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oediex · 1 year

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I love when people randomly like or reblog one of my kitten posts, because it's so great to think back on all my babies <3 I don't currently have any due to life circumstances, so it's nice to be reminded of them regularly.

So here's Mama Rosie, who hated me, raising 8 kittens in an environment that probably gave her a lot of stress, she did stellar ✨

Here they are when they're a lot bigger:

They were such a tangled mess for several weeks.

I did help her by bottle feeding three of them though. I liked to call them the drink squad. 🍼 Once they got old enough to know what they were doing, they would patiently wait at the front of the pen whenever I came in

They were very good drinkers!

They were such a joy to have in the house <3 Such a privilege to fall asleep with 8 kittens in my arms.

Mama Rosie went back to the farm where she came from, neutered and vaccinated, when the kittens were about two months old. She's now happy and free and doesn't have to have babies anymore. <3

Find more of my past babies here or befriend them on Facebook!

#kittens #foster kittens #mama rosie #the easter kittens #the adopted ones #adopt don't shop #fostering saves lives

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filosofablogger · 2 years

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Good People Doing Good Things -- Mama Rosie

Good People Doing Good Things — Mama Rosie

I almost never redux good people posts. There are enough good people out there who deserve the spotlight that I don’t need to revert back and redux them. However … on occasion my attention is drawn elsewhere and rather than let you down, I do redux some of my favourites … I try not to do it often, but it happens on rare occasions. Tonight, it is nearly 3:00 a.m. and I have literally been glued…

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#Baphumelele #HIV/Aids #Khayelitsha #Mama Rosie #orphaned children #Rosalia Mashale #South Africa

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zebrasonice · 1 year

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We Saved an Orphanage

I’ve been avoiding spending as much money as possible since I’m running low on my savings, but I felt compelled to donate to this cause. And I thought I’d share in case it compels someone else too.

#youtube #kids #children #orphans #orphanage #charity #giving #mrbeast #baphumelele childrens home #mama rosie

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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Hello! Can we please have some more baby Rosie and Miguel fluff

Baby Cares with Miguel

Rosie Michelle O'Hara.

His eyes reread over and over the birth certificate. His third child, another sunshine in his life. There were no longer dark days, as they were buried just like his solitude, fifteen years back.

Looking at his daughter invaded him with such a strange yet overwhelming reaction. A piece of him and you, melded together and shaped in the form he was seeing like a total idiot.

A soft smile that widened as his baby yawned, eyes that would turn only soft and loving to you and your children, being the only worthy of his unbridled and unconditional love.

He had to rub his face to try and get the sappiness out, but to his little to no surprise, it didn't work. Rosie had your eyes shape, but his color and lips. She had your skin tone, but had Miguel's bushy eyebrows. Rosie had Miguel's stubbornness, but she had your way of worming out into his heart, just like you had done all those years ago and your pretty smile that always managed to disarm him.

To his eyes, his little flower, his Rosita Fresita, was perfect.

Even if she was looking at him with curious eyes while warm water doused her little head. Rosie was on a bee shaped sink, tepid water soaking her, her tiny hand wrapped around Miguel's wrist as her head snuggled on his wide and gentle hand. Smiling at him every time he spoke to her while he brushed the sudsy substance all over her pretty head full of waves and curls.

Her hair was the only part of her that was still deciding which part of your genes would win.

Her tongue peeked upon water splashing gently on her face to then turn into a little pout.

"What's wrong, cielito lindo? Water is getting cold?"

A coo as he lathered a tissue under her neck.

"Don't worry, mi niña. We're almost done."

His voice was like a lullaby for Rosie. Her eyes drooped lazily. The smile was back on as he hummed a little tune, she loved hearing him. Even before born, her fussing whenever Miguel spoke to her turned a bit more intense. Sometimes she kicked a bit too hard whenever you saw off Miguel to work. A silent yet powerful 'Papa, stay.'

Rosie loved Miguel's chest, It was yours and Gabi's favorite place to sleep. Benjamin always preferred his abdomen or his back as a personal pillow.

His baby was wrapped comfortably in a towel, the ever pondering rusty brown eyes stared at him as if asking him, 'What's next, Papa?'

Miguel propped Rosie in her crib carefully, to then look into her little closet. Drawers full of either pink, red and white clothes. He pulled out a pale pink onesie, with little flowers imprinted around it, her diaper and some sweet scented baby cologne.

Miguel pat dried Rosie, marveled at his own part of the creation, admiring his daughter for the umpteenth time.

"I know, I know I said the other pink, but this one looks better. Trust your Papa."

Another smile, his heart melted. He was lucky today to receive such gift. He poured some lotion and rubbed her arms, legs, tummy and under her neck, leaving a gentle and sweet strawberry fragrance on her.

He then changed her into the onesie and buttoned the little things, even if his fingers took what it felt forever in buttoning one, the results always left him speechless. He finished dressing her up with a lovely rose bandana on her hair.

Then, he proceeded with making her bottle. He pulled out one of the bags, filled with enough breast milk to preheat it to the right temperature to feed her. You were too exhausted to be awake, it's been a couple of days since you returned from the hospital, understandably so, you needed a break.

After all, you had prepared to shut down for a couple of days, letting him to handle it. And so far his job as a father had been wonderful.

Rosie's cheeks trembled as soon as she latched on the bottle. Her hand seemed to have taken a like to his wrist, like if she was anchoring to him. Finally holding on her dear Papa.

