#russet supremacy

[catnipster69]

“Maybe being an adult is just having a preference for potato varieties.”

[porky-paws]

Tiocfaidh ár lá

i have been trying and failing to come up with an adequately goofy response to this BUT i did ask Porky and Russet and they both believe in irish independence so we have that at least

⬆️ them being asked

[cheerclaw]

Russetfur pls… I believe in russet supremacy

erins didn't make her russetstar because they knew she would be a powerful woman

[icycoolslushie]

I'm Not the Same Person You Left - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

Hope is a feather. It sticks on for some time, but eventually it falls.

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

“Mars! Marshall. MARSHALL SEO.”

Benedikt had said Marshall’s name in every variation, language, and tone he knew. He had pleaded with anyone (whether they were above or below) to get Marshall back. He had done everything except kill himself to see Marshall. But it was killing him anyway.

All he wanted was one last hug. One last laugh. One last smile.

“Mars,” he whispered softly, one last time, a boy that knew nothing would ever be right again but still had a sliver of hope left, before he buried his face into his pillow and sobbed out whatever liquid was still left in him.

The damn loneliness was killing Marshall Seo as much as Tyler Cai’s bullet had been.

He wanted to make sure poor little Alisa was safe, Roma was okay, but most of all he wanted to see Benedikt.

Ben, the other part of his heart, the twin of his soul, the yin to his yang, the yang to his yin. Ben. The person he loved most.

It was his fault, he supposed, for getting so entangled with a person who loved someone from the enemy’s side. But was it his fault he had become attached to a person? His fault he had eventually started loving his best friend? Was it his damn fault that he lived in a city divided by a blood feud?

Even if it wasn’t, it was still his life. And there was nothing he could do but wait till Juliette could do something about her cousin so he could finally get out of this safehouse and into Ben’s arms.

Then it occurred to him: he could do something. How had he not realized? Maybe the desperation was driving him mad, that he actually considered the craziest idea he had ever had.

Damn doing a favour for Juliette Cai. He needed to see Benedikt. Let Benedikt know he was alive. He could sneak out of here, his face hidden in his hoodie, buy (or steal) a wig from the roadside sellers, get a mask of some sort, and sneak into the White Flowers territory.

Yes, that’s what he would do. The only thing that would keep him sane.

He took an empty water jug and smashed it against the windows, breaking the wood that had warded up the glass. He heard something smash below, and knew that the debris must have fallen. He ducked to make sure no one had seen him. After two minutes, when he figured that if anyone had seen the broken glass and chopped wood would have left, he lifted himself up and looked out the window—the first view of the city he had seen since almost two weeks. It looked . . . different. Less people. He supposed they were all being cautious, and at least no one would be able to see a random person climbing down a building.

Marshall messed up his hair, put his hood on, and took a deep breath before he put one leg out the window.

Grabbing the windowsill tightly, he put his other leg out the window as well.

He climbed down, slowly and steadily, years of practice guiding him. When the distance left was just half a meter, he jumped down.

He hid behind an empty cart, making sure no one had seen him, waiting out two minutes in which he re-adjusted his hood and started walking again.

Within ten minutes, he found the tailor shop he, Benedikt, and Roma used to go to get disguises. Usually they paid, but he had no money now, so he entered through the back and found a large purple overcoat, a russet wig, and a cat mask. He put them on, listening attentively in case someone came into the storage room, and left.

He walked for a bit, until he could tell he was in White Flower territory, and Ben’s place was just a block away.

He took to the wall to make sure no one could see him and sneakily made his way deeper into the buildings.

When he was able to see Ben’s window, he stopped. Did he really want to do this? Endanger Ben? Put Ben’s life into even more danger?

No.

No, he didn’t.

But his desire to see him was overwhelming and Marshall decided he could not live with the fact that he would’ve been able to see Ben but didn’t.

And no doubt Ben wanted to see him too.

He took off the overcoat, the wig, and the mask, letting his disguise slip away.

Marshall took a few steps forward away, and was able to touch the window. He knocked hesitantly, then paused. Then knocked again, properly this time.

He gasped.

