#christian windbreaker

[togament]

thinking about best friend Kaji and having banter be your love language. you’d be insulting each other left and right with the other Furin boys floating around. they’re kind of worried you both would end up breaking into a fight. never happens.

how he’d be the first person you’d run to when shit hits the fan and he’d also be the first person to make you laugh by poking fun at your crying face. but not before wiping your tears away and hiding your face in the space below his neck. his heart breaks every time he hears you sob (but he wouldn’t tell you that. though he mentally notes the name of the person who hurt you so he could talk to them afterwards)

how you’d share earbuds on the way to school, arguing which album to listen to, which song’s the best and which song’s the worst. you both almost miss the school mid-argument, by the way.

how you both so clearly love and care about each other so deeply it shows in your actions but would never, ever, ever admit that to each other’s face.

you’d have to beat it out of each other first.

(jk you both don’t need to say it — you both just KNOW. telepathy kinda stuff.)

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

[forteafy]

3 + max!

MV1 x 'You and your stupid smile...Get that shit away from me.'

I've NEVER written for Max before, but I'm low-key in my enemies to lovers arc with him.

Loosing your paddock pass was bad; the rain tricking down the back of your neck was worse.

Working behind-the-scenes of Formula 1 came with some incredible perks; good pay, cooperate outings & the anonymity of your life; you’d seen it go really bad for some couples which had gone public. The same had gone for you and your ex-boyfriend, the golden child of Christian Horner. 

After a few weeks of cold stares and silence, the press had died down on your part, leaving you alone whilst the cameras were continuously shoved into Max’s face; his stance was to keep his head down, his target solely being his third championship. Eventually, you faded back into one of the unknown faces of Red Bull Racing, a whisper sometimes crossing from a rival team; you. It was you. The ex-girlfriend of Max Verstappen. 

Albeit, being well-known may have helped you in your current situation. Instead, you were stood in front of a security guard, arms folded as he waiting for you to pull out a pass. In all fairness, how many women showed up in team attire, playing the card that they had ‘forgotten’ their pass? Your phone was still at the hotel; a silent regret you had thought of, imagining your pass laid atop of it on your mad rush to leave that morning. Fuck Christian Horner for moving the meeting two hours earlier. 

You were on the verge of admitting defeat- you would have admitted defeat, if not for the sudden eyebrow raise by the security guard and the voice emitting from behind you. 

“She’s okay. She’s with me.” He nods, pulling his cap tighter to his head upon the weather becoming heavier. There’s a gentle pressure at the small of your back; after giving a thankful nod towards the security guard, Max leads the two of you through the barrier, waiting until you reached the other side to raise his eyebrows at you. 

“No pass? That’s not like you.” He hums; his voice seems almost a ghost, having barely spoken more than ten words to one another in the past few months. 

“No. Blame your boss.” You huff, feeling your clothes dampen by the minute. On top of the triple header, it seems you’re going to be carrying a huge cold through Austria and Silverstone. “Who moves forward a meeting at four in the morning?” 

Max can’t help the smirk settling on his face; he’d miss this. The upmost sulking. The sheer black-cat energy that emitted from you. Everybody had been used to seeing him as the grumpy trope, anybody who knew the two of you understood it was so, so different. 

“Don’t.” You snap, the wind only getting heavier, now soaking through the Red-Bull shirt you’d freshly steamed that morning. 

“Don’t what?”

“You and your stupid smile…get that shit away from me.” 

You’d not been able to get his grin out of your mind for weeks. Interviews, meetings, press conferences, nights out. It was always there, a reminder he wasn’t the cold, heartless brute the media could paint him as. 

Your mind is drawn out of its trance of thoughts when you feel a sudden warmth pressed around your shoulders, vision darkening as something covers your sodden head; Max had wiggled out of his own windbreaker, slipping it around your body, pulling the hood up to cover your head. The man waits patiently, and at this point your body is so cold, it will take anything. 

It’s clearly not thinking either, as once you’ve adjusted the garment, you automatically reach out to clasp Max’s hand, breath catching when you feel nothing but raindrops and cold air. 

You prey he hasn’t noticed, ready to simply thank him for his gesture and walk on. What you didn’t expect, was for his hand to find yours, motioning forward, hands interlocked for the first time in months. And you couldn’t be mad, not truly. Not when you looked up at the man whom sacrificed his warmth and dry for you. 

And especially not with that smile. A smile that emitted when Daniel walked past, eyes widening at seeing his favourite couple reunited for the first time in months. 

Max says nothing, but his smile says it all. 

[viperrot]

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 1

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

there's a new guy in town, and he's pretty damn cute. too bad he hates your brother, though.

content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, tbh? mean leon, cliches, minor religious/christian themes, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

3037 words

song rec: "kutsuro gish" by hiroshi takaki

pt. 2

what's this? the blossoming of a series? yes, yes it is! very self-indulgent. i love tropes like this so much. enjoy some mean leon content and a sweet enemies-to-lovers concept, little dove :]

Life in Everglade is... interesting, to say the least. Actually, it was extremely cliché here. Every Sunday and Wednesday, people would go to church, every Friday night was a football game, and the rest of the days were just busy nonsense. The people here rarely ever leave town, and people never really come in. It's been like this for years.

Until recently.

This fall, a handful of strangers tumbled into the little town of Everglade, proud home of the Everglade Ravens. Lucky for me, they even moved in across the street.

From my little window nook, I watch a dingy U-Haul pull up into the driveway across the street, and out comes four people. The first is a man that looks to be in his mid forties, dressed in khakis and a navy polo. Next is a little girl, who looks like a middle schooler. She's got a long skirt on and a flannel sweater, coloured with warm red and browns. After her is what I assume is an elder sister, but she doesn't look much older than the little one.. She's dressed in messy, paint-stained jeans, a black tank-top, and a pink windbreaker jacket to top it all off. She's the only brunette one out of the blonde family so far.

Then comes out the son.

Dragging himself out of the passenger seat was the most dashing boy I've ever seen. The smile he gives his sisters make my heart race—it honestly put Danny Zuko's smile to shame, and I love Grease! His blonde hair is parted to the side, hiding his eyes a bit. He's dressed up in blue jeans that grip around his thighs perfectly, a black t-shirt, and a navy-blue bomber jacket that had the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. From my spot at the window, I couldn't help but ogle. The mystery family all gathered around the front door of their new home to get a good look of the inside, and I couldn't help but keep my attention on the only son of the family. I noticed how their was no mother to be seen...