Miguel was sitting on the rocking chair, still while Rosie ate. Snuggled in a fraction of his strong and gentle arms, sucking the life out of that bottle that had no match against your warm and homey breast. Her eyes looked up while she ate. Admiring him. Taking in every fraction of his face.

So this is Papa.

Surely she'd say.

He didn't know how, but the non verbal communication always seemed an easy thing for him, and excelled whenever it came to babies.

"I know, you want your mother Mija, but she's exhausted." A little grunt in protest, Miguel laughed softly, "It's only temporary, I swear. Let Mama catch a break, ok?"

Her rising grunts were placated by a kiss on her forehead. Eventually, Rosie fell asleep after Miguel patted her back with such tenderness he'd never (even to this day) felt possible to achieve.

Her little burps sent a proud shimmy in his heart.

And now, he put her back to the crib, draping a blanket over her deep sleeping daughter.

"Que descanses, Rosita." (Rest well, Rosita)

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#rosie o'hara #mama o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 2 months

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Cooking Skills: Charlie Feat. Auntie Rosie

Charlie: Rooooossiiiiiie!!!

Rosie: Charlie, dear! What a surprise?! What brings you all the way to Cannibal Town?

Charlie: Do you know anything about cooking? (Sees the multitude of various "finger" sandwiches and winces) Erm... Cooking in a non-cannibal way?

Rosie: Hmmmm... Can't say I do, sweetie. It's been a long time since I've cooked anything without sinner flesh. Why do you ask?

Charlie: I told Vaggie that I wanted to cook a nice dinner for her, and she gave me that "Oh shit, please don't" smile that she usually gets when she's not 100% confident in my skills!

Rosie: I take it you're not much of a little chef?

Charlie: (holds her head in her hands) I can't even boil water without it burning!

Rosie: Have you tried asking your father? I've heard that he can cook.

Charlie: Pancakes. He's good at making pancakes. Everything else... well....

-Flashback-

Lucifer: (in the kitchen at 2am, crying) Depressed?! I'm not depressed! Can a depressed, divorced dad do this?! (shovels plain baked pie crust and fried apples into his mouth, topping it all off by squirting whipped cream in a deconstructed apple pie) *sniff* I'm sooohoo lonely!

-Present-

Rosie: Oh! Shit. That's quite the predicament.

Charlie: I don't know what to do.

Rosie: Hmmmm.... I think I might know a gal who can help you out~

-Across the Pentagram-

Rosie: (walks up the steps and knocks on the solid metal door) Carmilla, dear! It's Rosie!

Carmilla: (face pops up on an intercom speaker) Rosie, for the last time. I don't want to join your Bridge club.

Rosie: Oh, no! I'm not here for that. I'll get you next week, ha! No, I'm here with Miss Charlie. She's having a bit of a conundrum.

Charlie: (waves awkwardly) H-How do you do?

Carmilla: Princess? This is a surprise. Well, out with it.

Charlie: IwannamakedinnerforVaggie, butshedoesntthinkicancook, andIhavenowhereelsetogo-

Carmilla: Rosie, are you able to translate this gibberish?

Rosie: Charlie needs help cooking a lovely, comforting meal for her little girlfriend.

Carmilla: .......You honestly came here to ask me to help you learn to cook?

Rosie: You betcha!

Carmilla: ....... (screen goes black)

Charlie: Wait! (Plasters her face to the screen) Carmilla! I-I mean! Ms. Carmine, please, I desperately need your help!

-Door slides open to Carmine standing imposing in the doorway-

Carmilla: If you're going to be cooking my recipes, in my kitchen, then you're going to be respectful and follow everything I say. Do you understand?

Charlie: (spine snaps ramrod straight) Yes, Ma'am!

Carmilla: Very well, come in.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel incorrect quotes #chaggie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel rosie #carmilla carmine #lucifer #depression #charlie cant cook #auntie rosie #mama carmine

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mydeerfellow · 3 months

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Can't wait for Rosie to give Alastor's actual backstory in contrast to Mimzy's edition.

"yes this is my goblin son and he's very silly yet somehow I love him even if he cries about his mom an awkward amount"

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin headcanons #alastor headcanons #hazbin rosie #someone take tumblr away from me #i cant be contained #alastor is a mamas boy and everyone should know it

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precious-little-scoundrel · 17 days

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|| My fellow Colonel

Y’all asked for it and here it is. Whew, I wrote all of it today so here’s to hoping it is tolerably alright. Also, as an aside, I am just shy of 1k followers and that’s astounding to me. I had to rebuild this blog from scratch in December after two previous deactivations where I lost a similar amount collected over a far longer time. I’m truly so grateful for each of you who take an interest in sharing this little corner of the internet with me. Thank you, thank you!

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ with additional chapter warnings for gore and violent character death, brief mention of racial discrimination and a very dark headspace for Ida at times including brief yet crassly recollected sexual assault

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

“Bitte.” Ida kept her hands placating, outstretched and harmless by her side, the most open expression on her face that she could summon as she stared the woman down, “Bitte nicht!”

For eleven days she and Smith and Cleven had managed to scrounge their way westward, evading recapture or altercation. But eating from the dead horses on the side of the road was out of the question, agricultural fields were churned to sludge by Amtrak’s and the small amount of wheat berries they found in one abandoned supply truck had long since ceased to fuel their weakening bodies.