Benedikt wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming again, had died, was looking at Marshall’s ghost, or was getting hallucinations.

And honestly, he didn’t care. He was getting to see Marshall again, and that was all that mattered.

Benedikt’s blonde hair was messed up, his face was flushed, his skin was way too pale, and he basically looked like a ghost. Someone who hadn’t eaten, slept, or even had proper hygiene. Marshall grimaced when he saw his best friend.

“I must have died and gone to heaven to receive such a present,” Benedikt said. “Or I must certainly be dreaming. Or is it your ghost? Haunting me? I know I should’ve saved you, but I couldn’t. So I’ll let you give me as much grief as you want as long as you’ll stay.”

“Benedikt, you’ve gone crazy,” Marshall remarked.

“Maybe it is the actual you. Only you could be so vexing.”

Marshall leaned back. What was wrong with Benedikt? Then he noticed a plate, full. Not a crumb had been eaten. Benedikt hadn’t eaten anything today, maybe not even drank. Suddenly he felt selfish for delaying this visit for so long. “Can I come in?” he asked, not bothering for the answer, already moving to de-attach the window lock.

Benedikt seemed to have resurrected, and he fiddled with the lock before Marshall, opening it, letting him in.

He looked behind and in all directions, making sure no one could see him, and crawled through the window.

Tripping at the last second, he toppled into Ben, who didn’t have much strength—after all, he had been eating less—and together they fell, Marshall half on top of Benedikt, half on top of the floor. He blushed, which wasn’t like him to do.

Before Benedikt had gathered his strength to sit up, Marshall did, and grabbed the plate with food on it. He helped Benedikt sit up, and slowly fed him small bites of an apple. As Ben had finished the apple, Marshall peeled an orange and fed him that.

Slowly, Benedikt regained his strength, his proper strength, as Marshall fed him a day’s worth of food. It seemed as if Benedikt had only been having only one or none meals a day.

Finally, when the plate was empty, Marshall moved his right index finger over Ben’s lips, wiping away bread crumbs. When he was done, Ben moaned.

“What?” Marshall asked, honestly surprised.

“I never knew—all these years, and God, I was dumb.”

“We’ve been over this. You are dumb.”

Benedikt laughed. “That—you making me laugh. I—” He shook his head. “Can I kiss your finger?”

“You’ll get your mouth dirty again.”

“Maybe I want that.”

Marshall sighed and stuck out his finger into Benedikt’s lap. Ben kissed it. Then Marshall ran his finger over Benedikt’s mouth again, wiping his face clean, taking care of him.

Benedikt had wished for one last hug, one last laugh, one last smile. Now we would make sure each one was memorable, plastered into his memory.

He would make sure he never lost Marshall again.

Marshall Seo the full moon outside, bringing hope and possibilities and new beginnings. He cherished the view and feelings like he cherished Benedikt.

It grows back, though.

Benedikt Montagov had lost a feather, but it had grown back.

He had hope again.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.) @safinssmontagov (Fantasy Appreciation Week)

[thelittleredminx]

"Rumour has it there's a rivalry brewing between yourself and the Countess Lovine. Thoughts?" [[I'm not starting drama you're starting drama]]

At first, she feigned a befuddled expression; lips parted whilst canting her head to one side. A diverted huff fell from the Ambassador’s lips and she traced the tip of her tongue across the blush flesh of her leer, “A rivalry in what sphere? In politics, society, personal endeavours?” Viola habitually clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, waggling an elongated finger in the direction of her inquirer. “Countess Lovine and I are amiable acquaintances. Our conversations are often fleeting and do not transcend subjects other than those that concern Krytan and foreign affairs. Thus, I cannot say we are competing for supremacy in the same field. After all, we do share interests that are in opposition.” So, the Ambassador pursed her plump lips and raked her extremities through her russet fringe; an impish sneer manifested upon her guise and she refrained from responding further.

[urbanwronski]

Turnbull Cooks up White Supremacy for Australia Day.

  “The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice.”

Mark Twain

  As Australia Day breaks upon Catani Gardens, St Kilda, the morn “in russet mantle clad” reveals Cook in the pink – not a trick of the light -but the victim of a “paint attack”, a casualty of a culture war we gaily wage each January.

