#x ambassadors - feather

[tinydefector]

Any chance we are going to get that Ratchet x Ambassador x Drift nsfw in the human effects series? 👀

First contact fifth kind - Human effects

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingerings, blowjob, sex, threesome

Word count: 2.9k

Human effects Masterlist

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It's only a cycle later when Ratchet runs I to the Ambassador, they had stopped by for a mandatory check up as normal. But one thing is for sure Ratchet can't take his optics off them after everything Drift has said. Not to mention he now knew where his old servos had been carted off too.

Ratchet cycled a ventilation, fixing the Ambassador with an intent stare as he scanned their vitals. Never before had this routine check-up held such.. layered intrigue.

"So tell me, Ambassador - enjoying your new accessories?" He inquired casually, fighting a smirk as he read over their hearts beats per minute.

They tense up slightly at the question, eyes shooting around. "Who told you?" They ask rather hushed and panicked, not really expecting to get caught out so soon over the pin-up photos. They don't see First Aid or Ambulon but doesn't mean they aren't around listening in.

Ratchet's optics glinted knowingly. "Let's just say a certain wandering conjunx of mine knows these old servos better than most," he replied with a chuckle. "No need for alarm - your secret's safe with us. In fact..."

Trailing off, he leaned down slightly dropping his vocalizer to an intimate growl. "Drift and I found your... artistic pursuits rather inspiring."

They sit there stunned, almost baffled at how bold Ratchet is in his flirtation. "Shit Ratchet im sorry, i didn't mean to cause any issues between you and Drift!" They stammer out in panic. Ratchet shakes his head with a smile. "Calm yourself ambassador, Let's just say Drift is as enthusiastic about said photos."

His digit tip their chin softly, ghosting feather-light over delicate flesh. "And while I try to maintain propriety in my official duties, shall we say your photoshoot piqued the interests of more... intimate nature."

Venting softly, his optics roamed the Ambassador's flustered face. "Although Drift brought up a proposition that I doubt he has the courage to ask you, and I'm less prone to the detection of rejection. So I'd like to ask if you would be interested in spending a night with us " His words are smooth with each letter as he inquires. "I fully understand if you're not interested but it never hurts To ask?"

They go quiet for a moment, thoughts rushing as they take in his proposal, Ratchet was rather bold but they had never known the medic to dance around anything. " I don't know if I can," they start. "I'm the human liaison for your people with earth with supplies not to mention your also CMO plus..." they trail off only for Ratchet to stop them.

"I understand your reservations, Ambassador," he soothed, "Such fraternisation could complicate matters, were it to become public knowledge."

His thumb stroked soothing circles on their thigh. Venting softly, his optics flickering back to their eyes. "I simply wished to extend the offer, given your... artistic interests seemed to mirror ours, i can promise that if you wish it to me a one time thing we understand you're not obligated to anything you do not wish. And as your medic I would rather know that you're at least safe, there are a rather large number of mechs on ship who are very hung up over you."

They bit their thinking, they were interested, hell Ratchet had been the first to actually ask and be sincere about it and understand the risk, he was most likely the best choice in case something went wrong. "If.. if I agree, it has to stay on the down low I can't have it getting back to my superiors" they reply softly. "I value my job here on the Lost Light with cordoning deals between different outpost and my team"

Ratchet inclined his helm respectfully. "Your position and duties, of course, take priority. You have my word - whatever transpires between us will remain strictly confidential. If I may. Would it help if I sent Drift a comm to let him know so we can keep it a confidential matter?" It earns him a nod from them.

//The Ambassador has agreed to our proposition, though with utmost discretion//

Drift's reply came swift which had Ratchet nearly chuckling. //understood, no discussion no different to Rodimus’ visits// he replies.

"Would after your shift suit you? We would make certain your visit is kept on the down low, and see you safely back with no one the wiser." It was a rather warm invitation, the promise of easing tension

"You make a rather tempting offer Ratchet, you do understand there's probably a lot of stuff you won't be able to do with me due to our size and differences?" They inquire, making sure he knew just what he was getting into. Ratchet chuckled softly. " Drift and I are no strangers to creative interfacing, whatever the partner, we are happy to take things at your pace so that you feel comfortable."

He stroked their shoulder reassuringly. "But your limits and comfort take priority. We'll set rules later. Join us after your shift, just knock and one of us will answer."