They had passed by a camp, one that they observed from the shelter of the woods to be abandoned or liquidated, once used for civilian labor, judging by the signs. After a careful reconnaissance it was agreed that Ida should go and act on her hope that the commandant's empty dwelling may not have been completely ransacked. That there might be some leftover provisions either there, or in the homes of the other personnel. She had had no luck at the commandant’s, it had been empty, no luck in the next idyllic little shack either, only the eerie knickknacks of some bygone person whose vocation it was to deal in pure evil.

In the third house she had found jars of spoiled milk, tubers of some sort gone to sprouts but she did not care, she grabbed a ratty towel lying on the floor and made a sling for them. She was in the process of prying a loose floorboard up, anticipating some root cellar below when the whining creak of a sneaking step sounded behind her in the still place.

She whirled around in a crouch, half expecting either one of her companions or else one of the many starving children they encountered on the road. Instead, silhouetted inside the bright doorway there was a woman, in the uniform of a guard and with a Lugar poised at the ready. Ida felt a cold spike of fear at the flashing recollection of her last encounter with such a female, at the horrid misery that was Ravensbruck, the complete and entire lack of respect shown to her or her girls by these indoctrinated tools.

Ida’s grasp of German had been sufficient enough to keep herself and her companions away from suspicion in their occasional interactions with passersby. While she wore the heavy overcoat of a military man, it had no markings, and it was just as likely for some freezing civilian to steal it off a carcass as it was for an American female officer to be on the loose. Ida knew this and she tried to play at being dumb, pointing to the food, explaining in unstudied desperation that she was starving.

The female guard observed her coldly, her impassive face showing a certain lack of curiosity or even remote interest in Ida’s narrative that made her heart quicken with a presentment of a swift and sudden execution. She has seen these guards lift a gun, squeeze the trigger, and move on boredly all in the matter of a second. What about her own features or story were so compelling to prevent it?

“Bitte nicht!” She repeated again, choosing to take a step forward, eyeing the woman’s grip and posture, professional, soldierly, the woman left little opening for Ida to capitalize on, but she would rather get a bullet in the gut while fighting than be shot hunkering over stolen potatoes.

There was a darkening in the doorway, it caught Ida’s eye right before she timed her launch. It was Cleven. His appearance made her hesitate a moment too long. He had his arm barred around the guard’s throat in an instant but the pistol was out of his reach and one stride too far away from Ida’s grasp. Unlike the hapless children in the forest that had attacked them days ago, this officer had bullets. Ida felt the searing tear of its bite smart her shoulder, blurring her vision in pain before she rushed in, clasping her own hands around the pale wrist.

Cleven had the woman’s eyes rolling back with his grip, her grapple at his forearm growing feeble as her oxygen ran low. Another shot rang out, a bullet embedding in the ceiling rafters as Ida managed to wrench it away at last. She turned it on the woman and fired, only to find her luck run out again, as well as the chamber.

There was a knife in the guard's boot, both women seemed to think of it at the same instant as the guard became possessed with a final animated struggle to reach for it, desperate to break out of Cleven’s strangle. But Ida wasn’t about to watch another friend die, or miss her chance to go home, to bear witness to what her girls, her men, her brother were yet enduring, not to spare herself a fleeting moment of misplaced mercy. She dove for the boot, wrenched the knife free from its sheath and drove the blade in under the sternum, carving it upwards as she herself rose to her feet. Her wrist was fully in the chest cavity, arm covered with warm still living blood, by the time she saw the guard’s head loll impassively against Cleven’s chest, the soul finally gone dim behind the eyes.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back from the corpse, letting go. Ida felt the weight of the body in her wrist as her grip on the knife was all that kept it standing. She tore the weapon free with another sickly gush, and blearily observed it crumple to the floor.

“There are spuds.” she told Cleven as she braced her hands on her knees, nodding to her abandoned sack of potatoes. The edges of her vision were blurring from the exertion, her coat sleeve was soaked to the elbow, but she had a weapon now and a dead Nazi at her feet. Both sat well with her.

The potatoes bought them another days walk, with Smith using the ratty towel to wrap Ida’s shoulder, it was only a flesh wound. That evening they had another run in, but this time it was with the friendly faces of gum chewing yanks who were welcoming with their smokes and their K rations. Poor infantry boys, they were bamboozled by the existence of a female officer, the experiment of integration having only added to the flyboys somewhat derisive glamor. But it was mostly awe, and a healthy amount of respect, that they showed for the blood smeared lady Colonel.

“That make you one of Brady’s Banshees?” one bright corporal made conversation with Ida as he allowed her a seat beside himself on the hood of a tank, it was a hitched ride into Belgium.

“She is Brady.” Smith drawled for her, enjoying far more than Ida how gobsmacked the man was to be in the presence of feminine greatness.

They were welcomed warmly everywhere by their fellow allies, ferried like heroes on any conveyance possible. Smith was their cheery intercessor, knowing her superiors were of so torn a spirit and conflicted of conscience as to be half inclined to go back to where they came from. In truth, Ida could hardly bring herself to board the last plane -an unbelievable courtesy taking them from Paris straight to Thorpe- as all she could think on were what repercussions might have been exacted on the others for their escape. And what cruelties she had left her brother to endure without her.

Cleven was not much better; Egan, Maureen, all of them still left behind. As they took their seats on the benches, felt the old nostalgic rumble of the engines, not of a Fort but of a Gooneybird, what should have been a lightening of spirits as they soared over the channel was instead a dismal camaraderie of guilt.

