scarapanna]

The main premise and events in the Intertwined Opposites AU

It's finally here!!!

I've managed to finally make a proper info post for my personal take on this silly possession AU craze as I've planned to do for a while since I'm totally normal about this concept (lie) /silly

Before proceeding, keep in mind that this post is gonna be pretty long as I'll be diving into important story events troughout the first half of it, so it gets the read more treatment as usual!!

There will be no crk spoilers here (except for the beast-yeast episodes), just a ""prologue" to current narrative events in the AU

[[Little edit but there now are some ref sheets for both Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla!!! They can be found here]]

•The beginning•

Everything starts in beast-yeast, once peace has been returned to the fairie kingdom

Now that the area is mostly free from danger with the silver tree's seal being properly mended, the crowd decides to start repairs and preparations to further celebrate everyone's victory for the remainder of the day.

However, as everyone starts to leave the area, something starts creeping out from the shadows created by the tree's roots

Turns out that Shadow Milk, now severely weakened from the blow taken in battle, has managed to flee from being forced back into his prison once more.

During Lily's blast of magic, he essentially "split" and discarded part of his own power as a last resort, separating what was already being sucked into the renewed seal from himself to avoid getting dragged into containment once more.

Unfortunately for the beast, both his panicked and sloppy procedure combined with the added strenght of the new guardian's spell left him with a very poor amount of strenght, with it not being enough for anything useful.

Needless to say, his mind is filled with hatred and anger as soon as he emerges

he can't really do much with this state, and thus lingers on formulating a plan to get what he wanted from the start, but how?

How would he get back on track, rid himself of the guardian, and break the seal once more like this?

The answer eventually comes to him, just right on top of a bridge alongside the one who restored his prison.

His souljam, the one he was once the owner of

Now "purified" and held by Pure Vanilla, it binds the two together with the virtue of knowledge, split in the lights of truth and deceit during the purification process.

These lights are owned by the beast, and the figure by the bridge in front of him, yet come from the same thing.

Shadow Milk has finally decided on a proper plan.

◆ What comes after and what it leads to ◆

Days pass, turning into a few weeks and ending with a trip back home to take a break and write down what happened during the beast-yeast expedition.

Everything seems to have gone well in the end, yet something still feels..wrong?

It's not the best term for it, but does the job well enough.

The vanilla kingdom is peaceful, and Pure Vanilla's return safe and sound brings back some joy to the citizens.

Yet it just doesn't feel right, he doesn't know what precisely, but the ancient is riddled with an odd feeling almost like being watched.

He might not realise it for now, but he had been right. Someone has been following him inside the castle for the entire duration of the trip.

Pure Vanilla slowly grows more wary as days pass, and his doubts are confirmed as Shadow Milk's idea is proven successful.

In the void Pure Vanilla is confronted by Shadow Milk cookie, he spills everything he's done without esitating twice, as there's no reason to hide it anymore.

Shadow Milk had always been there ever since the re-sealing of the tree, following Pure Vanilla and draining magic at a slow enough rate to not be noticed, until it was enough to take over his body without trouble.

Now that he had a "vessel" to work with, he could keep recharging power and be finally able to do his bidding.

He's questioned multiple times by Pure Vanilla, but he wouldn't budge, and the ancient manages to gather only their location and a few loose details.

This was not a void, this was a ""mind space"" where he was bound to stay while shadow milk used his body as a disguise, and he could not use magic to fight back against the beast.

Being out of options, Pure Vanilla quickly tries to think over what to do, and lingers over the situation to come up with something.

Shadow Milk proposes an idea to Pure Vanilla, sharing the vessel that both are confined in, to be sure he doesn't get caught.

This is only to one condition: the ancient must work in favour of the beast under it's watchful sight at all times

The Ancient complies, and a deal is sealed.

It's not a loss nor a victory, only a beginning

◆The current situation◆

Now that the main prologue is set, what happens precisely to both?

So, Shadow Milk cookie is essentially ""possessing"" Pure Vanilla, but not completely.

The two switch up control of the ancient's body in certain times of the day and night, sometimes Pure Vanilla is granted the lead and when he's not needed Shadow Milk takes it. He's pretty much using the ancient as a puppet, a disguise and a tool for his own gain, assigning him certain tasks so that his plan will work as intended.

Whenever one of them is not in control of their shared ""vessel"", they're send in the mindspace until the shift of control takes place and so on. Shadow milk never gives Pure Vanilla full "freedom" or personal space, having control of the shifts in lead and constantly keeping the ancient under watch trough mirrors and reflective surfaces (The only moments in which he's given alone time is when the beast is asleep in the mind space to retain magic).

The ancient, on the other hand, accepted Shadow Milk's offer right away without esitation, but for a much different reason.

Pure vanilla is trying to get the best out of his situation, and thus feels forced to go against his own morality to keep cookies safe and attempt to alarm them trough hints and hidden messages scattered in the kingdom.

Even if he doesn't like the means, what else could he do to keep everyone safe?

The difficulty of his situation causes him great stress and paranoia, which worsens as time goes on and Shadow Milk regains his powers bit by bit, making his actions more difficult to get away with unnoticed.

Here's some more info regarding the effects of sharing a vessel in two:

• Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk's connection by souljam makes sharing a body possible, otherwise it would be fatal to most cookies (As they're not made to be vessels).

• The slit in the souljam is a shared element which hints at Shadow milk's presence in both, during control shifts it flickers in different shades of gray.

• Remaining on the topic, control shifts are not plesant in the slightest to both parties involved, being defined by acute physical pain on the area covered by the souljam. This is inflicted on the current cookie in charge of the vessel during the shift, fading away only when back in the mindspace.

•The two can see eachother and comunicate trough reflective surfaces, with them displaying the current entity in the mindspace instead of the one leading the vessel.

• Pure Vanilla's voice sounds somewhat overlapped or distorted when shadow milk is in charge of his body, he can't change this aspect unfortunately for him.

• Certain factors like hunger and thirst are shared between the two due to their predicament, they can sometimes be heard debate over what to eat and when during the day.