"I'll see you later then" they state softly finishing up their appointment and walk off rather jittery, not knowing if they would be able to handle the rest of their shift after the feeling of Ratchet’s digits against their body. They give him a quick glance before disappearing down the halls.

//You are a terrible influence, you know,// Ratchet shoots back at Drift which earns him another chipped comm message.

//What can I say? I know your appetites as well as my own, my love. And don't think you're so innocent party sirens// it earns a small chuckle from Ratchet and he busies himself with reading the ambassadors charts and taking down the information.

It's much later that they had planned when they found themself standing outside Ratchet and Drift's Hab suite, nervously looking up and down the hall, they felt like a teenager about to get in trouble sneaking out. Eventually they work up the courage to knock quickly.

Ratchet opens the door quickly ushering them in. “Hello my dear.” he said softly

"Hi," they state nervously. Looking around again to make sure no one was around as they quickly darted into the room. Drift looks up with a smile as he sees them, "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable," Ratchet encouraged. "Can I offer you anything - energon?" Drift slipped close.

"I'd say a strong alcohol drink but I doubt either of you have anything like that here" they state while moving into the hab, eyes flicking around to see the different stuff around the place, it felt homey compared to what they were expecting. "Could you help me up so I can sit?" Drift stooped, gathering their considerably smaller form into his arms with utmost care. Rising slowly, Drift turned and took a seated position on the berth's edge, settling the Ambassador comfortably down.

Beside them, Ratchet grumbles softly to himself “forgive me i completely forgot” he states, he knew he was forgetting something. “No, no it's all good” they call out quickly while trying to make it not a big deal.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm making this Awkward. I don't really know where to start, I don't know if you do things differently compared to humans so I don't really know what to do" they finally admit. And it makes both Drift and Ratchet look at each other for a moment.

"Then allow us to guide you," Drift rumbled reassuringly. Gently cupping their face in his servo, he met their eyes with caring intent. "A kiss requires no special skills" he leaned closer, aiming not to overwhelm as he soft pressed his metallic lips to theirs. Pulling back slightly after a moment, he searched their expression for any sign of discomfort.

They lean into the kiss, the tension in their body fading as their lips move against Drift's. When they pull away they look half dazed from the kiss. "Um woah, I wasn't expecting that" they nearly whisper. Drift let out a low, pleased hum. His optics glowed softly in the low lighting.

"A good kiss often has that effect," he chuckled warmly. Beside them, Ratchet let out an approving hum, servos tracing teasing patterns against them The berth seemed to dip slightly as the two mech made themself comfortable. They shutter softly as the two sets of servos move against their body pressing them back on the berth. “Let us know if you want to stop at any point, just say the word” Ratchet purred as he moves closer.

"I will. I didn't think Cybertronians kissed" they hummed softly. "Mm, kissing is not a typical Cybertronian act, but we do tend to adopt practices from other species" Drift admitted, servo gliding soothing presses down their stomach. Ratchet teasingly brushes along their inner arms. "And it seems we've discovered a particularly enjoyable adaptation."

They gasp softly as Ratchet tilts their chin up and gently pulls them into a kiss, a soft moan leaves them as Drift presses a kiss to the side of their throat. Their hands shooting up to Ratchet's face plate tracing along the ridges. Ratchet purred softly in approval as they melted into his kiss.

Drift vented hot against their skin, satisfied at drawing such sweet sound from their lips He crooned soft encouragement, servos gliding light as breath across heated skin. Pulling back slowly, Ratchet met their eyes with the kind of heat that forged stars. "What lovely music you make."

His digits found divots of their hips, rubbing soft circles into them. Drift nibbled teasing kisses along their shoulder as he began removing their clothing. They slowly melt into each touch, little whines leaving them. The feeling of the two sets of servos against their body. "Mm didn't take either of you for being into this" they try to joke to not feel as flustered.

Ratchet huffed a laugh against their neck as he pressed a kiss to it. "When one lives as long as we, you develop a lot of interests sweetpark."

"Few would guess how creative we get, we tend to keep it on the downl ow," the former monk mused silkily against their ear.

His servo caressed down their flank as he slowly discarded their pants, thumb tracing the seam between thigh and hip. Drift nibbled their jaw, playfully making sure not to hurt them.