That fateful night when they had all agreed to escape before crossing the Danube, the organization had been infuriatingly chaotic yet the groups were chosen with emphatic pragmatism. The guards were used to watching certain persons in company with their favorite fellows. The Bradys, the Buckys, Smith and Murph, each had some comrade the Germans expected to be their partner in any subversive endeavor. With this in mind, their agreed-upon groups were intentionally fractured to confuse their captors, each hoping to meet up somewhere on the road or in the forest.

Cleven and Ida had waited only a few hundred yards in the tree line for over an hour, hoping to be joined by their fellows. In the end only Smith came, with the word that the gig was up, Egan had been detained, John Brady never even began to saunter off before they closed the perimeter. No more were coming. It took all of Smith’s vicious logic to keep the officers from going back, she had to lean on reminders of reprisals and certain death, how they could in no way alleviate the suffering of the others by rejoining them.

What they could do was carry through, escape, go back to England, spread the word, liberate.

Despite this inner turmoil, Ida felt like kissing the ground when her feet landed on East Anglian soil. Or, rather, the cement of the old familiar runway. Instead she settled for Crosby‘s cheeks, the beaming fellow being so utterly honest in his welcome that some tiny part of her melted in momentary relief at having actually made it. That hadn’t really sunk in, not until there was an English mist pelting her face and Harry’s crinkled cheeks between her hands.

“A major?!” she repeated his rank and felt prouder than his mother in that moment while Harry blushed scarlet under the affirmation.

“A-and a father.” tumbled out of his mouth as a deflection except, that subject made a great hullabaloo too, with even Cleven growing exuberant in his congratulatory shoulder slapping. “What am I doing makin’ you stand out here, get in the jeep sirs, I’ll take you to a hut, or-or the club? Or the doctor?”

Both Ida and Cleven stiffened in their swing into the jeep at the last suggestion, a brittle defensiveness tightening their smiles, “Bed and board are all we need, thanks Crosby.” Gale gave him one of those devastatingly final little nods of his.

They kept him occupied and rambling on the ride, updates on new crews, new buildings, Jeffreys, Meatball, the improvement of rations, tales of bombing Berlin, the prospect of victory within reach. By the time he’d parked outside Cleven’s old barracks, Harry knew next to nothing about their own experiences, and he felt that somehow to have been quite calculated.

“There’s still a ladies sector, Colonel,” Harry assured Ida, much to her confusion as to why there wouldn’t be, “I’ll take you and Smith there.”

The old hut was as she remembered it, same as all the others, curved metal amplifying the patter of rain and the monotonous comfort of Air Force regulated bunking. It hit then, no more wooden combines or roadside shelters. She was really back.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Smith asked, the place eerily quiet, even for midday.

“There at- there at work.” Crosby offered haltingly.

Suspecting something dreadful, or as Bucky liked to say of her instincts -sniffing out bullshit- Ida slowly turned to Crosby and gave him a stare, one she recalled having once effectively shrank the man by a few literal inches. Perhaps because it was remarkably similar to her brother’s. Harry bore up under it better now, oak leaf cluster on his breast or a hard three years adding some spine to him, she didn’t know, but still his expression wavered guiltily.

“At work?” she repeated his phrasing, “That what the kids call war these days?”

“A few, a couple, -some,” he settled on, “are on missions. We’ve been uh, we’ve been running a lot of missions. Picking up prisoners -like you guys.”

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

“Uh, well, various posts, you know how it is-“

“-grounded?” She supplied.

“Well, yeah. Just like Douglass and me and-“

“They badly hurt? Who’re we talking about?”

“Colonel,” Harry begged her, looking mildly close to drowning on dry land and sending a wet eyed sos at Smith, “dozens of them are posted here. Grounded yes, but, in good positions, required positions-“

“Did they get corresponding promotions?” Ida hit back, “Were they grounded because they were too valuable or were they hurt? Or did they just get squirreled away in some cupboard with a typewriter?”

“Look, uh, sir,” Harry chuckled nervously, “a lot of them are on missions, some of them are at their jobs -where I should be right now. But, it’s true, uh, the brass thought that, well they weren’t sure, Ida, when we got word you’d escaped we wanted to welcome you back right and uh, we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve had a lot of reports. Some reassuring and a lot…not. Not reassuring at all. And uh, we didn’t know what to expect, they didn’t know and uh, depending on how you were, it could affect the morale. So they thought, clear the place out a little, yeah? Make sure you were -you were…”

“Didn’t wanna scare the kids.” Ida supplied, tone softened, suspecting she probably did look half witch from all her trials.

“We didn’t know what to expect.” Harry repeated, a significant amount of relief bleeding into his voice, like he was going to get choked up on her mere continued existence.

“Well I need a change of clothes, and I need a shower.” Ida smiled at him until he gave her a fastidious look while glancing at her blood stained coat and she sent him a sour glare in return, “And a nap. And then I dare say nothing about me will be cause for alarm, not even for general LeMay.”

Harry was back to chuckling nervously as he walked his way backwards out the hut. “Of course, yeah, uh, we tried to supply uniforms, laid them out -best we could scrounge, for now.”

“Thanks Croz.” Smith offered, trying to soften the ending of this interaction.

“Before you go,” Ida stalled him, “tell me a little about the new ones? Who should I know? What should I know? Hate to wake up in here and have to start making acquaintances from scratch.”

“Colonel,” Harry answered her in the most mournful voice, “there aren’t any new ones.”

That old whiff of cold dread was back. “Crosby.”

“They uh, after you went down, colonel they, they scrapped the program.”