"Hey, thumper," a voice calls out from the door of my room. I tear my eyes away from the window to see my father, leaning against the frame of my door with his arms crossed. "He's been calling me thumper ever since I was little, seeing as how I stomp my foot when I laugh.

"Hey, pops! What's up?" I cock my head to the side questioningly.

"Mom's done with dinner. Meet ya downstairs, or are you gunna keep 'practicin''?" He smirks teasingly, looking at my unused oboe on the foot of my bed. I blush, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be down there... and I was practicing, thank you very much!" I huff. Dad just laughs at me and waves his hand, mumbling about how he'll see me at the dinner table. With that, I get up to collect myself. I take a quick look out the window one more time just to see if the boy next door was still outside, but the front door was shut tight.

I stumble down the stairs, my bunny slippers skidding down the steps as the smell of baked chicken filled my nostrils. Upon entering the dining room, I see my dad at the head of the table accompanied by my mom and my older brother, Damien, who sighs at the sight of me.

"Finally, you're here," Damien huffs. "Can you sit down now? I'm fuckin' hungry," he stretches his hand out to me so I can sit down and say grace with everyone. My dad throws a pen from his breast-pocket at my dumb brother, telling him to watch his language.

I sit at the other end across from Damien to avoid saying grace with him, holding hands instead with Mom and Dad with my head bowed down.

"Ahem... Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen," my mother says. Immediately after the prayer, Damien scarfs down the first piece of chicken he can get his hands on. I pick at some au gratin while my parents converse and scold Dami for being such a disgusting eater. I clear my throat to catch my parents' attention when they grow silent.

"So... uhm... There's new people across the street. Do you maybe... know about them?" I ask, giving my parents side glances. Mom shakes her head as a no, and before Dad can say anything, Damien coughs up a response.

"That punk Leon's the ace player from Greensmell's soccer team!" My older brother snorts, seemingly a bit angry.

So his name's Leon...

What Damien meant to say was Greenvale, which is a town over. They're probably Everglade High School's biggest rival in ever aspect—academics, sports, and even parties (apparently, I wouldn't know). The only thing I can confidently say they're bad at is marching. Their band is horrendous.

"Seriously?" I cringe at the information. "What are they doing here...?" I wonder under my breath.

"Probably got so embarrassed we beat 'em at state champ this year, the wimp probably got kicked out and thrown into Everglade!" Damien shouts with a mouthful of rice. I cringe at the sight, looking back down at my untouched au gratin.

"Cool, cool..." I mumble. "Uh... can I be excused? M'not really hungry," I ask Dad. He nods, going back to his food. Wordlessly, I take my plate to the kitchen to clean it up. As I wash dishes, I stare out the window blankly, eyes set on the house across the street. No one was out still.

I decide it's best to just go to bed after washing dishes, putting my oboe back in its case and setting it next to my backpack. I flop into my bed, part of me hoping to see this Leon guy again soon...

I hate gossip.

I can never tell if people are talking about me, the people around me, or to me. As I walk the halls of Everglade High School, oboe and trumpet cases held tight in my hands, I hear the little murmurs of the cliques of the school. Punks mumbling, girl's that try too hard to look like Sandra Dee whispering behind their palms, and some jocks laughing loudly about Leon.

Wait, Leon?

My converse-clad feet are walking through the hall faster now. As I bump past a bunch of students, I speed my way down to the lunch room, needing to see my friends as soon as possible. Luckily, one of them sticks out like a sore thumb today. Sporting a red blazer, blue flannel tennis skirt, and black socks, I see Samantha Grey in all her glory sitting on top of our usual table, talking to a few of our little group. I stomp up to her, the charms on my instrument cases clinking softly with each step.

"Sammy!" I whisper-yell. Her brown eyes immediately look over to my position in front of her, her black hair swaying.

"Hey, sweet pea~!" She coos happily, a big smile painting her face as she gets down from the tabletop to give me a hug. "Glad you aren't too late. Me 'n' the girls were just talkin' about the new hunk in town," she pinches my cheek before helping me set my cases down on the table. I sit next to her, getting settled.

"Hunk? What's this about?" I stare, acting like I didn't know who they were chittering about. Across from Sammy and me is Lucy Brail and Patti James, who I've known since diapers along with Samantha. Lucy is the first to speak up, clearly excited to talk about Leon.

"This stud just moved into town yesterday! Apparently, he's got two little sisters at the middle school, 'n all the boys here have been howlin' about how he probably got kicked outta the Greenvale soccer team after losing nationals this year!" She says with a grin that reaches her ears. My eyebrows knit together at the information that I had heard the night before.

"You call almost every meathead here a stud, Lucy," I chuckle. She gives me a weird look before scoffing.

"This one's different, sweet pea," Sammy jabs me in the side softly, and I yelp. "He's got this look in his eyes that just scream at me like he wants me!" She sighs dreamily.

"Are you sure it wasn't his pecs you were lookin' at?" I click my tongue. Another jab to the side, and it hurts a little more than the last. I roll my eyes.

"Whatever, I'm sure he's just like the oth-"

"Oh! Oh!! There he is, sweet pea, look!" Sammy grabs me by the jaw to turn my sights to the new guy.

There he is...

Across the lunch hall is Leon, dressed all pretty in a forest green letterman jacket with his initials on the right bicep. There's a few patches from some bands he likes and a big ole "11" on the back of it with "Greenvale" above it. He's still in tight jeans, but they're black this time, as well as his t-shirt beneath the well-worn coat.

"He's got some nerve wearin' that here," Patti mutters. We all hum in agreement as we watch him saunter over to the lunch line to get a carton of strawberry milk.

"Ain't he just a dream~?" Sammy breathes out. Lucy's got this blush that could be seen from Mars, and I swear that Patti's mouth is gunna get dry with how much she's drooling. My gaze is trained on the back of Leon's head, looking at how well-trimmed his hair is.

"He's... he is pretty cute," I mumble, jaw hurting a bit with how tight my best friend was gripping onto it. I hear her giggle.