Another gasp leaves them as cold servos trace warm skin as Drift traces their body. They melt into each touch. "Mmm" they whine softly, letting the two mechs admire and inspect their frame.

Ratchet crooned approval, his own servos following the curves and lines of their upper body. "So beautiful," the medic praised against parted lips, Ratchet let out a keenly interested noise at their sprawled beauty, the Ambassador's scents flooded his sensor net. His optics roved hungrily over bared flesh, mapping each dip and swell.

Drift's fans whirred loudly beside him. "Fascinating," Ratchet purred, digits dipping to explore secret crevices and sensitive areas with clinical precision. He met his conjunx's hungry optics, understanding all too well.

A loud moan leaves them as their back arches, when Ratchet's digits brush against their sex, they pressing back against the digits "fuck... that feels good, Ratchet, Drift " they call out.

Ratchet hums in delight, servo moving further down for a moment. His optics flicker for a moment before he lifts his servos for Drift. The other Cybertronian without even needing to be asked slowly takes Ratchet's digits into his mouth, slowly lathering them with lubricant, pulling back after running his glossa over them.

A squeal nearly leaves the Ambassador when Ratchet presses them back between their thighs running back down to their sex. "Exquisite," Drift praised, moving down to suck a mark into their side. Ratchet rumbled again, optics blown wide and fiery as he stroked them open expertly. "Our species may share more in common that anticipated, it seems."

He pressed his digit very slowly into them. Stilling for a moment before thrusting with curling precision. “Is this alright, nothing hurts?” he inquired, still being wary of the differences.

“Yes, feels really good” they stutter, eyes falling closed as their hand moves to guild Ratchet. It isn't long before ratchet presses a second into them, scissoring and opening them up.

"Would you like more?" he purred against their panting mouth. "Mmmm yes, please!" They nearly beg, with each thrust of Ratchet's digits, hips moving to grind back against them. "Fuck... Ratchet " they whine.

Drift lets out a keen growl, his plating swelling as his spike pressurised under his panel, finally giving way. One of his servos wraps around his spike as he quickly strokes it, moaning loudly as he pleasures himself to the view in front of him.

Ratchet groaned near incoherent static, as he withdrew his soaked digits, enjoying their bereft mewl. “Drift” he calls moving back enough to pull his conjunx into a kiss. The Ambassador sits up to watch the two as Ratchet runs his glossa down Drift's frame as he drops to his knee plating. Grabbing Drift's Hips and pulling him forward until his intake is wrapped around Drift's spike.

Drift's knee joints nearly buckle as he grabs Ratchet's helm. The medic curved one servo around its hot girth as both his mouth and servo moved in Sync. He pulls back after a moment, wiping his mouth before looking at the Ambassador. “Is this still alright?” He asked, earning an eager nod from them.

Drift moves stationing himself on the berth between their legs, spike resting against their stomach. “You'll let us know if it hurts or feels off, we don't want to hurt you” Drift checks again. “I'll let you know if it gets too much” they confirm.

They arch and moan out loudly as Drift slowly presses into them, hips shuttering and bucking as the ex con holds them still trying to take it slow. “Fuck! Drift!” They whine, trying desperately to grind back against him. “Just wait sweetspark” he coos softly as Ratchet slowly slinks around Drift.

His servos grip Drift's hips as his spike presses into Drift's valve, the moment the have all adjusted Ratchet begins softly thrusting, in turn making drift grind into the Ambassador. Sounds of strained venting and rhythmic pistoning hydraulics filled the room. Drift held them close, murmuring quiet praises and encouragement as Ratchet steadily plundered his valve from behind.

"Frag, you're so soft and tight?" Drift vented roughly almost whining to the Ambassador. Rolling his hips in subtle counterpoint to Ratchet's merciless pace. Ratchet nipped a warning at his neck cables, grinning fiercely.

It doesn't take long for the ambassador to orgasm, the sheer size and texture of drift has their body shuttering and clenching on drifts spike as they cry out loudly, bucking and keening as they grab onto anything they can. Drift’s sensory net sang with the echoes of their mingled ecstasy. He's quick to pull away before his overload hits, sagging on the berth above them as his fans blast air as his frame tries to cool down.