“You cannot be-“ Ida rubbed at her throat, trying to get it to open up, wondering what the hell it must be like to be Gale Cleven and get to come back to Thorpe Abotts and nothing be different, get to be home and get to find everything where it should be because your own higher ups aren’t fighting against you right along with the bastards with the flak and the barbed wire and the endless taunts about women being made for breeding. “Crosby what do you mean scrapped? They shut it down?” she wished she sounded angry, but she knew it was a cry, and to his credit he looked ready to cry for her.

“Colonel I’m so sorry, the reports were so alarming and the-“ he shook his head, “-they grounded all female servicemen right after. Cut the program, if it wasn’t for Kidd they might’ve sent them all back, discharged or moved to the WASPS. Well, they stayed, but, it’s not- it’s not what it was, colonel.”

Ida bit her lip, that old throbbing pain from the old injury of her cheek bloomed again, it felt like arriving at the stalag in one too many ways. “Y-you said something about, you said some were up on missions.” She wracked her brain for it and found it, that one bit of hope and she clung to it like a woman drowning.

“Yeah!” Crosby was over eager to soothe the pain with the modicum of good news he had, “They are! Rosenthal he uh, he’s over the squadrons now and uh, he’s seen to it they are allowed up. Mostly uh, mercy runs or behind allied lines, they don’t want anyone captured but, they’re up. They’re getting their thirty missions. They’ve uh, they’ve changed the number, since you were here.”

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

Harry’s footsteps had long ago receded along the gravel outside by the time Ida allowed herself enough movement to sink atop the pristinely made bed in her filthy clothes and just stare at the opposite bunk of equally pristine sheets and all of it so pristine and so rigorous and so proud and so pristine and so-

The echo of her own scream startled her, banging off the tin walls and circling back to her. Ida felt more than saw the implacable Tallulah Smith jump in fright beside her, but that level headed woman knew better than to soothe her officer. Not after what they’d just learned. She bit her tongue and busied herself sorting amongst the clothes and provisions for towels, combs, soap, toothbrushes. Ida watched this rich display of care on the part of their fellows with a snarl bending her lip, she could taste salt and knew she was also crying and all that she could hear amongst the cacophony in her head was a desperate wail -she didn’t want combs and towels, she wanted her squadron back.

Some aspect of this heartbroken petulance must’ve shown on her face as Smith extended both a comb and towel to her with forceful kindness, “LeMay didn’t lay these out.” was all she commented. “Think of it as Harry’s hospitality. You look a mess, and won’t get any respect for it.”

Smith had some vantage point from which to speak, Ida knew. Native American with bronzed skin just shy of being segregated twice over, getting screwed over was something Smith had made into an art form of cat and mouse. Ida had long admiringly observed it; she never thought she’d need to adopt a similar posture to this degree. Not when she felt like grabbing at the knife still in her trench coat pocket and making a charming scene and all it would get her was confirmation of the reports.

Whatever those were. Alarming reports, apparently. It was so very upper brass of them all to find the enemy’s methods unfortunate and so shoot themselves in the foot like it evened things out.

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Ida insisted to Smith from her bunk, refusing more than the towel and comb.

They’d all been through hell for daring to be combatants. But Ida, at this news of her loss, was beginning to recall particular parts of her own hell she had not dwelt on since they occurred.

Colonel -the way each had called her that, sneering at the mere concept of a colonel with a cunt, an officer so easily breached, a leader made by her Creator to be bent over and taken. She’d had a squadron then, and no amount of scorn or cruelty could take that from her; no, only her friends could take that away.

And they had.

Robert Rosenthal was giving himself a little pump up speech as he stalled outside with his hand on the door knob, knowing he needed to knock first and that knocking would buy him a little more time to ready himself, and so he really should go ahead and knock. The pattering drizzle on his hat brim should have been human incentive enough to get inside already, if duty and honor and admiration weren’t quite cutting it today. But he stalled, even went so far as to cast an indefensibly juvenile and furtive glance over his shoulder at the shrinking form of the accommodating lady who’d passed him on his march here. A Lieutenant Smith, who had told him she was glad to be back and that her famed superior was still inside-

“Angry as God after catching the Israelites worshiping cows at Mount Carmel.”

Rosenthal knew Ida Brady had every reason to be utterly furious, hell -he was furious for her, with her, about her. And he had no right to stand there and wish she wouldn’t take it out on him, to defend himself with shitty excuses like the fact a few of the girls got to see the top of clouds because he had put his shiny and promoted boot down and asked for it. He wasn’t exactly the problem, perhaps, but he was, by sheer implication of it being men like him unable to require better treatment, at fault. And so, Rosie stood in the drizzle and gave himself one last minute to think about Colonel Ida Brady as she had been the last time he’d seen her, terrifyingly formidable and utterly kind.

“It’s no worse than your dread of it, I swear.” she had told him and Nash that night before their first time up, “I was relieved to have seen it.”

What had she seen since? He stared at the little leather binder in his hand and scoffed at the administrative mission that carried him here. To hell with it. He knocked, he waited, he knocked once more, and he went in.

The stipple of rain on the roof of an empty Nissen hut was a calming background noise he himself savored whenever possible. Despite their bare aesthetic and extreme practicality, there was a serenity to them as well, and on spotting a seated figure a few bunks down from the entrance, he felt a pang of empathy for the desire to just decompress.