• Sleep in the traditional sense is the only factor distinct to the two instead of being shared, as it's strictly based on "individual energy" rather than "shared energy"

[holy-puckslibrary]

just a lil firefighter!sid fluff for y'all :)

gif from @ehghtysevenarchive + per this ask and others

Surely, the chief of Canada's oldest fire department has more important things to do on a crisp morning, the last one preceding a fresh week, than this. He most definitely does. And, yes, Chief Crosby is known for his pragmatic approach to, well, everything.

But neither carries weight here—not when she calls.

Leaky faucet, dead car battery, unreachable spider... It doesn't matter. One ring, and he's rushing home. He can't pin-point when the pattern began, likely sometime shortly between the day you moved into town and his first off-day, but it's a routine he's come to enjoy despite the extra strain on both his schedule and his body; Sidney never thought sharing a property line could be so tedious or time-consuming.

He knows he shouldn't enjoy the distraction as much as he does. You aren't together, Sidney doesn't ever allow his imagination wander that far, but he can't help it. He can't help but help. He rarely turns down anyone in need, which has done wonders for his reputation within the community, but with you... With you, it's different, and embarrassingly so.

He doesn't have the words to explain it. Not that he needs to, it's written plainly across his face.

There's a reason you're regular fixtures in the town's gossip column.

When he arrives on scene—not ten minutes after his F-Series crawled down the gravel drive—Sidney shakes his head and laughs. Collecting his cell and his radio, he slips out of the truck, watching as you fret like a mother hen.

Still in your slippers, you're stood at the base of a decently-sized red spruce wedged between his yard and yours, your crumpled face angled up into the yellow-green needles. You're the very picture of worry, wringing your trembling hands and muttering to yourself.

A stray kitten caught in a tree, that's what's got you in a such a state.

"Well, this is a new one," he bellows in lieu of a greeting, slamming the door shut as his boots hit the ground.

Briefly, your glassy eyes dart in his direction. You're midway through your customary apology when he arrives at your side and quiets you, just as he always does.

"They're more than capable of holding down the fort for however long it takes to rescue our new friend, okay?"

"I know, but what if—"

"But nothing," Sidney huffs, and he dares to take you by the shoulders. And, externally, he ignores the way you shiver under his palms. "If I didn't think it was safe for me to step out for a couple of minutes, I wouldn't. You believe me, right?"

You nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth.

"Good. Now, how 'bout you keep an ear on this," Sidney sets the clunky satellite radio in your hand, "—and I'll grab the ladder from the shed?"

He doesn't really need your help monitoring the channel, but he knows you'll feel better if you feel like you're doing something. Like him, you find comfort in your utility.

In less than a minute, Sidney re-emerges, rounding the corner with a ladder in hand. You're in the same spot, now fidgeting with the radio, anxiously dumping it from one palm to the other and back again. He follows your gaze to line up the simple equipment necessary for the rescue operation.

Sidney's heart swells as you quietly step forward to spot him.

Lucky for everyone, the ball of orange fur is on the branch nearest to the ground. Sidney needs only to step up onto the first wrung to safetly coax the frightened creature into his waiting hands, he's back on the ground not long after.

He gives the kitten a gentle parting scratch under the chin, then transfers the purring fluff to you. The soft bundle takes to you immediately, nuzzling into your chest like that's where it wanted to be all along.

"I think he likes you," Sidney observes with a cheek-numbing grin.

Your lips are tipped up at the end and there's fan of happiness rooting itself around your eyes. Your mouth opens to reply, but before the words come—

"Well, would you look at this?"

Across the quiet street and a few houses to the left sits an audience of two. Both of which are now cooing as loudly as two ladies in their sixties can manage. Coffee cups in one hand and their cellphones propped up in the other, they fawn over the two of you as if it's live theater.

Sidney curses their sons, who he'd completed the explorer program with as teens, for enabling this technological torture.

"Smile, you two! Oh, Denise is just going to eat this up," one of them, a spitfire in a 4'11 frame by the name of Mrs. Bouchard, exclaims to her co-conspirator, Ms. Johnston.

Then, to no one's surprise and Sid's chagrin, they giddily type out their respective messages to the local paper's equally-nosy editor-in-chief.

"Looks like we're front-page news again," you hum bashfully.

The tabby mewls in your arms. You curl into the little bundle of fur, lips landing between its delicate ears.

Sid studies you in his periphery as he slips in and out of heady contemplation, ultimately deciding he doesn't mind as much as he once did. "That we are..."

—

eek! wait, why do i luv them already 🥹

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

READ MORE OF THEM HERE!

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

A Million Times Over - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 1398>

You and Carlos had had a wonderful night out with your friends, and you weren't really ready to call it a night. However, all of you had to fly home the next day and it would be better if you didn't get on the plane hungover.

Well, completely hungover.

The pair of you were walking through the dazzling streets of Monaco, back towards your hotel. You could just about see the harbour glittering under the moonlight as a few other stray people wandered about.

It was the most stunning place in the world, and you could see why Charles had such an affinity with the place. Carlos was just excited to get back to the hotel and sleep, on the other hand.

As you excited the bar, he slipped your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. You looked at him and smiled. His hair was ruffled from dancing and his skin shone under the starlight.

Eventually, you made it back to your lavish hotel and collapsed down onto the bed. Carlos noticed that you seemed a bit pale and fatigued. You had felt fine on the way back, but now a unsettled feeling was settled in your stomach. 

Concern etched on his face, he wrapped an arm around you as you sat up. "Are you alright, querida?" He asked. You nodded and weakly smiled, leaning into his embrace. 

"I'm just a little tired, I'll be fine after some sleep," you told him, not wanting to worry him too much. You just felt a little off, so it was nothing to get too worked up about. 

Carlos, however, wasn't convinced. He knew when something was off, and he always made it his number one priority to make you feel incredible at all times. When you were off, he was off as well. 

He stood and walked to the drawers that had the remainders of your stuff for tomorrow in. He plucked one of his many Ferrari t-shirts from it and threw it at you and it landed in your lap. You lightly smiled at him, slipping your dress off over your head and shimmying the shirt on in its place.

The material was soft and cooling against your skin as you let your hair hang loose and shuffled over to your side of the bed. "You not brushing your teeth?" he asked, leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. 

He had taken his shirt off at some point, and the lights behind him made him look absolutely heavenly. The sight alone easily made you feel slightly better and the light thud in your head got a little quieter.