Above, Ratchet rolled his shoulder wheels in a sated stretch before glancing down at their joined frames. His field swept with warm waves of affection and approval at the sight of his conjunx so blissed out. His optics shift to the Ambassador laying there panting.

"Does anything hurt, dizziness, nausea" Ratchet asked, vocalizer hoarse but tone mellow. As the two mechs slowly untangle themselves from each other and the ambassador, Ratchet is quick to fetch water for them while Drift begins pulling up a blanket for the ambassador. "I'm alright, Where did you get this?" They ask with a sly smile.

Ratchet vented a soft chuckle as he passed them the water. "always stock essential supplies," he told them warmly. Catching Drift's amused field, he quipped "Though this one seems to collect oddities even I've never seen."

Drift huffed a mock grumble, tucking a warm sheet around the ambassador's frame with utmost care. "Keeps things interesting, at least. Can't fault a mech for having hobbies." Drift mumbles as he crawls onto the berth beside the ambassador, lightly tracing their face.

Ratchet joins them on the broad berth, settling with relaxed poise. His servo found Drift's, squeezing firmly. The Ambassador pulls the blanket around them, gasping softly as Ratchet lifts them gently to settle them on his Chassis as Drift curls up against Ratchet's side.

"Thank you, this was different, not what I was expecting when experiencing my first ever fifth stage contact " they chuckle softly while snuggling in. Before a light bulb goes off in their head. "Holy shit am I the first human to umm have sexual intercourse with a Cybertronian?"

Ratchet's chassis rumbled a soft laugh beneath them. "Records of encounters between humans and our kind are scarce" he noted clinically. "It's quite possible you've made history tonight, Ambassador." Drift vented softly against their back. Soft whirs and clicks filled the berth as the two mech’s frames slowly reset. the ambassador drifted into a peaceful rest. Ratchet vented softly,"Never thought I'd see the orn a human slept in my berth," he mumbles lightly, Drift draping his frame halfway atop Ratchet's broader one. He brushed a thumb softly over the ambassador's face.

"Glad you brought 'em, all the same." Drift ex vented, relaxing into his partner's embrace. Ratchet squeezed back gently in wordless reply, as his systems slowly shut down into recharge.

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[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 5

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 3,064 of 13,013

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Despite his promises, the ambassador – who I've come to know as Humak Tigelaar, a distant cousin of the Arjiki chieftain – never leaves the palace to explore the Emerald City. This is not the case for me. With good behavior at dinner and pleading my case over breakfast, the Wizard grants me permission to go to the children's home with an escort from one of the Royal Palace guards. The guard I've been provided with, Bruno, is not as tall as the Wizard, but well-built with broad shoulders and curls of brown hair that stick out from under his officer's cap. It is in fashion for most of the Royal Palace guards to have a mustache, but he is clean-shaven and seems to hold no regard for the way others look at him. He also has no interest in looking at me either, instead preferring to scan the crowd as we walk through the streets of the Emerald City. I try following his eyes, but find nothing more dangerous than some children playing stickball in an alleyway. I wonder if it was the Wizard who picked him out or Glafly, given the way he is taking all of this so seriously.

It could have been the Wizard, I think. I expected him to spend his time in the study connected to his bedroom, but after breakfast, he disappeared to the bottom levels of the palace. Maybe if today goes well, I could ask if I could follow him around while he does his magic and work for the day. It would certainly be more interesting than snooping around all of the gilded objects that I've seen and not getting a chance to even use a feather duster to help out my friends. If today goes well, I'll ask him tomorrow, I promise myself.

We reach the children's home and I palm the ribbon that I had stashed in my coat pocket as Bruno opens the well-worn door for me. The inside of the home is warm, with a fire roaring in the hearth that sits opposite the outdated reception desk. A unionist sister sits there, making notes in a ledger quickly before she lifts her head to see the cause of the chilled draft. A smile warms her face as she recognizes me.

"Are we here to see Fileah?" she asks.

"Yes, Sister Margaret," I nod. "I'm sorry that I couldn't have come earlier. I was-" I look to Bruno who is making very careful note of everything around the room as if memorizing it or checking it for traps. "-unavailable."

Sister Margaret looks at Bruno and then back to me. "Is this your... fiance? We don't have him on the approved list yet, I'm afraid."