She looked up at the sound of his footfalls, not startled in the least. Not angry. In fact, she looked utterly dazed, like the men he’d helped out of their forts after a bad run of it. A face he’d seen in the mirror once or twice or a couple dozen. There was a docile listlessness in her gaze that he knew better than to be comforted by, despite the selfish feeling of relief at not immediately being eviscerated about her squadron. She was gaunt, understandably so, her strong jaw so pronounced he could cut his thumb on it, the pallor of her skin jarred unsettlingly with her dark brows, set off in stark relief by her tangled, jet black hair. Her overcoat was half muddy brown, half doleful rust. There was a bloody story there, a recent one, not washed away by a hard rain or bath. Rosenthal didn’t have any doubt how that struggle had ended for her assailant: she was here, wasn’t she?

He’d never seen anything more magnificent in all his life than this battered figure sat on a pristine cot with dawning recognition in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Colonel!” he ventured, keeping his tone soft as befitted the setting, yet unable to keep the creeping happiness at her return from showing in his voice.

“Mm, yes. Rosenthal.” Ida was straightening automatically, rising from her seat, shrugging off her clumsy overcoat and standing near to attention at sight of the brass on his lapel, “I remember you. A Colonel now, I see. Well done.”

Rosie felt his cheeks burn, another juvenile thing, her hand extended itself to his surprise and he clasped it warmly, maybe a little too firmly. “Well that’s kind of you, Ma’am. Very kind. Welcome back, Colonel.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Apologies.” he stumbled, releasing her hand in hopes of regaining his thoughts. She didn’t look angry yet, she looked wary, “Just glad to have you back. There was…a lotta concern.”

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

“Right.” There was silence after that, it was so thick that the quirk of his kind lips and the gleam of his eager eyes slowly dimmed and fell as no small talk resumed. “Uh, colonel,” he ventured, “due to those aforementioned concerns, uh, I’ve been asked-“

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

“Ha, well, lawyerly talk I’m afraid. I need to get a report from you, colonel.”

“For God’s sake man, I just got here, maybe with a shower and a nap and a cup of joe I might have a report for you but- I just got here.”

“Yes.” he refused to wince, he refused to. He was a colonel now, he had to require unpleasant things every day from his friends. Today it was required from a hero. Small difference in a war. “And if it were up to me I’d give you weeks to do all that before asking a thing from you. But I can’t, colonel. They wanted an immediate, preliminary report. It’s -it’s the same as an integration after a mission. Less interaction beforehand, less time to confuse the details- you get my drift.”

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say? God’s sake Rosenthal.” she was close to angry now.

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

“Why the whole welcoming committee schtik? Just say what you mean.”

“It’s not a schtick, Ma’am,” he insited, heatedly, “it’s a genuine honor to have you back with us and a relief to see you safe. And yes, I have orders to get a preliminary report.”

“In future you can save us both precious minutes of our lives by being this forthright, please?”

“Understood.”

“Right, well. What’s wanted? What kind of report?” He didn’t fail to notice the sudden and very studied nonchalance that took over her gait, the way she leaned against the railing of her footboard, almost a slouch that made the lean line of her look entirely unperturbed. He wasn’t a good lawyer out of naïveté about such posturing. She was braced like hell for this, probably worse than he was.

“On uh, on your general treatment. Ma’am.” he decided to summarize it thusly.

“Well Colonel,” he had forgotten what a nice voice she had, it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gruff, it was simply nice, “if Gale Cleven’s under eyes didn’t tell you the food was meager and hardly nutritious, I’ll go on record to say so. But they did try, I think I can give them that. Looked like everyone was starving by the end.”

“Conduct of your guards?” he had his stupid little leather case open on his forearm and the not quite soggy notepad in it was being dutifully filled with scribbles.

“I’ve little to say against the Luftwaffe, they were honorable for the most part. I think you’ll get that same report from the others. There were a few incidents, but we were enemies. To be expected.”

“Right, uh,” the pencil drug a little “this is a general report so I’ll spare an inquiry into those incidents.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?” Ida tried to smooth her face, she really did.

“Colonel -yes.” she watched him as he deliberated for a moment before seeming to recall her scathing admonition of before, and carried on resolutely in the bluntest manner he could summon, “Regarding your prolonged detention before the stalag. It’s our understanding you were not always under Luftwaffe jurisdiction?”

“That’s correct. Combatant status was not recognized for four and a half weeks.” Ida gave a clipped nod. “We were even briefly detained at a concentration camp.”

“I can’t imagine what you must’ve seen there.”

Ida stared back with some slight emotion flitting over her mask-like face at long last and Rosie felt maybe his own showed it, too, “From what I’ve heard, we may be the only ones to have left alive.” she said at last.

“Your testimony, what you saw there, it could become-“ Rosie drew in breath, “-invaluable.”

“I’d do anything to see justice done, Major.” she agreed, “Sometimes I think I dreamed such mass cruelty. Seems too large to be real, too awful to be abetted for so long by so many.”

“I saw what was left of one of the smaller camps. In Poland.”

“Mm, so you can imagine.” she retorted, but it was a kind retort.

“I don’t see much else when I close my eyes.”

“Mm.”

“Right, back to this uh, report, the question is, how were you treated before civilian status was adhered to?”

“Is this a personal report or a general one?” Ida inquired suddenly.

“The assignment was to ask about your own observations as senior officer of the female contingent of-“

“-then in that case, the treatment was barbaric, Major Rosenthal.” Ida informed him forcefully, “The Luftwaffe used plenty of rough tactics and one officer was particularly cruel to Cleven. I was informed my brother was dying and that my obstinance in denying giving them information was prolonging his torment. All of that I was prepared for, it was one soldier’s attempt to break another. The gestapo, on the other hand, were beasts. And the SS -sadists. They dealt in cruelty for the pleasure of it and my girls went through hell. Once in the stalag there was a reprieve. Then the Luftwaffe were relieved of command and it began again- if you expect details, come back with a larger notepad.”