"Don't get sweet on him now, thumper!" She reminds me, using that silly nickname. “God knows your brother would tear you a new one if he found out you wanted to get a piece of Leon Scott Kennedy," she lets go of my jaw, and I roll my eyes.

"M'not sweet on anyone, Sam," I grumble. Lucy giggles, twirling a strand of her blonde curls in her fingers.

"Isn't he right next to your house, (y/n)?" She asks me. I nod.

"Yeah, actually... How did you know?"

"Oh, sweet pea?! Please, please, please tell me you gotta good view of him from your room! If so, I'm comin' over every weekend!!!" Samantha begs, shaking me by the shoulder.

"H-hey, quit it! I dunno if he's gunna be upstairs or not, and that's c-creepy!" I gasp as she shook me. Lucy and Patti laugh as I get thrashed around. From the corner of my eye, I see Leon get closer. He's got a mean look in his eyes, like he's ready to bite someone if they get near him.

I guess he's trying to protect his peace...

The girls grow silent as he walks past our table, not showing any mind to how noisy we are. They all watch Leon like dogs to a bone when he scoots past us, tossing his milk carton in the air like he hasn't a single worry in the world. When he's gone, it's like we can all breathe again.

"Oh lord, he even smells good," Patti fans herself, a blush covering up her little freckles. Sammy grins in agreement, clearly happy that she got to see the new guy so close. I stick my tongue out in disgust.

“You guys are so gross…”

“Everyone, please welcome our new student,” Mrs. Bradshaw, the advanced chemistry teacher here at Everglade High, drones, motioning her hand to Leon near the back of the class.

And also next to me.

The blonde boy stands up, puffing up his chest a little.

“Name’s Leon Kennedy. Nice to meet you,” he says curtly before sitting right back down. Everyone’s giving him looks ranging from “I wanna rip his throat out” to “I want to kiss him behind the bleachers”, and it’s clear that he doesn’t care about it either. Mrs. Bradshaw clears her throat to stop annoying students from whispering.

“Now, let’s get started on our calorimetry unit. To begin…” The old hag’s words begin to go process in my brain as I get to writing notes. At times, I look at Leon from the corner of my eyes.

He’s writing on a piece of paper instead of a notebook, his blue ballpoint pen scraping against the surface as he messily jots down his notes. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he actually cares about his education! I can see Leon’s tongue poking out between his plump lips, and I can’t help but stare a little. He doesn’t seem to notice me, until he looks up to check the blackboard up front.

Leon’s blue eyes set their sights on me, locking with mine. Quickly, I avert my gaze back to my notebook, trying my best to act like I was still writing notes. I hear him laugh a little next to me, but I make no effort to speak up.

When the class ends, and the bell for the next period rings, I gather my things to head off to the band room. Backpack slugged over my shoulders, I’m getting ready to pick up my trumpet and oboe case before someone else grabs of for me. Big, veiny hands take the cases by the leather handle, lifting it before my eyes. I look up to see Leon with a devilish smile.

“Caught you staring at me. Mind if I walk with you?” He says confidently. I’m a bit taken aback by his attitude, but I nod nonetheless. I’ve never really had a boy offer to walk me to class other than Damien…

“I can hold my-“

“Nah, don’t worry bout it. I carry my sister’s euphonium all the time,” he chuckles, his shoulders shaking a little as he does. I blush, not expecting him to even know what a euphonium is. So, he’s cute AND he knows the difference between a tuba and a euphonium..

“Are you sure? I-I mean, I don’t want it to be a hass-“

“Don’t worrrrryy,” he exaggerates. “Where are you headed? This is my study hall period, so I got time,” he grins.

“Uh… the band room. A-and thanks,” I tell him, nervously fiddling with my fingers. We walk out of the science lab together, me trailing slightly behind him as we walk.

“So, I’m guessing you and your little posse this morning was talking about me?” He asks, and I feel the blood rush up to my face.

Samantha and her big ole mouth…!

“Y-yeah…” I stammer, unsure of what to say. “Sorry about that… It’s just… we never really have any newcomers here, so the girls were just excited,” I bite my lip. I can feel the stares of people around us in the halls. Whether it’s out of jealousy towards me or hate for him, I’ve no clue.

“I see,” Leon hums. “It was kinda funny, so don’t apologize.” He says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. His fingers are gripping the handle of my cases tight enough to make his veins bulge a little, and I can’t help but stare. After our small talk, it’s quiet, and when we make it to the band room, we stop next to the door so he can give me back my things. As Leon hands over my instruments, footsteps thunder toward our position.

“You know, I thought it was just some sick joke hearing about my lil sister hangin’ around you, but I see that the rumours are true,” Damien growls, walking towards Leon and me slowly with his hands in the pockets of his black letterman. The blonde boy in front of me is still holding my oboe case as he looks at my older brother with an unamused stare.

“Well, had I known she was related to you, I would have never offered to carry her junk,” the ace smiled. I felt my heart drop at his words.

And then it felt like the world came crashing down on me.

Like it was fire, Leon let go of my oboe case, and it clatters against the floor. He’s staring my brother dead in the eyes as he does so, and I can feel tears swell in my eyes. I watch as my reeds, feather, and parts of the oboe pop out of the hard case, scraping against the floors of the hall.

“N-no!!” I yelp, unable to hold back my tears as I drop to my knees to gather the parts. A key or two had bent, and a few corks were damaged. I hear Damien shout at Leon, slamming his body into a locker. I don’t understand what they’re yelling about, too busy trying to pick up the bits of my instrument. More voices erupt, and I assume they’re people trying to pull my brother off of Leon Kenne-dick. My feather gets swept away amidst the commotion. When everything but that is successfully stuffed back into my case, I snap my head around to glare at the ace soccer player behind glossy eyes.

“You’re fuckin’ paying for this, you piece of shit!” Damien screams, thrashing against some teachers who dragged him away from the scene. Leon’s being escorted away as well, not giving me a chance to say anything. I’m left alone in the hall with my broken oboe before Samantha scurries out.

“Sweet pea! We heard all the ruckus, but Mr. Kay said it wasn’t safe for us to be out, and—oh, sugar…” she gasps lightly, crouching down next to me. The ravenette looks down at my open case, seeing the broken and bent keys and chipped corks. “Who did this…?” She asked me gently, setting her chin on my shoulder.