My eyes go wide at the suggestion that straight-laced and unsociable Bruno is romantically involved with me. For all of his attentiveness, he seems to not have heard the ridiculous suggestion.

"No...No!" My words aren't coming to me as I try to find a way to politely explain that the Mighty and Powerful Wizard of Oz had decided to keep me as his... Plaything? Personal maid? Why was he keeping me? If I couldn't figure it out, how was I supposed to explain it to Sister Margaret? I settle for another lie, unhappy to add again to the total of untruths that I need to keep straight. "He's our cousin... from out of town. Just signed on to the force."

Sister Margaret squints to get a better look at him, maybe to see if there is any familial connection in a cheekbone or jawline. Satisfied, she pulls out an index card from one of her desk drawers and asks me for his information as she fills it in neatly. Bruno seems unfazed by this whole process, taking great note of the ornaments that hang from the boughs stuffed in a great wicker basket in the corner. He flicks a red glittery one, and I think he’s trying to find a way to turn it into a weapon.

Once "Cousin" Bruno is duly noted, Sister Margaret takes us to the dining room. The children are having lunch and it doesn't take long to spot Fileah. She's a wisp of an 8-year-old girl, all limbs with a scrawny neck and a nose that pokes out over her lips making her look like a rabbit. I wonder if I looked like her when I was her age, and decide that I didn't, not at least with our parents providing for us. Looking at the trays of the children I see that today's menu consists of salt and pepper potatoes cooked until they look more like clumps than potatoes, half of a hunk of bread that could have been used for a sandwich had their neighbor not had the other half, and a ball of meat that is gray from being boiled for too long.

Fileah looks up from her disappointing lunch when a small girl next to her tugs on her sleeve to point me out. I don't know how many visitors the other children get, but I had never seen someone visiting at the same time I had ever been there. It makes sense, in a way. Fileah and I are either lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it: lucky in the sense that I was old enough to declare my emancipation when our parents had died and I could bring her things from the outside, unlucky in that we were separated and I couldn't support her or let her live with me at the palace. Today, I feel as if we are lucky, as if things might be different soon. She smiles as I approach. I take a seat across from her at the dining table. Bruno makes an assessment of the dining hall, and seeing that the tallest possible threat comes only to his waist, sits down next to me.

"How's my favorite little rabbit?" I ask.

Fileah smiles at the old nickname. Even though she's only 8, I can't remember if I gave it to her or if our mother did when she was born. "You've been gone for a long time," she says.

Even though I had the entire walk from the palace to figure out what to say, I never came up with an answer. No doubt Bruno would be listening too and any oversharing of information would be reported straight back to Glafly and eventually the Wizard. Maybe the Wizard really could read minds as so many of the staff had wondered and he wouldn’t even need to wait to hear it from Glafly. Regardless, I keep my oath of secrecy about just how human he is that I promised when I went into his service, even if I didn’t work officially as a maid anymore. "The staff is having a restructuring," I settle on.

Fileah pushes a small lump of boiled potato around in some brown sauce, not looking me in the eyes. "I was worried that you forgot me." I can hear the hurt in her voice.

"I could never forget you!" I say. "As a matter of fact, I got you a present."

Her eyes are suddenly bright, wide, and looking at me, and I try my best to memorize every ounce of joy on her face. I fish out the ribbon before I can lose myself in the worry of when I might see her next. It's an emerald green with a golden brocade of peacocks. When I had gone back to my room last night, I finally got around to reading the note that had been left on the vanity.

Enjoy the ribbons - O

It took a bit of figuring out, but eventually, I was able to open the top of the vanity to see hundreds of different ribbons in all shades of green and gold, perched on display in a case like colorful macarons. Some I had pulled out and gasped, gawking over them as they had been inlaid with diamonds or sapphires. The entire vanity of them must have cost more than I would ever make in my lifetime, more than likely double. I had picked the one with the peacocks on it because I remembered how much she had liked seeing them at the zoo when I took her a few years back. She had loved them so much that she promised me one day she would grow up to come back and take care of them.

Fileah gasps, and she is hesitant to take the ribbon from my hands. "It's so pretty," she says.

"Do you want me to tie it in your hair?" I ask. I get up and go around to the other side of the table, pulling her two braids to the back of her head. Before I leave, I'll make sure to weave it into them so none of the kids can steal it, but for right now, I want everyone to see her and the beautiful peacocks fully on display.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Fileah asks as I'm looping the ribbon.