As your stomach knotted itself, your face had discomfort written all over it. "Hey, you sure you're alright?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he approached you.

"Yeah, yeah. It'll pass," you reassured. 

"You stay there, I'll get you a water," he said, walking out of the room. You heard the tap running, before it closed off and Carlos re-emerged out of the bathroom. He set the glass down on the bedside table next to you, the crystal liquid sloshing around. 

"Thank you," you smiled tenderly, snuggling yourself up in the covers. Carlos slid in next to you, turning the lights off as he went. You faced him as he got comfy, his hand reaching up to your face to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"Eres bonita," he softly spoke, his eyes flicking over all of the features of your face.

"Tú también," you said back, gazing into those deep brown eyes that made you melt on the spot. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. You rested your head against his chest, getting comfortable and ready to sleep. 

His hand snaked up the back of your shirt, gently trailing his fingers up and down your spine. You let yourself close your eyes and curl yourself into his embrace, sleep and peace engulfing you.

How long you had been asleep? You didn't know. All you knew what that you had been woken up by an overwhelming wave of nausea that hit you like a ton of bricks. 

It took all the effort you had to wriggle out of Carlos' arms, leap out of bed and sprint to the bathroom. You were barely able to flick the light switch on as you hunched over the toilet and emptied out all of the dinner and slight amount of alcohol that you had consumed the night before. 

It wasn't long before your hair was pulled out of your face and a soothing hand was caressing up and down your back. "It's OK, you're alright," Carlos cooed at you, hating seeing you like this. 

Once you thought you were done, you flushed the contents of your stomach down the drain and rinsed your mouth out with water. The taste of it still lingered on your tongue and your throat felt scratchy and raw. 

"Sorry," you said, wiping away the stray tears that were escaping your eyes. You didn't want to cry, but your stomach hurt so badly and everything was painful. "Hey, baby, don't cry," he pouted, tugging you into his embrace. 

"You don't have to be sorry for things like this," he reassured you, planting a soft kiss on top of your head. "You can go back to bed if you want, I'm just going to sit here for a bit,"

"No, I'm staying here. I need to make sure you're alright," he said, not even moving a muscle. For a while, you sat there, holding back the tears as your stomach churned. 

You felt bad that you were keeping him up while you had a flight tomorrow, and you knew he hated flying while tired. "Are you sure you don't want to-" you started, but you felt something rising up your throat, leaving an agonizing burn in its wake. 

Within moments, you were hunched over the toilet bowl again, releasing whatever was left in your stomach. "It's alright, let it all out," It didn't take as long this time, but it hurt more. 

You looked up at Carlos through glassy, watery eyes, and he looked extremely concerned. "I know, baby, I know," he softly said, grabbing a face cloth and dampening it. 

He tilted your head up with his thumb on your chin and wiped around your mouth. You felt a lot better, and his tenderness was definitely a contributing factor. "You should really go to bed," you whispered, breaking eye contact.

"Querida, I am staying, and that is that," he said authoritatively. 

"But I look like a mess and-"

"No, you won't say that again. I don't care what you look like, I just care that you're alright, and I am not leaving you alone until you are. I would do this a million times over with you, and there is nothing you can do about it," he said, and booped you on the nose as he left the flannel in the sink. 

"Do you want to go back to bed, or do you want to stay here for a bit?" he asked.

"I think I'll be alright to go to bed now," you said. Without another word, he laced his arms under your legs and hoisted you into his arms, bridal style. You let out a high-pitched squeal as it took you by surprise, causing Carlos to smile.

He loved your smile so much, because it was such a true one. You only smiled properly when you meant it and it was the best sight in the world to him. The way your eyes lit up, the way the little dimples formed on your cheeks. It was pure perfection. 

He carefully placed you back down in the bed, prompting you to shimmy back under the covers. He pulled you close, but he didn't hold you too tightly so you wouldn't feel too ill again. Through the darkness, you heard a soft, "I love you," as fingers started running through your hair. 

"I love you too," you said back, the scratchiness of your throat making it hard to speak, but it was worth it to tell him how you felt. Once again, you let sleep engulf you, but this time, you weren't awoken by nausea and sickness. 

You were woken up by Carlos, trying to drag you out of bed and to the airport, and there was no other way you would have it. 

|masterlist|

[goodnightoilcountry]

you must like me for me - quinn hughes (a sneak peek !)

a/n: another fic idea i've had in my head for ages ! i started writing it the other day when i was sick and it's currently at 3k words. i'm CONFIDENT that i'll smash this one out quicker than my aho fic so it's the only reason i feel like i can post a sneak peak. but also let me know if you have any requests or ideas you'd like me to write about - i'd love to hear from you 🤍

summary: twelve months since the incident and you're ready to let yourself re-emerge into the public eye in the form of a hockey game. the plan was simple: appear, smile, leave unscathed. easy, right?

The theory of fight or flight has always fascinated you. In the face of adversity, no matter how complex the situation, millions of years of evolution still dictate that humanity will always revert to its oldest survival mechanism: to either assert and neutralize, or: evade and withdraw. 

What you’ve come to learn is that there’s a third strategy nestled between fight or flight, often overlooked because of its passiveness in comparison to its overt counterparts: to freeze. 

And that’s the instinct you’ve found yourself falling back on time and time again. As if you’re hoping to blend into the very fabric of the environment where you can pause amid the chaos, weigh the risks, and soundly determine the best course of action. 

The downturn? 

You’re left vulnerable and exposed the longer you wait. 

But it’s a tactic that you’ve grown familiar with, and it’s the one that’s currently in motion. 

“You can’t do this to her, she isn’t ready.”

“It’s been over a year, we can’t let her hide forever.” 

The commotion of voices being thrown around surrounds you but you’re too swept up with the memories and emotions battling out in your head. They’re leaving you dizzy and disorientated. 

One year. Had it really been that long? God. It feels like one month since you first signed your contract in front of a roomful of lawyers and high-powered executives. Back then, you were too naively charmed by the golden promises of stardom and fame that they were selling you. Promising that your talent for lyricism, bordering on poetry, would resonate with the hearts of girls who all seemed to unanimously share the parallel experiences of all things love and girlhood. That you needed a team that could provide you with the right connections and the right opportunities to get you there. 