“Leon…” I hiccup, tears falling. The silence is heavy when I tell her this, and I know that Sammy can only see red. Without a word, she wipes my tears with her thumb before helping me into the band room.

I’m starting to regret wanting to see him again.

woohoo! chapitre un, fini :] i know it’s a bit lacking, but it’s just the beginning. hope you enjoyed! pt. 2 here!

[gutwrenchflowerbomb]

Two things:

Holy Amazonian, how tall is Mother Wayne?? Y’all think she gets Christian in the back like this?

Second: I found the Best Friends track suits. Obviously they aren’t customized with the logos and shit but it’s still them.

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ Wind breaker Agere HCs໒ ˚⁎

could you please do some headcannons for a regressor choji tomiyama and caregiver jo to togame both from windbreaker? thanks!!!!

Age Regressor Chōji Tomiyama

•Age regressed Chōji has a few comfort items that he clings to when regressed, like a plush toy or a soft blanket. He prefers things that are soft and cuddly

•Favorite Activities : He loves simple, calming activities like coloring, playing with building blocks, or watching cartoons. These help him relax and forget about his worries

•Little Tomiyama prefers simple, easy-to-eat foods like fruit snacks, sandwiches cut into fun shapes, and warm milk. He finds comfort in familiar, kid-friendly foods

•In his regressed state, Chōji becomes more shy and clingy, often seeking reassurance from Jō. He tends to communicate more through actions than words, like tugging on Jō’s sleeve or giving him a gentle nudge

•Sleep Routine : He has a bedtime routine that helps him feel safe and secure. This might include a bedtime story, some soft music, or a nightlight to keep the room from being too dark

Caregiver Jō To Togame

•Jō is incredibly patient and understanding with Chōji’s regression. He never makes him feel bad about needing to regress and always ensures he feels safe and loved

•Activities : Togame plans activities that are both engaging and soothing for Chōji. He might set up a little art station, organize a movie night with Chōji’s favorite cartoons, or even arrange simple outdoor activities like blowing bubbles

•Jō is always there to provide reassurance and comfort. He’s quick to offer a hug, a kind word, or a gentle touch whenever Tomiyama needs it

•Dada Jō maintains a consistent routine to help Chōji feel secure. He makes sure meals, nap times, and bedtimes are at the same time every day, providing a sense of stability

•He encourages Chōji to express his feelings, whether through drawing, talking, or playing. Jō understands the importance of letting Chōji process his emotions in a safe space

•Jō always makes sure the environment is safe and comforting. He childproofs areas as needed and ensures there are plenty of soft, cozy spaces for Chōji to relax in

•Whether it’s a small reward for good behavior or lots of praise and encouragement, Jō helps build Tomiyama's confidence and sense of security

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[nancypullen]

Thoughts on Jan. 20th

It's a sad day for America. I've been pulling my thoughts together, figuring out what I wanted to say, and then I read this essay. This author, Margaret Renkle, wrote The Comfort of Crows, a book that speaks to my soul. Reading her beautiful writing has been a balm to my heart over the last year. Today she touched upon the grief that so many are feeling, and what to do with those feelings. She wrote an opinion piece for The New York Times that says everything I want to say,but so much better than I ever could. Please read it.

On a Cold, Dark Inauguration Day, a Message From the Birds

by Margaret Renkle

Just before dark on New Year’s Eve, I filled all the bird feeders, and I didn’t skimp on the good stuff: black nyjer thistle for the finches, two kinds of suet for the woodpeckers, whole peanuts for the crows and the blue jays, a high-protein woodland mix dense with shelled peanuts and sunflower hearts for everybody. The birds would wake to a New Year’s feast. I thought of it as the avian equivalent of black-eyed peas and greens, which the humans in the house would be eating for good luck later in the day. In 2025 we will be needing all the luck we can get.

I confess I wasn’t thinking only of the birds when I set out that banquet. According to birding tradition, the first bird you see on New Year’s morning is your theme bird for the year. It’s a game, really, not a true tradition, but it can be instructive to ponder what that first bird’s traits might teach us about the world or ourselves, and I was seeding the field for a fine first bird. A crow for wit and wile, perhaps? A wren for curiosity? A house finch for sociability or a goldfinch for renewal?

There is so much natural food in our yard — drupes and berries and grubs and the like — that I don’t hang out bird feeders except during winter. Even then, visits to our feeders are scant, except in the early mornings. If I took care to put my glasses on before I pulled the curtains open, I would see my first bird well enough to identify it. Some years I forget, and my first bird is a blur of wings and a departing rump.

On the very coldest mornings, birds tend to be both still and quiet, conserving energy to keep warm. Last year I looked for an hour before I saw my first bird. This New Year’s Day dawned very cold, too, and the wind, though light, was bitter. I saw no birds when I opened the bedroom curtains, but I had better luck peering through the glass of the back door: Two northern cardinals — a male and a female — were sheltering in a dead sapling beside our deck. The tree died two years ago in a sudden drop in temperature after a long warm spell that had sent sap rising as in springtime. We leave the snag standing because our wild neighbors have so many uses for it. For squirrels and opossums, it’s a ladder onto the deck, where there is often spilled birdseed. That morning the redbirds were using its trunk as a windbreak. In any ecosystem, wild creatures always have as many uses for death as for life. Male cardinals’ vibrant red color, black mask and jaunty crest are beloved among even those who have little interest in birds, but I prefer the more muted colors of the females. This one was impossible to photograph among the drab branches of the dead tree, but her mate was keeping watch over her, and she was likewise keeping watch over him.

Cardinals have many symbolic associations that make them especially resonant first birds on New Year’s Day. For Christians, they represent the blood of Christ and therefore sacrifice and redemption. The persistence of their pair bond across seasons and the male’s courtship ritual of feeding the female have made them symbols of devotion. The bereaved often believe the appearance of a cardinal means a loved one is sending a message of reassurance from the beyond, a reminder in grief that those we love have not left us entirely. That we are not alone in a cold, lonely world.

But as I watched these cardinals on New Year’s morning, I didn’t think first of symbols. At the dawn of a year that seems almost certain to make this country into an unrecognizable place, to make this world even less hospitable to birds and everybody else, it turns out I am less interested in symbolic associations than in practicalities.