"Fileah!" I exclaim. I look around to see if Sister Margaret is anywhere near before I say anything. "This is Bruno. He's one of the palace guards. Our Wizard sent him with me." I finish tying the ribbon and take my place again at the other side of the dining table. “And as far as you know, he is our cousin.”

"I asked if he was your boyfriend," Fileah says. She gives him a good once over, staring him down as she skewers her overcooked potato. When he meets her eye, she says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Animal or human?" he asks.

I kick Bruno under the table, trying to get both of them to stop the violent topic. My head is practically spinning as I look around to make sure that nobody else is listening to their conversation. It probably won't be of much use. There are two boys and a girl who are intently listening into the interrogation, lunches long forgotten.

"Umm," Fileah says, eyes cast upwards as if the correct answer was stored somewhere in her brain. "Can I ask both?"

The bloodthirsty curiosity brings a smile to his face and he laughs. He laughs. I can't believe that my scrawny rabbit of a sister has gotten Mr. No-Nonsense to laugh. "13 animals, 1 human," he says, "but I didn't 'kill' them."

Fileah's nose scrunches. "Well, they're dead right?"

"Yes," Bruno says.

"So you killed them," she says.

Bruno blinks and sighs. I know what he means. It's not like he planned their murder or anything, but Fileah doesn't know that. Fileah hasn't figured out that he's just doing his job and that it's rude to ask someone questions like that.

"Did you kill the Winkies that were at the gate?" the boy next to Fileah asks. Both Bruno and I are confused about that.

"Winkies?" he asks.

"Ms. Amrose said that's why the house has been so cold," the boy continues. "She said the Winkies came and took all of the firewood back."

"That's not what she said, you idiot," Fileah says.

"Fileah!”I exclaim. “We don't call people names. Say you're sorry." The rude ways of the other children are rubbing off on her, and I wish more than anything at this moment that I had the money and a place to take her out of the orphanage, but I don't. It's bad to speak ill of the dead, but I can't help but hate my father for taking out that stupid loan for his business and using the family house as collateral. I might have been able to scrape by and make mortgage payments on it, but once the bank repossessed it, I was forced to look for room and board and a wage all in one place.

"But it's true," Fileah protests. "Ms. Amrose didn't say anything about the Winkies coming to take the wood. She said her brother went down to the gates and they wouldn't let them have the wood."

"Well, it's still not nice," I say. The home is noticeably colder now that they’ve mentioned it. I hadn't realized because I had managed to finagle some warmer servant’s clothes out of Emily and found an emerald fur-lined coat and muff in the trunk at the end of my bed. I pull the fur tighter, trying to banish the confusing thoughts of my mismatched wardrobe and who put them together. Today is about Fileah.

"Do you know when we'll get our wood back?" Fileah asks me.

"I don't know," I say.

"Ms. Amrose's brother got hurt," she says. "She hasn't been here so much because she's staying at home taking care of him. I hope he gets better soon. She gives us sweets when the sisters aren't looking."

That piques my interest. "Did she say how he got hurt?"

Fileah doesn't answer that. Her only reply is the way she looks at Bruno. I hadn’t noticed, but Bruno himself has lost any sort of cheer he may have had from answering the children’s silly questions. I fear that I am certain of what happened to Ms. Amrose's brother, and certain that Bruno has had something to do with it.

"I think it's time to go," Bruno says. "I'm sure his Ozness will be missing you."

I smile, trying to feign ignorance. "Bruno, don't be silly, we just got here."

Fileah doesn't say anything, but she's still looking at Bruno. I wonder if she's afraid that he will hurt her too.

"Let's go," Bruno says. I don't fight him as he helps me up by my elbow, but do turn to him quickly before he can escort me out.

"I still need to redo her ribbon," I whisper.

"You can do that or you can help yourself and her by leaving," he says.

I bite my tongue, considering my choices, but there really aren't any, not at least when it comes to Fileah. I tell her goodbye and then promise her I'll be back before Lurlinemas as Bruno escorts me out of the dining hall.

"You'd really harm a child?" I ask as I sign us both out, thankful that Sister Margaret isn’t at her desk. He doesn't answer that.