Rosie gave a curt nod of his own in understanding, his brow creased at the implication.

“No one wants to see justice done for them more than I.” Ida went on, “But they’re still out there, and I’m here. And I-I don’t know that those are my stories to tell, Colonel. What I saw is plenty enough to hang a village. And it wasn’t just toward my girls.”

“At…at a later point, you’d be willing then?” he ventured, softly, no longer professional, “To tell me what you saw?”

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

“Yes ma’am.” he knew a dismissal when he heard one, he even felt a brief and heinous relief at the prospect of slipping away on a high note. The dreaded scrapping of the program still undiscussed. “I’ll uh, leave ya to that shower.”

“It’s good to be back, Colonel.” she called to him while he was still maneuvering through a somewhat meandering exit, she called out this concession as if it were meant only in regards to him, “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Well now that was -that was kind and that was unexpected and Colonel Robert Rosenthal may have let the door hit him on the way out.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #mota imagine #those who can #integrated au #Rosie x ida #mota fanfiction #Rosie Rosenthal #Robert Rosenthal #Nate mama #rosie rosenthal x oc #Rosie Rosenthal fanfic

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thatsrightice · 2 months

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I just learned that sometimes the replacements would call Crosby and the other more experienced guys on base “old”, like Crosby is called “Old Croz”, And that just confirms for me that Crosby and Rosie are like the unofficial-official parents of the 100th bomb group flyboys.

Crosby is Mom or Ma, not like they’d ever intentionally call him that to his face. It probably started as a joke after one of the many times he blew up on a senior ranking official in defense of one of his boys, but the traits have always been there like:

Sees one of the boys getting sick and just walks up to them and puts a hand on their forehead to feel for a fever. If someone notices their friend is ill, they’ll immediately go get Croz and he’ll persuade them to sit the mission out. In fact, for most issues they’ll go to Croz because he’s smart and (usually) calm and always knows what to do

Knows everyone’s name but sometimes he’ll have to cycle through a couple before he gets the right one. If he’s super tired he’ll just be like: “whatever-your-name-is”

Visits the sick or wounded in the hospital no matter how minor the reason and he won’t shy away from holding their hand while they set bones and stuff. Sometimes he’ll bring a book and quietly read to a them

Works tirelessly planning the safest routes possible and briefs the navigators and bombardiers as thoroughly as he can

Rosie is obviously Dad, they probably call him Pa or Pops.

He’s the fun parent, leaving Croz to do a lot of the parenting. He just finds it hard to stay mad at them and often times lets them get away with nothing more than a warning

Where some of the guys in Group Ops try to distance themselves and not get too attached he fully commits himself to earning their trust. He wants to make sure they trust him both on the ground and in the air so that he knows they’ll follow him if he needs to make any last-minute decisions in the air

When one of the boys comes up to him asking for help shaving because they’d never had to back home, he gladly teaches them.

He is always telling reminding them to make good choices and it helps decrease accidents on base, just a little, because no one wants to disappoint him

Rosie is there by their side for just about every mission, especially the particularly difficult ones. Crosby will sometimes fly too, but if he’s not you can be assured that he’ll always be standing there on the control tower balcony anxiously waiting for his boys to return.

#I just imagine one of them talking to Croz being like ‘but Pops said’ and Croz is like ‘Pops?’#and then Rosie finds out and is dying laughing ‘you know that makes you Ma right?’#Croz is a mother hen #Croz is a mama bear #<- LITERALLY CONFIRMED LIKE THIS IS CANON #I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life #robert rosie rosenthal #Harry Crosby #rosie rosenthal #mota #masters of the air #mota musings #Croz and Rosie

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haznhell-aus · 2 months

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Introducing Deer Mama AU Charlie's design!

It's just not showing the shoes lol-

But this is what Charlie looks like in the Deer Mama AU, she's one of the only two design changes.

The second design change belongs to Vaggie, whom I will draw next when I can.

#art #artists on tumblr #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #deer mama au #hazbin hotel charlie #deer mama charlie #character design #character design change #charlotte morningstar #hazbin hotel fanart #i love her #i adore her #little apple pie baby lamb #i headcanon rosie can make clothes sort of #and she made this for charlie

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danosrosegarden · 1 year

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Riddler Year One is such an important story to tell.

I work with so many kids who are just like Eddie: scared, desperate, affection-starved. They come to us for validation because we give them the attention they don’t receive at home.

It breaks my heart. It also inspires me as a teacher to do the very best I can for these kids. They’re just babies. They need love.

#Rosie’s thoughts #Riddler Year One #I will never recover from the mama panel

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halucynator · 7 months

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autumn and existential crisis song rec: mama - rosie miles

i loved it!!! but like why do they only have 998 monthly listeners?!? like talk about underrated tf?!

gimme more song recs <333

#music #underrated #mama #rosie miles #tumblr asks #song recs #luce posts 💌

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chellesdump · 7 months

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Fireflies - ChaeNnie

"Rosie and Jennie had an outing to the museum, there was a special tour for kids and they went to it. Rosie was ecstatic about it and was running all around watching everything, also trying to participate in all the activities. Something that made the day even more special was that the guide called her Princess, Mama bought her a new night light and a new plush friend."

word count ─ 1.1k

tags ─ little rosie, mama jennie, museum trip, princess, rosie loves when people call her princess, also she loves being her mama's angel, when she goes out and there are interactive things she loves doing them

notes ─ This is for the Pet names & Nightlight prompt, enjoy :D

Going to a kids' exposition hosted by the museum hadn't been what Jennie had planned for the day. Nevertheless, here she was tailing a 1.68-meter-tall toddler running all around the exhibition hall trying to look at everything that was displayed.