The new administration, led by a felon who tried to overturn the results of a fair election, has pledged to deport 11 million undocumented immigrants, using military force if necessary, and end constitutionally protected birthright citizenship. He intends to permit more drilling on federal lands and to roll back regulations designed to limit environmental toxins and greenhouse gasses. And all of that is only the beginning.

Seeing those cardinals watching over each other, I wondered: What can I, too, do to be more watchful? To take more care?

A heavy snow 10 days ago brought birds out in huge numbers, often in whole flocks — bluebirds, robins, cedar waxwings, house finches, dark-eyed juncos and Carolina wrens, plus the usual mockingbirds and blue jays, tufted titmice and Carolina chickadees, every kind of sparrow and every kind of woodpecker. I kept the feeders filled. My husband spread a sheet on top of the snow and set out a mix of seeds and nuts and mealworms for the ground foragers.

This bounty also brought the mixed flock of black birds I always look for in snow — starlings and grackles and red-winged blackbirds — who compete for resources during the breeding seasons but band together in the cold. In such weather, they waste little energy in squabbling.

Their cooperation wasn’t symbolic any more than the cardinals on New Year’s Day were merely a symbol. Most songbirds are less territorial in winter because the hormones responsible for breeding behavior have not yet begun to rise. They cooperate as compensation for leafless trees and cold temperatures, working together to find food sources and evade predators, staying warm by flocking up.

Birds don’t exist to serve as symbols, and yet they can’t help but mean something to the symbol-making species watching them through a window or a storm door. On this Inauguration Day that brings no hope for help from elected officials to address climate change or to protect vulnerable species, including our own, the living world is showing us what to do: In the dark days already gathering, we will need to do our best to look out for one another and for the creatures we love.

[timeshift-playground]

A TOTALLY NORMAL INTRO

strawpage responses will be under #strawpage

Welcome to the Timeshift Playground. OSDD-1b but we irregularly split and fuse. WE ARE BODILY A MINOR.

KINNIE DISASTER AND THE ONLY TELAMON KINNIE EVER

WE CANNOT DO DONATIONS

AUDHD + GAD + MDD (ALL DIAGNOSED) + BPD & NPD

GENERALLY VERY LOW EMPATHY, NOT OUR PROBLEM.

Trans he/him + plurals (they/we/us)

Known in a few places as the #📼⏱️ anon

Some of us use lots of profanity and caps, as well as vulgar or sensitive language, so be aware of that. Anything too triggering or photosensitive will be tagged with a warning.

HOST BLOG: @th3-r3al-m3dk1t-ph1ght1ng-2024 (outdated, will be changed when needed)

Mfw we're grounded for a whole year but we jailbroke our electronics

DNI IF: Pedos/MAPs, zoophiles, problematic shippers (proship), incest anything, nazi, racists, homophobes, ableists, sexists, transphobes, body shamers, conservative christians, NFT or ai art supporter, NSFW accounts, disorder fakers (this includes endos), narc abuse believers, or just overall a shitty person. If we don't like you, you are getting blocked. Too bad ! ^_^

Anti endo and anti lesboy/gaygirl/other contradictory labels but we have better things to spend our energy on than meaningless internet debates

If you ship "toxic yaoi/yuri" that is basically just horribly abusive and that's it you're on thin ice

People over 18 can interact with obvious caution to things like language.

More info after the cut:

Current hyperfixation/s will be bolded. Anything we have fictives from will be italicized. If we have a fictive of a certain media commonly fronting please be wary of source memories and triggers when interacting!!

INTERESTS:

Jikuo Company

Object Show Community: Inanimate Insanity, hfjONE, Love of the S*n, BFB/TPOT, Animatic Battle, Object Fool, It's Time for the, The Nightly Manor

Roblox: PHIGHTING!, Regretevator, Pressure, GASA4/GASA4:SC, EVADE

Shows/Anime: Mob Psycho 100, Jujutsu Kaisen, WINDBREAKER, Gravity Falls, Trigun

Video Games: Neon White, Dead Cells, Risk of Rain 2, OFF, ULTRAKILL, OMORI, FAITH: The Unholy Trinity, Just Shapes and Beats, The Stanley Parable, Undertale/Deltarune, Hollow Knight, Pizza Tower, Dayshift at Freddy's

Web Series: The Mandela Catalogue, Clock 0ut, Generation Loss; The Social Experiments

Other: Femtanyl, Sprunki

Moots and non-moots alike feel free to interact!! Moots can ask for discord tag

ANY WORK RELATED TO THE COLLABORATIVE WRITING PROJECT BETWEEN US, OUR BEST FRIEND AND COUSIN @tansypawz , AND MY CO-WRITER FOREVER @poggernst WILL BE TAGGED IN #Jikuo Company

characters owned by us:

#Nymble Judas #Keen Judas #Fleur Taro #Rigel Astroma #Atlas Alexandra Astroma #Amil Amara #LXXIX The Conductor #The Emperor #The Chariot #The World #The Hanged Man #Marikso Bryne #Layori Yuma #Alice Bryne #Anastasia Seiru #Euthanasia Seiru #Kleptá Ladrón

#mushroomhunter is a ship lawl (the good one)

#eclipseshroom is a canon ship that ends VERY BADLY (don't ship this one it's so toxic ☹️☹️)

solo project is #military labs for human preservation, #KK-Mnegative is the Kurix from our solo project

SEND ME ASKS ABT ANY OF IT AND MY LIFE IS YOURS ^_^

Some of said works for Jikuo Company:

Hey go look at our stupid bitch brother

@thespianlimbo-sys

Other cool moots

@bakedgatorade

@justanapplenothinghere

Other socials are:

Timesy_TSPG on twt

TSPG_SYS on youtube

[haliotropes]

got a damien karras idea: karras x vampire reader (i imagine them as male but any gender is also fine). the idea is vampire reader notices karras’ ordeal, corners him in a night lit alley and gives him a deal: they can make it so he can be immune to the demon at a terrible cost, only to be refused. they show respect to his faith before bidding farewell, kind of a sad story. they can pepper in charms in between but this isn’t mandatory, for example turning his jaw or teasing him “you know little, don’t you?”. im fine if this doesnt get picked up tho, have a nice day!