And to their credit, they didn’t fail you. As soon as you signed your contract, the label had you in the studio effective immediately with the release of “your” song debuting four weeks later. 

“But I didn’t write this and it doesn’t really sound like me…” 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. We just need to get you on the charts and then you can write about anything you want. Trust us - this is how it all works.” 

And trust them you did.

Your song topped the charts for twelve consecutive weeks. The events that took place after your overnight success were a whirlwind. You released a music video. You did media interviews. You collabed with DJs to release remixes. You performed as a guest on endless TV shows. And when you were done, you thought that you would finally be able to sit down with your producers to start developing the library of ideas and single-line lyrics you had swimming around in your head. 

But they had other plans for you in the form of a studio album, and then rinse and repeat. You felt like you were a human cannonball: shot out, forced to perform carefully curated tricks, and to always stick the landing. 

Your team had done everything they could to meticulously craft your image; selectively allowing journalists to access certain stories whether it be about your work or your life. You were America’s Darling. Until you weren’t. 

A sharp trill of your name grounds you back into reality. You blink and recompose yourself, finding the same four people you entered the boardroom with, staring expectantly back at you. Your mom, your manager, Megan, your publicist, Bec, and sat opposite you across the insanely large table is the VP of your label, Joe. Their expressions are ones you’ve grown used to: sympathetic and slightly defeated.  

“Sorry, what was the question?” 

Megan sighs and shifts slightly in her chair to meet your front. “Darling, I know how hard this year has been for you,” 

Do you? 

“But it’s time for us to come back out. We need to face this.” 

In all the years you’ve worked with Megan, she has never offered you such softness in her voice as she has now. As a manager, a female manager in this industry nonetheless, she had been nothing short of headstrong, sharp, and commanding. Her confidence and demeanour never wavered and, if you were being honest, you were thankful that she held you to the same standard as the rest of your team. It equipped you with a thick skin, something that you wouldn’t have survived your young career without. And it leaves you to wonder where you would be now without her to guide you through this situation. 

“Megan is right,” Joe says. “The world hasn’t forgotten, you know.” 

It comes out so matter-of-factly that it feels almost accusatory. 

“You’re not the first celebrity to be wrapped up in a scandal and you certainly won’t be the last.” 

That line is enough to make your mom snap into a fury again. 

“A scandal? She did nothing wrong,” she chastises. “What that boy did is not her fault.” 

Joe’s impatience is growing evident with every turn of the conversation. As warranted as your mother’s protectiveness is for this particular circumstance, her resistance was stopping one of his biggest artists from bringing in the label money. You can tell he's trying his best to level his demeanour but you also know that the higher-ups are breathing down his neck. He's balancing it as well as anyone could.

“This wasn’t just any boy. And your daughter is not just any girl. The reality of the situation is that just because she wasn’t responsible for what happened, doesn’t mean we can simply erase her from it,” Joe breaks, voice raising ever so slightly.

“She cannot keep silent on this anymore and the longer we stretch this out, the more intense the backlash will be upon her,” he presses on. “With all due respect, we have been extremely patient and have afforded your daughter twelve months. But this is a business first and there is a contract to be upheld. We are giving you the opportunity to write the narrative or have it forced to be written for you.” 

“He’s right,” Bec interjects. She’s always had a good gauge of when to step in when tensions start rising. It’s what makes her such a great publicist - always mediating at the right time. 

“But we don’t have to rush either. We can take it slowly. Start off with a public appearance in a controlled environment. 

The juxtaposition of that sentence could have made you laugh. Controlled environment? If the last few years had taught you anything, it was that no public appearance was ever fully in your control. Your phone number had been leaked more times than you could remember; the media showed up at your house at all hours of the night; private family events were invaded by obsessed “fans”. 

Your mom was quick to make the same connection, “where could we possibly let her go that guarantees her safety?” 

“The suite at MSG has their security system locked down to a tee. We could place her in there with a few friends and guise it as a quiet night out to show their support. Maybe work with the organisation to show her on the scoreboard during a break, totally candid of course, and maybe meet with their guest of the night for some fan engagement. We don’t want the public to misconstrue the appearance as a total cover-up.” Bec rattles off like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Megan and Joe start nodding in agreeance, chiming in with additional tweaks to the plan that’s now been laid out, and it becomes apparent to you that they’ve had this meeting before without you. Your requested input and presence on the matter was just an act of courtesy. But as vexed as you are with this realisation, you know it makes sense. You were tired of the pitied looks your family and friends gave you, afraid to broach the subject as if it would send you into a spiral. You felt like the public owned you; shunning you into silence with all your actions picked apart and psychoanalyzed everywhere you turned. 

You missed your fans who called for you every day, writing sweet notes of encouragement and rebuffing shallow attempts of hate accounts concocting false stories. You wouldn’t be half the artist you are today without them and they deserved more than just radio silence. And it’s this last thought that makes you believe it’s the only reason you say:

“Just tell me when.” 

[cenorii]

RE headcanons again!

PART 2

This time I will add what animals I associate them with. Again I'll write a lot about some and just a little about others to supplement the last part.

Sherry Birkin

— It's hard to say what her favorite color is. She probably doesn't prefer any particular color, she likes dim palettes.

— I'm inclined to think that Sherry could have been Wesker's goddaughter. Birkins could have introduced him to her, and since Wesker has known William since childhood, he trusts him.

— She obviously attended NEST because Annette gave her a G-related pendant. Sherry probably had some instructions for emergency situations in which to use it, but kept it a secret. Chief Irons knew about the secret of the pendant, probably from William himself, because he was bribing Irons. And Wesker also knew about the pendant, it's in his first report.

— I recently rewatched all the clips of Sherry in re6 and noticed how reluctant she is to talk about Wesker every time the topic comes up. She never says anything bad about him, avoiding talking about him. I think that as a child, Wesker treated her well or seemed like a good person, but when she found out who he really was, she was deeply disappointed. She cherishes fond memories of this man, but keeps it a secret, because she will surely be convicted.

— Sherry calls Jake "Jake Wesker" instead of "Muller," even though she knows Wesker had nothing to do with his upbringing. Did she downplay the significance of Jake's mom? No, I would look at it this way. This is further proof that "Wesker" is not a negative word to her. She secretly treats him better than others treat him, so she called Jake by his last name with pride.