It’s a brief respite from our energy wars or our government’s “humanitaria…

[icycoolslushie]

Not a Lie - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

The deer is almost out of the jungle, but the lion catches up at the last mile.

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

“Mars! Marshall. MARSHALL SEO.”

Benedikt had said Marshall’s name in every variation, language, and tone he knew. He had pleaded with anyone (whether they were above or below) to get Marshall back. He had done everything except kill himself to see Marshall. But it was killing him anyway.

All he wanted was one last hug. One last laugh. One last smile.

“Mars,” he whispered softly, one last time, a boy that knew nothing would ever be right again but still had a sliver of hope left, before he buried his face into his pillow and sobbed out whatever liquid was still left in him.

The damn loneliness was killing Marshall Seo as much as Tyler Cai’s bullet had been.

He wanted to make sure poor little Alisa was safe, Roma was okay, but most of all he wanted to see Benedikt.

Ben, the other part of his heart, the twin of his soul, the yin to his yang, the yang to his yin. Ben. The person he loved most.

It was his fault, he supposed, for getting so entangled with a person who loved someone from the enemy’s side. But was it his fault he had become attached to a person? His fault he had eventually started loving his best friend? Was it his damn fault that he lived in a city divided by a blood feud?

Even if it wasn’t, it was still his life. And there was nothing he could do but wait till Juliette could do something about her cousin so he could finally get out of this safehouse and into Ben’s arms.

Then it occurred to him: he could do something. How had he not realized? Maybe the desperation was driving him mad, that he actually considered the craziest idea he had ever had.

Damn doing a favour for Juliette Cai. He needed to see Benedikt. Let Benedikt know he was alive. He could sneak out of here, his face hidden in his hoodie, buy (or steal) a wig from the roadside sellers, get a mask of some sort, and sneak into the White Flowers territory.

Yes, that’s what he would do. The only thing that would keep him sane.

He took an empty water jug and smashed it against the windows, breaking the wood that had warded up the glass. He heard something smash below, and knew that the debris must have fallen. He ducked to make sure no one had seen him. After two minutes, when he figured that if anyone had seen the broken glass and chopped wood would have left, he lifted himself up and looked out the window—the first view of the city he had seen since almost two weeks. It looked . . . different. Less people. He supposed they were all being cautious, and at least no one would be able to see a random person climbing down a building.

Marshall messed up his hair, put his hood on, and took a deep breath before he put one leg out the window.

Grabbing the windowsill tightly, he put his other leg out the window as well.

He climbed down, slowly and steadily, years of practice guiding him. When the distance left was just half a meter, he jumped down.

He hid behind an empty cart, making sure no one had seen him, waiting out two minutes in which he re-adjusted his hood and started walking again.

Within ten minutes, he found the tailor shop he, Benedikt, and Roma used to go to get disguises. Usually they paid, but he had no money now, so he entered through the back and found a large purple overcoat, a russet wig, and a cat mask. He put them on, listening attentively in case someone came into the storage room, and left.

He walked for a bit, until he could tell he was in White Flower territory, and Ben’s place was just a block away.

Then he heard whispers. He caught a few words: “our territory,” “imposter,” and “Scarlet.”

But he caught it too late.

The bullet was embedded in his back before he could react.

He fell, face-first onto the ground, with only one thought in mind:

I failed you, Ben. I failed you again.

“Sir!” A servant knocked on the door repeatedly.

“Go away!” Benedikt screamed.

“Sir, there’s some news about Marshall Seo,” the servant said.

That got Benedikt’s attention. He rushed to the door and opened it. In front of him was a servant with flushed cheeks. “Is Marshall alive?” he asked breathlessly.

The servant nodded, then stopped. “He—was. He was on White Flower territory, and some of them thought he was a Scarlet. They shot him in the back. He’s dead now.”

Benedikt finally lost his grip on reality and fell to the floor.

It is a different kind of loss.

Benedikt Montagov had gotten his consequence for hoping.

He would never hope again.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @theenchanteddreamer @writeforjordelia @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.) @safinssmontagov (Fantasy Appreciation Week)