When we get out on the front steps, he says, "Are you hungry?"

"I want to go back to the palace," I reply.

"There's a bakery just around the corner here," he says, pulling my elbow. Clearly, I'm not getting a say in this.

We pass shops filled with painted wooden toys, bright red and gold flowers, and all other trappings that ring out the presence of Lurlinemas. I consider asking Bruno to stop at the toy store, wanting to look for a proper present for my sister, or at least to have an eyewitness before he took me off to some back alley to kill me. Instead, I see our reflections in the window and am struck by the memory of being hauled off by the palace guard at the night market. At least Bruno hasn't got my hand bolted to my spine. Still, I get the sense that he wouldn't listen to any pleas for window shopping.

The bakery that he brings us to looks like someone had jammed it in between its taller bank and cobbler neighbors. It’s at least 10 feet shorter than them, and only about 10 feet wide brick to brick. It's painted a sickly green but makes up for the lack of curb appeal in the warm scents of yeast and saffron that waft from the front door to the cobblestones we're stepping off of. Inside, he orders us two saffron buns – the baker gives him them for free on some account of familiarity that I don't catch – and sets us down at the bistro table that's been shoved in the corner.

"Are you trying to take me on a date or something?" I ask. I’m shocked that I’m not dead yet, instead holding a sweet bun. The bun is so warm that if it weren't for my gloves, I'm sure it would be burning my hands. The yeasty and fragrant steam coming from it seems to be a warning.

"You need to tell your sister to forget what she heard," he says. He doesn't even bother pretending to eat his bun, the little white plate with the steaming treat on top sitting in the middle of the table.

"What? About Ms. Amrose's brother?" I ask.

"What happened at the gates... No one is supposed to know about that," he says lowly.

"Why are you telling me then?" I ask.

Bruno pulls the plate closer to him, and I think for a second he might actually want to eat the bun. "I’ve got family too. A little brother. I don't want her to get hurt or nothing," he says.

"Who would hurt Fileah?!" I say, trying to keep quiet despite my rising voice. "She's just a little girl."

"I've seen the Gale Force take people her age before. They were spies, but still..." He pushes the plate away again as if the subject has ruined his appetite.

"What happened at the gate?" I ask. I feel like I know, but still, I want to hear it from him.

"You'd do best to forget it," Bruno says. He pulls out his pocketwatch, checking the time.

"It was a riot, wasn't it?" I ask.

Bruno's eyes snap up to meet mine and the jade within them is burning. "She's just a girl! Don't go asking stupid questions that'll get you both killed." He strokes his non-existent mustache as if it would stop the harsh tone in his voice. "I'm risking my own job taking you here. If it were Leo... Just..." he pushes up from the cramped bistro table, the metal chair ringing out as it scrapes along the tile. "Come on. I'm supposed to have you back by two."

I go to stuff the saffron bun in my pocket, hoping to have it later, but he stops me, putting the bun back on the little white plate.

"Don't," he says. "Don't let anyone know you were here. Just make sure your sister stops, okay?"

And so we leave the bakery: the bakery that I don't know about and have never visited.

[aqua-the-smiter]

Healing takes a long, long time. Who knows. It may never come. Cato Sicarius x female reader you are his only solace PART 3, APPARENTLY. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. Divider by @squishyowl . I'm sorry I keep @ing you but Cato is living rent fucking free in my head Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z53F9I-93M

Fall with me, come on and fall with me, into the dark and scary hole inside the bottom of the sea ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things weren't perfect. But they seemed to be better, at least. Even if only marginally.

Cato was happier than you'd ever seen him in the weeks since you got together. At least, when he was with you. He was a surprisingly affectionate man once you got past his shell. He was still lonely, still in pain, but he had you, and he loved you. And he wasn't ashamed to show it either.

Some Ultramarines congratulated him on it. A few seemed a little envious. That one ambassador that Cato had had less pleasant dealings had glared at you like you insulted her mother. Overall though, the reaction was positive. Even Lord Guilliman seemed pleased, laying a hand on Cato's shoulder.

Astartes getting girlfriends wasn't common, but it wasn't entirely unheard of either. Most kept quiet about it. While he didn't trumpet from the rooftops about you, he wasn't afraid to kiss you or let you kiss him in public when you accompanied him, or allow you to hold his hand, or slip your hand around his elbow (as best you could) so the two of you could walk arm and arm together.