— In that moment when the runaway Jake and Sherry were changing clothes, they had a conflict. But I think Sherry was angry not only because Jake's words hurt the memory of her father, but also because they hurt the memory of Jake's father.

— Sherry was in government custody from 1998 to 2009. She was in custody mainly because of Wesker (file "A Deal with the United States" from re6). The government believed that Wesker needed a sample of the G-virus, but it was obvious that he had already gotten it through his own means. Perhaps this is a hint that there is some sort of connection between them after all. He could be her godfather who would want to return what was connected to him, or he wants to using her as research into how viruses are able to enter into symbiosis with humans. Sherry mattered to him in some way, and everyone knew it, including Sherry herself.

— I think she's in love with Jake, but because of little contact with other people and the outside world, is too shy to admit it.

— She has a deep respect for Chris and Claire, and considers the latter as close as if she were her second mother.

— The animal in which I see Sherry is a weasel.

Chris Redfield

— I think his eyes are gray. Gray eyes in real life can appear a different color depending on the lighting. In different photos with different lighting, they can turn brown, blue, even green. So I like to think that the confusion about Chris's eye color came about because of his gray eyes, which are just unlucky.

— For some reason, Chris doesn't like to show his young photos. Perhaps he is embarrassed by the fact that he used to be thinner and "weaker". Perhaps it makes him feel insecure. Or maybe he doesn't like his rebellious nature from the past.

— He's a golden retriever puppy.

Ada Wong

— Ada doesn't use perfume while she's on a mission so she doesn't reveal herself.

— She is black cat.

Wesker

— He hates ties. Maybe he was forced to wear them at some point.

— Wesker gives a fake name in non-serious situations like tailoring or meeting with the hairdresser so people won't be embarrassed or try to suck up to him. His name is more influential than himself, and it's a thing he doesn't like to abuse.

— Perhaps one day he wondered if he should have glasses with an interface.

— His totem animal is a possum. He's so good at playing dead.

— There is a stereotypical opinion of him based only on the outward image he builds for others. Few people delve into the lore or what is behind his fake "cool" image. So many people are susceptible to the halo effect, this is a cognitive bias where a person has a prejudice against someone based on their appearance or certain actions. People subject to this cognitive bias do not look at this person with a broad view, slipping into prejudice. This is why many are convinced that Wesker can't be bottom, and aggressively lash out at those who think otherwise. I, on the other hand, believe that Wesker is flexible in this regard, which is maximally not obvious. Wesker to me is "that" character from the teen shows, who builds himself up to be cool, but at night cries from loneliness or is very vulnerable. He's bottom, but that doesn't degrade his ego, it doesn't make him weak, because "bottom" he's only with those who "worthy" of him.

— Speaking of worthiness, I believe that Wesker is unwilling to use his powers all the time by thinking of other people as unworthy. Only Chris is worthy to stand up to that power.

— Wesker keeps Chris's dog tag.

Jill Valentine

— Jill's favorite color is sky blue, as it was the color she chose for her uniform in S.T.A.R.S. and continued to wear throughout her life. Every outfit Jill wore on any mission had shades of blue in it. It is definitely a color that she appreciates very much.

— Jill is definitely not the best cook, she can hardly cook anything better than scrambled eggs. She share this skill with Chris, who isn't very good in the kitchen either.

— Chris is her best and closest friend, her partner. They mean a lot to each other, but it's always platonic.

— Jill's orientation is bi. She probably liked Carlos, but I won't deny that there could have been a close dynamic between her and some woman too. Jill, like Chris, doesn't have much time for a personal life, so she didn't go into much detail about her preferences, nor did she have an love affair.

— She didn't like Wesker even before the betrayal. Maybe she realized before anyone else that there was something wrong with the guy, so she figured out his betrayal before Chris did, who resisted the information. She is perceptive and able to see through people.

— Her totem animal is a manul.

— In the days of S.T.A.R.S., she was the one who woke Chris, sleeping at his desk, just before Wesker or Chief Irons came in. She would cover her lazy (in those days) friend from trouble, getting the brightest and most genuine smile from him. Wesker knew of their machinations, but turned a blind eye to this childishness.

— She tries not to think of the time she spent under Wesker's control. Her dislike for him has only gotten stronger because of it. Of the horrible things about those years was not only violence, but also being with Wesker and Excella. Excella's flirting with Wesker was repulsive to Jill. She hated every moment of it.

— After 2009 her hair was permanently white, because of this she dyes it back to its original brown color so that nothing reminds her of those days.

[ranticore]

answering all my asks in a big bunch

@help-system

it's kind of cool to think about actually & something i didn't consider (re: the implications for future generations). the reason he has to stay in a town flock isn't just because he's formed attachments there, but because he is vision-impaired and his feathers are fucked from lack of structural pigment and would struggle to live without the support system (for lack of a better term) of the town around him. his survival depends on living in a society. that also means he'll survive to pass on this trait when otherwise he would not. it's recessive so yeah could definitely be passed on!

@focshi

Oh habitat & life habits change the look of the nests completely. for the ama plains eagle harpies I was imagining a kind of gourd-shaped woven bower.. sortaaa like this as the eastern edge of the plains (where they live) has emergent columnar basalt and it's on these big stone stacks where they make their nests. use rope and picks to secure the bowers to the columns and the king's eyrie (the tallest one naturally) is built around a log tied upright with guy-ropes driven into the stone. they are all flexible enough that they blow around a lot in the wind without suffering much damage (see pic below)

in between them are net-like rope platforms and ladders as well as more 'spires' which are the trees propped upright on the columns. solid stone is the only safe 'ground' material to build nests on.

@gardenergulfie many of the monsters were bound by additional magical rules on top of the "you are twisted into a monstrous form" main thing. i hadn't thought of many tbh but i believe sphinxes were more strictly bound by their riddle names rather than just doing it playfully by choice, i know there was more but it escapes me. i'll have to think of some!

wyrms are cursed with immortality in a very classical sense so it would be impossible for Revelation not to be around in Cuinn's time. but ah... i wouldn't say it's in a good state

wildfire unfortunately is no longer with us. in mind & spirit anyway.