Rosie had come to Jennie early in the morning telling her all about this amazing place she had seen while scrolling through Instagram, after telling the toddler off for getting into social media she proceeded to look into what Rosie had seen.

After spending a couple of minutes analyzing the post she found that it was an interactive exhibition hosted by the Seodaemun Museum of Natural History, aimed at kids from toddler age to early teens, of course, all the family members could enter but the activities were more on the mild side so the little ones could interact better with it.

Before agreeing to take her, Jennie made a quick call to the activities coordinator and asked if Rosie could enter, just like she had already read they told her that persons of all ages were welcome. Of course, Jennie knew this but she wanted to know if Littles could participate in the activities with the guide, she let the coordinator know this and was told that she indeed could but it was a special scheduled time.

Jen was a little upset thinking that they were segregating their community, but she was quickly told that wasn't the case and that it was just so that all the kids would have a better experience based on their age. They said the Littles were welcome at any time but that the time they had told her was an all-regressors guided tour since some activities got props and crafts that could be worn, and they needed to be bigger for the Littles.

Happy with the explanation she told Rosie that they were going to the museum that afternoon, with that exciting news Rosie went to her room to plan what she was wearing for their outing, and she settled on a brown tee and white flowery dress set that was gifted to her by Mama's eomma.

Jennie also got dressed before preparing Rosie's backpack for her outing, packing some Pull-Ups in case they were needed, some juice boxes, bags of snacks, a couple of empty sippy cups, a change of clothes, a package of wet wipes, a bib since Rosie eats very messily, and a pacifier with its clip inside a plastic bag to keep it clean.

When both were ready she called the toddler over, to help her get into her shoes, on their way out she grabbed sweaters for both of them in case the day got more chilly, once at the car she buckled Rosie into her car seat and put on some music to keep the mood on their trip. Not even 10 minutes into the car ride Rosie fell asleep, letting out soft snores that made Jen chuckle at the cuteness, it took another 30 minutes to reach their destination.

Parking the car Jennie made her way to unbuckle the toddler, shaking her gently to wake her up, "Cheonsa it's time to wake up. We've arrived at the museum" quietly said the elder quietly to not scare the toddler. Stretching to get rid of the sleep Rosie got out of the car and took Mama's hand, the sleep didn't fully go away until she saw the guide that was giving all the kids a cardboard crown.

Tugging at her Mama’s hand to get her attention, "Mama! Mama! Look the crowns, me wanna one. Can we get one p'ease!" Rosie yelled showing her puppy eyes, giggling at the cuteness Jennie gave her permission to go ask for one once they have their wristbands on.

Once she was given the green light, Rosie ran towards the guide and stood in front of all the children waiting to be noticed, she stood there gathering the confidence to ask for the crown, when she heard "Omo!! Gongjunim, would you like a crown?" asked the guide and helped her put on her crown, when she had the crown on the guide told her "You're neomu yeppeuda!".

Soon the tour started, it was Rosie and about 12 more kids with their caregivers, the guide at all times directed their explanations to the kids letting them participate as much as possible. 20 minutes into the tour they arrived at an interactive pavilion, all the kids were excited at being able to touch everything that was surrounding them and Rosie was between them running all around trying to watch and touch everything.

That’s how Jennie found herself running behind the toddler, yelling after her to get her to stay in the elder’s range of vision, “Rosie lamb! Please don’t run, Mama needs to see you at all times!!”, but it seemed that Rosie wasn't paying attention to anything other than getting in on the fun with the rest of the kids.

“They seemed hypnotized, my snookums could never" exclaimed one of the other caregivers, which kid was the most crazy one, Jennie couldn't say the same, she knew her kid was wild everyday, some caregivers agreed with her. The kids finally stopped when the guide called for them, and that's how the rest of the tour proceeded going to the normal exhibition and finishing at the exterior pavilion where they made different crafts, one of them butterfly wings.

Of course the exit was through the gift shop, as soon as they stepped into it Rosie went wild browsing through all the shelves, the toddler was kin on getting everything that she set eyes on. "Nabi, we can't get everything. You can get only one thing, ok?" said Jennie getting next to the little girl.

"Mama! Mama! Can me get this!? P'ease!!" asked the toddler girl holding a nightlight, Jennie said yes and let her get another thing from the store, Rosie choose a otter plush and went to the counter to pay for the things.

By the time they arrived home Rosie had fallen asleep, “Cheonsa, we’ve arrived let's get you inside and ready for bed" mentioned Jennie leading the toddler girl inside the house, she gave the girl a quick bath and dressed her into pajamas.

Jennie tucked Rosie in and turned off the lights ready to let the girl rest when she heard her tiny voice, "Mama, night light, please" the toddler asked for. Jennie went back into the room and opened the box where the night light was, it was shaped like a jar with fireflies inside it.

Once the light was on, Jennie placed it next to the bed and finally left the room, not before planting a kiss on the toddler's forehead and whispering "Sweet dreams nae byeol-ah".

#chellesdump #age regression #blackpink agere #blackpink little space #little rosé #toddler rosie posie #mama jennie #museum trip #rosie gongju #ageretober #ageretober day 28 #ageretober day 29

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