Anon...when I tell you I SPRINTED to my desk.

I hope this is what you wanted. I love this sad-eyed hunk and his rando vampire friend.

-·=»◆‡«=·-♡·=»◆‡«=·-

Blood of the Father (Damien Karras and M!Vampire)

Rated: T I guess?

Tags/warnings: ANGST, CATHOLIC GUILT, gays being mean to each other, hurt no comfort, religious trauma

It is the greatest of ironies that He cannot step inside the church. Instead, He has to resort to watching from outside the stained-glass window. He watches in the heat, watches in the cold, watches from the well-shaded tunnel of an alleyway. Georgetown was so changeable, but darkness and dimly lit streets are always reliable. The Bible is reliable, regardless of how others choose to change it. But religion? Church? Priests? These are wavering, tenuous. Born on shaky legs and dying on broken bones.

Damien Karras is one so flappable.

He watches him in particular for a very long time. He’s not His only subject, but certainly his favorite, for as long as the dance lasts, anyway. And it does not last long. Yet another leaf threatening to break away with a November wind. 

He’s watching from the ground below, hands in his pockets, the wet leaves illuminated by a nearby lamppost. A swift change in direction and the wind catches a maple and tugs it away with a sigh. It put up what fight it could. Even weak soldiers are still soldiers.

Or Jesuits. He turns when he hears him coming from a half-mile away. Coming from the Macneil residence, bundled up in his windbreaker. Collar turned against the heavy rain. He adjusts his collar, straightens his jacket. Strides along the opposite end of the sidewalk. They meet at the steps and He pulls the priest into a tight space between the steps and the brick casing of a house. 

Damien Karras barely breathes. Whatever he’s just seen makes every simple fright pale in comparison. He’d be jealous if He didn’t feel so sorry for him.

“I don’t have any money,” Damien says. He feels his arms under the windbreaker and smirks. He’s strong, toned, muscles well hidden under any choice of clothing. He could push Him away, really fight him, make a break for it. But he won’t. 

“I know. It’s a helluva good thing I don’t want any.”

To his credit, Damien does break His arms away. He peers back out onto the narrow street, in the direction Damien came from.

“You have no idea what you’re up against. But I do. I’ve been watching you, Dimmy. Not like the other one. But we’re much different, anyways. He’s a certified devil. I’m just…well. I’m a night trader. But I can still offer you a fantastic deal.”

Damien tries to walk as soon as the last syllable leaves His red lips but His arms brace against the brick and the priest can’t budge past them.

“Don’t be rude. It’s un-Christian.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s about time you asked. Do you know the only thing that can really, truly save your soul from the devil?”

Damien doesn’t answer. He doesn’t bother to say God, or repentance, or prayer. The man leans his face close to where its freezing skin gives Damien a chill.

“To be a devil yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sometimes that’s true. Not in this case, however. We have encountered one of the few instances where I know better than anyone, actually. Aren’t you the least bit interested? You can withstand the temptation of that devil down the street, save that little girl’s life? Be a hero?”

“I withstand the temptation of one devil by giving into another?”

“He’s quick,” He sucks against his sharp teeth. “To be a martyr is the best thing in your God’s eyes, isn’t it? This way, you get the title without having to deal with the whole dying business.”

“You still haven’t explained your offer.”

He smiles.

“I am offering eternal life, eternal death, wakeless days and sleepless nights. Sanguine. You’d be immortal, imperceptable, and all for the price of your soul. Isn’t that nice? And you wouldn’t be without company, either. You’d have me, of course. I’ve been watching you, Damien. I’ve seen you, the way no one else has or will. Not even your precious Jesuit friend. You fear for your eternal soul and his anyway. I’m no mind-reader, but I’d say there’s some mutual feeling there. That’s another benefit they don’t tell you about. No one can truly judge you if you cannot die.”

“You can die. Anything can die. And there is one to judge.”

“True. But if you do something much worse first, sodomy disappears to the bottom of the list.”

Damien’s fist collides with the man’s face quick enough that He’s able to register it right before it happens, and He allows it. His head barely moves, his lip splits, but it does not bleed.

“I could go on. Abandoning your poor mother. God cares more about that than who you share a bed with.”

“You son of a bitch-” Damien grabs the lapel of His coat and draws him near. He shakes with rage and tears roll down his sculpted cheeks, mixing with the rain.

“If you don’t believe in a God, then what does it matter? Bring it down to science. I said I’ve seen you. The very idea keeps you up at night. How can you fight against something if you don’t believe in the one weapon you have against it?”

Damien pushes Him away, wipes his mouth with his knuckles. 

“Whatever it is, I’m not broken enough to buy it. Whatever you think you know about me or anyone else is false.”

“And yet you’re still here. Come on. Lay down this burden. Don’t be so selfish as to pawn it off on someone else. How do you think this ends for you? For her?”

Damien looks at the ground. He clenches and unclenches his fist.

“If that, that thing can exist, and if you can exist, and these things you believe in, then there has to be something, or someone to balance it all out, hasn’t there?”

“You’re asking me to tell you if God exists?”

Damien shakes his head, spilling more water droplets onto the sidewalk. He watches them with a hunger.

“I don’t need to hear anything else you have to say.”

The man straightens. “The pain would go away. The responsibility. The guilt.”

“It’s what makes us human.”

The man leans a hand against the brick wall beside Damien’s head. He smiles, then sighs. Wipes his face. 

“I can’t twist your arm?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” A beat. “I lied earlier. The guilt doesn’t go away. I don’t know why. But it doesn’t.”

He extends a finger, exposing a long, sharp nail and traces the line beside Damien’s mouth. 

“You know little, don’t you?”

Damien waits until He takes His hand away to respond.

“I know enough.”

He nods.

“Yes, I think you do.”

He withdraws his arm from the wall and Damien rushes out into the sidewalk. The man follows him slowly after a spare moment, leans against one of the posts of the staircase. Watches him jog.

“Goodnight, Father. And good luck.”

Damien looks back only for a moment, as if to make sure it really was this stranger that was speaking. He doesn’t respond before disappearing from view. The man sighs, turns towards the MacNeil house, mutters something in a long forgotten language, then disappears from Georgetown forever.