For eagle harpies, baby-rearing is not communal. The parents swap brooding/hunting roles (one broods/warms the young, the other hunts, they barely get time to sleep). Once baby is old enough to fly it hops out and joins the other fledglings in their eyrie. Parents rarely have anything to do with them after that but they will occasionally stop by to deliver discipline if they feel their offspring isn't behaving properly.

Partnerships are monogamous (but if the king wants your girl then that's his girl for the night) and last as long as any relationships might; could be many years, could barely last a season. there's a stigma against breaking up while tending a nest so some harpies with relationship problems tough it out for the sake of the kids (this never works)

The king does not care about his offspring as people, only as tokens of his virility and strength. Kings often boast of how many offspring they have (and the All-King can have hundreds) but do they know all (or even any of) their kids' names? of course not

Regular cobs do most of the fathering because most flocks don't have a king and they have to reproduce somehow. There's no visible difference between the offspring of a king vs the offspring of a cob. eggs is eggs

Eagle harpy pens can lay up to 4 eggs in one nesting season. Sibling aggression is common in the early days and if unsupervised they can kill one another but that's seen as a sign of lazy and inattentive parenting UNLESS the baby being picked on was kinda runty and then it's their own fault for being a whimp and they should toughen up. Parents can lay unfertilised eggs but rarely do, it's similar to a false pregnancy. Unfertilised eggs are eaten. Harpies of different species base cannot interbreed, but bear in mind that harpy species diversity is overall much lower than birds.

Eagle harpies are VERY protective of their eggs. It's not unheard of for other harpies of the same eyrie to steal their neighbours' eggs for various reasons (you can gain favour if you have one of the king's offspring in your nest....). many predators also might want to take some as well (sphinxes are... very ferocious predators of harpies, but also you gotta watch out for that little human who might have ambitions of being a falconer). parents will guard their eggs viciously.

I don't think it's unreasonable to imagine such a scam tbh... yeah sure take this egg it'll tooootally hatch into a big strong harpy. human falconers probably candle their eggs frequently to monitor them so i think they would catch on very quickly though hehe

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 13

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |-| Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Summary: As D-Day looms, Frankie fights not to feel the pressure

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs

A/N: WE'RE BACK!! sorry this chapter took a while! I was finishing up with uni and everything has been sooo hectic, but please enjoy this! <3

The runway had never seemed so alive, not even on a mission day - men scurrying back and forth, unloading supplies this way and that, mechanics swarming around the planes like moths to a flame. With D-Day on the immediate horizon, time was of the essence, and no one wanted to be the person to fuck it up.

Frankie had clambered into the wheel well of one of the bombers, invisibly from the waist up to any passersby as she worked away, tightening bolts and ensuring the landing mechanisms were all working perfectly. A screwdriver clenched between her teeth, hand stained with grease, sweat plastered stray wisps of hair to her temples, the afternoon heat exacerbated by the pressure of their work. "Bevan!" One of the officers called as he marched over, face growing visible through the gap in the metal below her. "Bevan, I swear to god, I need you to come look at the temperature bulbs, I've asked you already, will you please-"

Letting out a huff, she pulled the screwdriver from her mouth, leaning back on one elbow as she stared down at the man. She couldn't remember his name. "Calm the fuck down, alright? I've told you I'll get to it - I'll fucking get to it. I've done my time in customer service, love - if you yell at me, I'm not doing it."

With a scoff, the officer began to walk away, muttering to himself about professionalism as he went. If anything, Frankie was just glad she didn't actually work for the Americans. She didn't quite know what she'd have done if she couldn't ignore them. Resuming her work, she grunted as she tightened another bolt, humming mindlessly as she began to murmur the words to her tune, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things lookin' so right... hmm hm hmm... blue days, all of 'em gone..."

"Hello!" Another voice called, loud and jovial and making Frankie jump, accidentally smacking her forehead against one of the metal support bars as she whipped her head around.

"Shit!"

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry," ATS Private Maeve Scarrow called from the tarmac below, expression pinched in sympathy as she peered up from under the brim of her cap. "It's just, uh - I've got the replacement fan blades you asked for in the truck."

"No worries," She grunted, rubbing at the sore spot, already feeling a bruise begin to bloom. "Thanks, Maeve. Just leave 'em there, I'll get 'em."

"Okay! Oh, and Lemmons is just... sorta standing here. I don't know if you know about that."

Brow furrowed, Frankie crouched down on her ladder, momentarily re-emerging from within the plane's wing. "What do you want?"

Ken stood in polite, patient silence, hands folded behind his back until she addressed him. "You hungry?"

"... What?"

Raising one hand, he produced a paper bag from behind his back. "Got sandwiches. Want one?"

She hadn't realised how starving she was until the prospect of food was presented, and suddenly her stomach was growling. "Yes," Frankie nodded, and he stepped forward, holding one of the sandwiches up to her mouth so that she could eat without touching anything, her hands still utterly filthy.

"This is all... weird, right?" She asked after a moment of silence, mouth still full.

"What's weird?" Ken frowned, biting off the corner of her sandwich.

"Yunno - we've been waiting for this for ages, and now it's actually happening and it feels... surreal."

"Big day, that's for sure," He nodded. "It just... it better work, s'all."

"It will."

"Didn't know you were such an optimist."

"Times change, Ken," Frankie shrugged, craning her head forward to take another bite.

Lemmons smiled softly. "... So. How's your guy?"

Pausing to chew, she nodded along as he spoke. "Yeah, he's good - I think being a Major suits him. He likes feeling like he can actually help the new guys, yunno?"

"You ain't worried?"

"Always. But you work through it." Frankie's brow furrowed, looking down to scratch at the dirt beneath her nails. Reaching out, Ken squeezed her shoulder gently, and she met his eye with a smile.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'm gonna be honest with you here, I think this is a terrible idea," George stated, placing a fresh cup of coffee on the corner of Crosby's desk as she passed on the way to her own. Blakely was perched on the edge of her desk, peering at the papers in his hands and looking up with a warm smile as she approached. The pair had spent the last two days watching Crosby with expressions of increasing concern as exhaustion steadily took a greater and greater toll on the man.

"George, I just gotta get these maps done," Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair to scrape it out of his face.