[midnightraine131]

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart Minor: - Tags: Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Teenage Love, Awkward First Times, Slow Burn, POV Armin Arlert, Bottom Armin Arlert, Wet Dreams Warning: R18 - This chapter contains Teen M*st*rb*tion. If you are easily triggered by religions, specifically Christianity and Catholicism, I don't think this fic is for you. I have nothing against these religions and this fic is anything but serious. Summary: They say the most judgmental people are those who attend church on Sundays. Despite growing up in a Christian household, Armin Arlert felt overburdened by the pile of ministry activities assigned to him. So he made a pact with himself to never follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor. With the goal of saving enough money to persuade his parents to let him move to another state after high school, he started accepting paid essay projects in school in secret. Everything in Armin's busy life seemed manageable until he met Annie Leonhart, a Californian girl whose parents had moved her against her will to Vermont. Upon discovering Armin's secret business, Annie approached him with a unique request- to write love letters for a long-distance lover. To craft the perfect love letters, she would help Armin embark on a journey of firsts— his first kiss, first hug, first date, and first everything in a relationship.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fall season no longer excites Armin. He has witnessed it every year at the same time throughout his life. He observes as tourists come and go, both before and after the fall foliage. He watches the same hue of brilliant gold, red, and orange leaves falling from the branches of the trees. He sees the same bridge crowded with people, much like bees swarming around a honeycomb.

Then there's Mikasa, who won't stop talking about Halloween decorations in the shop and incessantly browses online for goth dresses she plans to wear.

Bell dings

Next, Eren starts rambling about Thanksgiving food and community activities they could participate in.

"Uhm,"

And the busiest month of the year is approaching because, well, you-know-whose birthday is coming. Although it's not yet December, their church is already holding meetings and preparing for the holiday season.

"Hi."

Armin sighed, just thinking about these activities was enough to make him feel exhausted. Anyway, it's been two weeks since he last saw Annie, and he wonders what she's been up to lately.

"...Earth to you. HEY!"

Armin snapped out of his thoughts, flinching. Involuntarily, he placed his hands on the cashier and looked up at the customer on the other side of the counter.

"Good morning, Ah–" he was interrupted, or more accurately, surprised when his eyes suddenly met hers, a striking blue reminiscent of the spring sky.

Annie frowned at the sight of him, crossing her arms. Her face was flushed, and her porcelain-white skin glistened as if she had been out for a run. She was dressed in her workout clothes: a white tank top that ended just below her ribcage, revealing her well-toned abs over an unzipped windbreaker.

She had caught the attention of all the customers in the shop, particularly the men sipping their coffee. Armin wondered just how much of her skin was exposed this time.

“Can I order now?” She hissed, engaging in a staring contest with him.

“Ah, yeah, sure.” Out of panic, Armin accidentally closed the order app on the tablet, but he quickly reopened it. “What would you like to order?” he asked, sweating as he entered the password incorrectly twice.

"What excellent customer service you have," she commented, stepping forward and looking down at the menu. "I'd like a cup of cappuccino, Belgian waffles with extra maple syrup and whipped cream," she continued, flipping the menu to the next page, "and one slice of Oreo Cheesecake."

"Is this supposed to be breakfast?" he asked, tilting his head and placing his other hand on his waist.

"Well, yeah," she replied, flipping to the next page of the menu. "Are you going to take my order, or should I leave a bad review on Google?"

Armin huffed and rolled his eyes, tapping her order on the tablet. "Is there anything else?"

"That's all."

"$15.50," he said.

Annie retrieved a card from the pocket of her windbreaker, but before she could hand it to him, Armin pointed at the small sign above the coffee bean bottle. "Cash only," he read out loud.

Annie pursed her lips, closing her eyes, and the skin around her nose bridge wrinkled. "Why don't you have an AmEx machine?"

Armin shrugged his shoulders, amused at her reaction. "We're just a small shop in a small town."

"Hey, lady in front, come on! The queue is getting longer!" a girl yelled from behind the line.

He smiled apologetically at the girl. "Just a few more minutes, Hitch. I'll put extra caramel drizzle on your macchiato later." Then, his eyes returned to Annie.

"You promised that, Arlert."

Annie's face turned red. "Fine, cancel my order. Just give me a glass of water."

"Unfortunately, I already punched in your order," Armin sang, turning to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "The total is $17, including the bottle of water. You can pay me the next time we meet." He placed the notes on the cashier and handed her the receipt. "Your name will be called once your order is ready."

He smiled at her, and she took the bottle of water and receipt from his hand. "I'll come back in the afternoon to pay you," she said, then spun around quickly and walked away from the queue to find a vacant table. She made her way to a table near the window.

Armin's smile immediately disappeared when he discovered the source of all the attention from behind.

She was wearing grey yoga shorts that fit her too snugly, emphasizing her perfectly shaped buttocks, and were too short to hide her gluteal curves. Armin's jaw dropped at the sight of her backside.

Hitch stepped closer to the counter, following his gaze. She squinted her emerald eyes when she caught him staring and raised her hand to push his chin up, urging him to close his mouth. "Armin, can you take my order first before you let your hormones run wild?" she raised an eyebrow, shaking her purse to get his attention.

"Yeah, right, right," he said, blinking rapidly and swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he take other customers' orders. Occasionally, he would sneak glances at her.

When Mikasa returned from her break, Armin asked her to take over the cashier so he could prepare some orders. He quickly prepared Annie's order, but as he was about to call her name, he noticed some boys looking at her, teasing each other about who would make a move first.

Armin clicked his tongue, feeling a slight sting in his chest as he left the counter and took the tray with Annie's order to personally deliver it to her table.

She was leaning on the table, her chin resting on her hand, and her other arm bent at the edge of the table. She was looking out the window, observing the people outside the shop as they went about their daily lives.

Armin placed the tray on her table and stood next to her, feeling the tips of his blonde strands touching his jaw as he looked down at her.

She looked up at him, the skin between her eyebrows creased. "What now?"

"Annie, how’s your injuries?" he whispered.

“I’m fine now, I guess. My feet don’t hurt anymore.” She ran her fingers towards her knees.

Armin was aware that the boys at the next table were glaring at him. He clenched his hand into a fist before he spoke again, "You know this town isn't like California. You can't wear those kinds of clothes on the streets."

"Why would you care?" She retorted, blinking her eyes slowly as if she was bored with his talking.

"Because—"

"Armin!" Hitch interrupted him. "I'm sorry for breaking your little Cinderella moment there, but I'm still waiting for my order."

"One sec!" he negotiated for a little more time with Annie.

"No, now!" Hitch demanded.

Armin made a sound, as if he was trying to suppress a complaint, but he still turned to go back to the counter. Annie looked down at her orders and noticed two small blue macarons placed just beside her waffle. "Hey, I didn't order these—"

"You don't have to pay me. Consider it my treat today," Armin shouted from across the shop.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Armin's side. Of all the times he wanted to talk to Annie, the shop was packed. The queue had already reached the entrance door, with Mikasa preparing the orders while Armin was stuck at the cashier, taking one order after another.

When he glanced at Annie's table, she rose from her seat, stretching her arms, lifting her already short tank top a bit higher, revealing more of her porcelain skin and gaining the attention of every boy in the shop.

Armin was starting to think she was doing it on purpose.

Why was she so thirsty for attention?

He watched her return the tray at the counter, and she didn't even glance at him as she hurriedly exited the shop and started to jog away.

Armin sighed, his shoulders slumping in disappointment as he continued working. He could have at least asked for her contact number.

Read more

[togament]

Filipino jumpscare ☠️ lowkey relieved I'm not the only pinoy losing my mind over this shit. Your writing is an inspiration!

MABUHAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!! 🦅🦅🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🍗🍗 RRRRAAAAHHHH!!! 🎤🎶

hello po, jumpscare pinoy-anon! There’s only a handful of us ata sa fandom pero at least diba? 😳 (or like… Di pa lumabas ung iba. SHOW YOURSELVES 🫵😡)

anywho, thank you!!!!!! Blushing atm. I hope to see your works din if ever 😳‼️

[jdgo51]

March 13, 2025

Our Protector

Phil Reynolds (South Carolina, USA)

Today's Reading

Job 42:12-17

Thought for the Day

God is my protector and helper.

Prayer Focus

Farmers

.

"'[The Lord says,] “My Spirit, who is on you, will not depart from you, and my words that I have put in your mouth will always be on your lips.”'- Isaiah 59:21 (NIV)

"I work on a vegetable farm. There are times of the year when strong winds can erode our soil and stunt or kill younger shoots. To prevent this, we plant narrow strips of grain before we plant the vegetables. The grain germinates and grows a few inches tall, and then we plant the vegetables. The grain acts as a windbreak for the vegetables, protecting the tiny plants as they emerge from the soil. Sometimes the wind blows so much soil up against the grain that it looks like a snow drift.

In our lives we often face adversities that cause fear, anxiety, tension, anger, or frustration. But like the grain strips, God provides us with a hedge of protection. For Balaam, God’s protection was in the form of a donkey (see Num. 22:21-33). Job endured intense hardship, but God blessed him in his later years with a season of prosperity. As Christians, we believe Jesus’ promise to us in John 14:16: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever.” God is our protector and helper through life’s storms." In every confusing moment of life, God will keep you safe. We feel nothing is happening, sometimes, then we find out it was all taken care of way ahead.

Today's Prayer

"Dear God, thank you for helping us. Give us strength to endure the difficult seasons of our lives." Amen.

Job 42:12-17

1"2 Then the LORD blessed Job’s latter days more than his former ones. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, one thousand yoke of oxen, and one thousand female donkeys. 13 He also had seven sons and three daughters. 14 He named one Jemimah, a second Keziah, and the third Keren-happuch. 15 No women in all the land were as beautiful as Job’s daughters; and their father gave an inheritance to them along with their brothers. 16 After this, Job lived 140 years and saw four generations of his children. 17 Then Job died, old and satisfied." Job remained faithful and even though he had many struggles early in life, there was much joy in the later years. We can have the same if we are faithful to our Lord. Blessings! Joe

[lunar-fey]

idr if i actually posted abt it or just thought abt it but my client decided to buy me an electric lighter (genuine act of kindness) however he is still. uhhhhhh. well so he bought a pink one bc.

anyway in some small miracle it was actually purple hes jjust old and maybe a little colorblind and VERY afraid of going against gender roles. hes given me a couple jackets at this point just bc like. he got them and they had "womens buttons/zipper" so he couldnt wear them.

i just ended up rambling a lot abt mostly nothing so a cut to spare your dashes. this time.

one of them was a windbreaker and he was like WELL the store clerk told me its unisex but clearly its not its for women! he wasnt even like mad abt it just surprised the clerk hadnt realizer it "wasnt unisex" like..............bud i dont think you know what that word means. tbf he is also mostly illiterate so thats not surprising (thats not a dig btw. he cant really read and has to sound out things w mote than two syllables. i have to read stuff for him. this is wv and he would have gone to school in like. the 70s. its fine.) but its still like.

okay for anyone who doesnt know the differents between mens/womens buttons (and apparently also zippers tho ive never paid attention but im told this is true from other sources) its whether theyre on the left or right (iirc buttons on wearers left side is "male"?) (i learned this as a kid bc my local christian kids club thing gave us vests to put patches on and they were dual buttoned bc they couldn't afford to make/order different ones and risk having some that couldnt be used if they only have boy ones left and a girl joins or whatever.....so we were told the Right Way to button. and then i would go home and also button it the Boy Way. for normal reasons such as rping as ash ketchum in my bedroom alone. but i digress.)

SO. like buttons on both sides is unisex buttons. sure. and TECHNICALLY ive seen a couple jackets that have like. two zippers in the front. so one is on the left and one on the right. but that is not common. and clearly you could see that it had One zipper. and if it being womens style makes it not unisex. then what the FUCK were you expecting. like. i guess i get that a lot of ppl assume gender neutral=masculine. but in this specific case.................why not just buy a mens jacket if you care that much abt a fucking zipper..................

[lapanachestyle]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Moncler Camo Hoodie Windbreaker Army Green Luxury Capreton Nylon sz Large.

[yourapparelnow]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Christian Dior Monsieur ColorBlock Pattern Windbreaker size XLarge.