"Not sure I'd wanna fly with maps made by a guy who was practically comatose when he did 'em," Everett pointed out. "Just sayin'."

She nodded in agreement. "This whole 'macho man' 'I-can-do-anything' bullshit is a little embarrassing, Croz. At this point you've either gotta take a serious nap or snort some coke if you wanna keep going."

"You're both very unhelpful," Crosby grumbled, hunched forwards so far over his maps that they could barely see his face.

"Oh, and Kidd wants you in his office," George added. Throwing up his hands in despair, Harry rose to his feet, taking the coffee with him as he left the room, muttering to himself.

Shrugging, she turned on her heel with a sigh, brushing against Blakely's knee as she returned to her seat at the desk. He was silent for a long moment, flicking through the file in his hand until he spoke. "... So this is bad, right?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Great, just checking... D'you wanna get dinner when we're done with all this?"

An involuntary grin made its way across George's face, a surprised bubble of laughter escaping her throat. "You mean after the invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe?"

"Well, yeah. Future of the free world's relying on George Aarons, I won't deprive 'em."

She beamed, fighting to suppress a giggle as her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Ev glanced over at her when she wasn't looking, a smirk curling his lip. George resumed her work, tapping away at the typewriter keys to distract herself, still feeling his gaze on her, shaking her head slightly in mock disapproval at such blatant a flirt.

After a short while, Crosby emerged from Kidd's office, and - if possible - he appeared in even worse shape than he had mere minutes ago, swaying on his heels as he took one wobbly step after another, eyes barely half-open. Still lingering at George's desk, the pair watched him wander out with shared frowns of concern, awaiting what suddenly seemed inevitable.

"Is he-?"

"Yep."

Before he could take his next step, Harry teetered and keeled over to one side, hitting the floor with an audible thud as those around him leapt to their feet in his aid. Exchanging a pointed look, Blakely stood up, bending down to whisper in George's ear before he too went to help. "If you're gonna laugh, you gotta do it outside."

Raising her hands in surrender, her expression contorted with mocking disbelief. "I'm not going to laugh!" She protested, and he furrowed his brow at her before heading towards where Crosby lay unconscious.

Scarcely a minute passed before Everett noticed her again, crossing the room towards the door, jaw clenched tightly as she visibly suppressed a smile. He chuckled, shaking his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie's back rested up against the outside of the mechanics' hut, the sun heating the metal so that the warmth seeped through her clothes, legs crossed and tucked beneath herself as she sat cross-legged in the grass. A newspaper lay unfurled across her lap, creasing itself over her knees as she surveyed its contents, rarely making it beyond the headlines and pictures. The movement of a shadow across the lawn caught her eye, and looking up, a grin began to crease her cheeks as she noticed Rosie making his way towards her, hands folded behind his back.

"Aha!" Frankie exclaimed, calling over to him. "Welcome to the feast. We've got, uh... some crackers! And... this carrot," She nodded, holding up the half-eaten carrot in her hand.

"You're just gnawing on that like a rabbit, huh?" He smiled, pausing as he reached her and positioning himself between her and the sun, casting her in shadow so that she didn't have to squint.

"The propaganda posters say they help you see in the dark," She shrugged, patting the grass beside her so that he would sit down. Rosie let out a grunt as he lowered himself onto the ground, pulling his hand out from behind his back to reveal a fistful of freshly picked poppies. A faint squeak of surprise escaped her, eyes widening slightly at the flowers as she took another bite of her carrot, tossing her newspaper to one side, swiftly forgotten. "Where'd you get those?"

"There's a whole bunch a few fields over, just bloomed these last couple days. George told me they're your favourite the first time I met her, but I could never find any."

Frankie frowned slightly. "Why'd she tell you that?"

Head lolling to the side, Rosie raised a brow. "Why'd you think, honey?"

She slowly began to nod. "Fair enough. Y'know-" She said, wagging her finger at him. "-I did know you had a crush on me back then."

He scoffed loudly, head shaking side to side in dissent. "What? No you didn't!"

"Of course I did! You weren't as slick as you thought you were, buddy."

"No, no - you don't get to talk. You almost kissed me one time and you ran away and refused to talk to me for weeks."

"That was way later!" Frankie cried. "That is not the same thing!"

Rosie laughed, pressing his shoulder against hers. "Whatever - just shut up and take your flowers, okay?" He grinned, holding the bouquet out to her.

She let out a chuckle, reaching out for them. "Thank you, dear."

"Yeah, yeah, love you," He jokingly rolled his eyes, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. Humming, he pulled away slightly, their noses still touching. "You smell bad."

"All for you, sweetheart," Frankie teased, and he laughed before going in for another kiss. She broke away with a grin, shifting sideways to rest her head against his shoulder, rolling the stem of one of the poppies between her finger and thumb.

"I got a call from George earlier... Apparently Croz is out for the count - passed out right in the middle of the office."

"Holy shit," Rosie's brow furrowed, bolting upright, and was about to make to stand when she put a hand on his arm, bringing him back down.

"Nah, he just needs to sleep. She was pissing herself on the phone, so he's fine," Frankie chuckled slightly, recalling George's laughter as she had described the way the navigator 'absolutely ate shit' in vivid detail. Once Rosie had settled, steadily accepting that his friend wasn't in need of help, he nestled back against the wall of the hut, stretching his arms out to wrap them around her shoulders, tugging her tight against his chest as she smiled.

"Called my dad last night - he asked me to make sure you're feelin' good before tomorrow."

"Oh, your dad wants to know, huh?" He asked incredulously, peering down at her with a raised brow and a smirk. Frankie was practically lying across his lap, his arms a vice grip around her shoulders, allowing just enough movement for her to reach up and twist the stray curl hanging against his forehead around the tip of her finger.

"Look, I know you'll be fine - you're a fuckin' pro," She tittered. "I think he's just concerned you'll condemn me to spinster-hood if anything goes wrong tomorrow."

"It would certainly be a loss to the world if no one ever got to see you in a wedding dress," Rosie teased, squeezing gently at the flesh of her arm.

"Oh piss off," She snorted, batting at his hand. "You think I couldn't find someone else to take me if you go down in a blaze of glory? I'm a catch."

"Awful. Horrible," He shook his head, letting her go as she let out a guffaw, resting on her back across his thighs. "Terrible - you're a terrible wife."

Frankie shrugged. "Could find someone who wouldn't call me a terrible wife n'all." Rosie reached around to the side of her stomach, digging a knuckle into the ticklish patch of skin above her waist, and she let out a shriek, kicking out her legs as she pushed herself upright, his expression creasing as he laughed. She opened her mouth wide in fake outrage, smacking him across the chest with the back of her hand. Before she could retract it, he seized her wrist, placing a kiss to her palm as she echoed his laughter.

It was easier to exist like this. At least, she knew it was for him. To simply be, to pretend nothing was coming - to put on a brave face and ignore the fact that tomorrow he would get into his plane and that, like every other time, there was a chance he wouldn't come back. Living in the future, in the 'what-if?', was going to kill them both eventually. It was easier to act like nothing was coming, and open themselves to the consequences once it was over. To mop up the blood at the end of a long day spent pretending they didn't know it would always be there.

She knew that Rosie needed this. He'd never ask, but he needed someone who didn't look to him for answers and wisdom and a plan to do the impossible. He needed Frankie to make him laugh, to give him a tiny sliver of time where he wasn't a Major or a pilot or the guy who flew twenty-five goddamn missions and came straight back for more - he was just Rosie. She could do that. She could make that her job. It was easy to do when she was doing it for him. As easy as breathing.

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The planes had left three hours ago. In the officers' club, a radio had been set up atop the bar, playing the BBC broadcast since eight o'clock that morning, chairs clustered in a tight semi-circle as people listened in, desperate to catch every development. George had popped in on her break, lingering by the door for just long enough to notice Frankie's absence. The other mechanics had all assembled, functionally inert until the planes returned, but she had not been among them. Ken met George's eye from across the room and shrugged, silently confirming that he hadn't seen her. In an instant, she knew exactly where to look.

Frankie looked up as the door to their hut swung open, smiling at George as she entered from where she sat cross-legged upon the bed, shoes discarded in a heap on the floor. Her bouquet of poppies had spent the night in a vase on the bedside table, but now she was taking scissors to the stems, chopping them down and splaying the petals neatly upon the pages of her book.

There was no need to ask. George knew she was distracting herself, knew exactly what she was doing with the flowers - preserving them as a manifestation of the subconscious fear that Rosie wouldn't be coming back to give her any more. Wordlessly, she crossed the room towards her bed, reaching underneath it to retrieve the heftiest hardback she owned, so heavy that the mattress creaked as she put it down beside Frankie. She looked up at her, brow raised.

"That one's heavier. It'll press them flatter."

"Thanks," She smiled, beginning to transfer the flowers from one book to the other. It was silent for a long while as she did this, and George perched on the edge of the mattress, feet dangling onto the floor.

"... I'm not hiding, or avoiding anything, by the way," Frankie pointed out, still staring down at her work.

"You think I'd fucking judge you if you were?" George frowned. "You do whatever you have to, I'm gonna be here either way."

She looked up at her then, the faintest of smiles curling her lip as she simply stared for a while.

"You're basically the love of my life."

"Well, obviously - who else was it gonna be?" George snorted, and Frankie began to grin, wordlessly passing over the last of the untouched poppies so that she could join in. With gentle fingers, they splayed each petal, sliding the flowers in place between the well-worn pages of George's book. It was undoubtedly an act of love. For whom, it didn't really matter.

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Crosby's eyes opened slowly to the sound of laughter, a gentle afternoon breeze blowing across his cheek as he blinked against the sudden sunlight. His head lolled to the side as he gradually took in the scene around him, and for a moment no one noticed he'd even awoken. Rosie sat on the bed beside him, using his thumb to mark the page in his book as he looked up with a smile. The window had been propped all the way open, and Frankie leant her shoulder against the frame, arms folded across her chest as she chatted in hushed tones, George just visible beside her. The two women were forbidden from entering the men's huts, but with the window open so far and their bodies leaning through, they were practically inside anyway.

"Oh shit - the great navigator lives," George said, and Harry could practically hear the smirk in her voice. He blinked hard, trying to adjust his eyes well enough to make out the time on Rosie's watch as the Major grinned at him.

"What time is it?" He asked blearily, pushing himself up slowly on one elbow.

"Hmm, seven-thirty?" Frankie guessed, squinting as she peered up at the sky. Rosie nodded in confirmation.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline shot through him. Harry could picture his maps on the office table, just sitting there, painfully incomplete as the clock ticked each second steadily away. Before he even registered his movement, he was on his feet, scrambling for his clothes. "There's still time! There's still time, come on, goddammit - why are you all standing around!?" He barked, panic lacing his every word. They didn't have time for this - they needed to get to work right now. Why wasn't anybody moving?

George was the first to break, taking a step back from the window as a cackle erupted from her throat, followed almost simultaneously by Frankie as she let out a snort, face reddening with laughter. Even Rosie had begun to chuckle. Harry suddenly realised he wasn't wearing any trousers.

"Seven-thirty Saturday, Croz," Rosie explained, the two women still giggling like schoolgirls, collapsing back into hilarity each time they made eye contact with one another. The realisation that he had missed the day they'd all been working towards hit like a freight train, knocking the wind from Harry's lungs, and he was certain he would've been devastated had the others not been there, grinning back at him. They were okay - hell, they were smiling, seemingly happier than they had been in weeks. It was an immediate balm, soothing the burn before it even had time to swell.

Crosby took a deep breath, trying his hardest to summon any words that might relay the moment.

"... Can you two get outta here until I put some pants on?"

Frankie snorted again, and George nodded hurriedly, clearly trying not to slip back into laughter. The pair stepped away from the window, their muffled voices floating back on the wind as they wandered away, linked at the elbow, until they'd vanished from earshot. Letting out a huff, Harry rummaged around until he found some trousers, shooting Rosie a look as he tugged them up over his hips.

"... Why'd you let 'em in when I don't have any pants on, man?" He asked, throwing his hands up in despair.

Rosie's brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Well, what d'you expect me to do when Frankie shows up?"

"Not let her in?"

He tilted his head to the side, raising a brow as if to say 'Really?'. Croz let out a long sigh. "Right. Yeah, I remember... You guys are weird."

Rosie just shrugged.