And flowers. You loved flowers, and every day when he came to you he'd present you with some, weaving them into your hair or tucking them behind your ears. You got the impression he enjoyed finding and giving them to you as much as you enjoyed receiving them, and you were filling out a whole book full of pressed and dried blooms.

He even had a pet name for you. Peahen, after the female of the numerous peafowl that inhabited Macragge. They had been brought over by early settlers and found a very comfortable niche for themselves. The males were especially pretty, with cobalt blue bodies and magnificent, long tails of green and iridescent eye spots that could spread out into a huge fan of feathers. The females were less showy, with plain brown and white feathers, but even they had a splash of bright blue and green on their necks. And the chicks were absolutely adorable.

The name always made you giggle. You supposed Cato was a like a peacock with his bright blue armor and plumed helmet. Your peacock.

For your part, you made up for things by being equally as affectionate as possible. It was pretty clear that he needed it. Giving it to him as freely as he did to you. You would let him scoop you up and carry you around just because he felt like doing it, or rest his head in your lap when he was particularly frustrated or put out. Stroking his hair, whispering to him softly that things would be just fine. He didn't seem like he believed it, but it made him happy to hear from you.

But...it was still pretty clear he wasn't doing well, and that irritated you to no end. You wanted to help him. You want to scream at everyone who made him feel like he had nobody to talk to about his troubles. And you would, too. You felt fiercely protective of him.

It was like he was in a hole. A deep, dark pit in his own head that he couldn't climb out of. Or he'd just gotten used to sitting in the dirt. Sometimes misery and pain could be awful comfortable if you lived with it long enough. Even if you didn't want it to be. Or if not that, then extremely hard to crawl out of. Like a tar pit.

And you weren't the only one who noticed his poor state, either.

Roboute Guilliman leaned back in his chair. In one hand was a mug of steaming mountain laurel tea. On a very small clear spot on his desk was a small plate that held some Eldar sweets Yvraine had brought for their weekly chat over tea. She held her teacup in the toes of her left foot, a plate in her right hand, and her gryrinx Alorynis tucked under her left arm. He kept trying to fling himself into Guilliman's lap, which he seemed to prefer because it was bigger.

He loved these meetings with her. They had become a weekly thing under the guise of "negotiation", and she was an accepted sight around the Fortress of Hera. It was nothing short of a relief to have her to talk to.

"Let him sit." Roboute said, amused as he watched the feline struggle.

"He'll get your lovely blue toga covered in sheddings." Yvraine said, sipping her tea. Placing Alorynis in his lap anyway. The gryrinx immediately curled into a happy ball, purring.

He stroked the creature's back, smiling. Although she could see it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't mind. I like cats."

"Robu, you're frowning again." She poked his wrinkled forehead. "What's on your mind this time?"

"Nothing unusual. I am concerned about one of my sons. Among other things."

"Which one?" She said, amused. "You have so many. I'm jealous."

He snorted. "Very funny, you unbearable xenos witch. It is Cato Sicarius."

"Ah yes. The one who never smiles."

"Most Astartes don't smile too often." Roboute pointed out.

"He only has two expressions from what I've seen. Grinding his teeth behind his lips, and a thousand yard stare."

"He's been happier recently. But that's because of his serf, I believe. The root problem is still there."

Despite her teasing, her expression was sympathetic. "What do you mean?"

"He used to be a very...arrogant man. He has gone through much humbling since, but I do not think all of it has been beneficial. I think he is as bad as he was in some aspects, but in the very different way. Instead of pride, it is pain that guides his actions. Although he adamantly refuses to talk about it to anyone."

"Have you tried asking him directly? He wouldn't refuse you."

"No, but forcing him to speak will do no good either. It will make him more evasive and mistrustful." He sighed. "I have asked, but only vaguely. I do not want to be overbearing to my Astartes, but I am worried about Cato. He pulls away from his brothers, and from me. He isolates himself, and wanders around in the night. There is no light in his eyes."

"Do you have any idea as to why?" Yvraine asked. "Maybe he just prefers to be alone."

"No. Some years ago, a ship he was traveling on got lost in the Warp. It was trapped for five years, aimless and constantly being invaded by daemons and Warpborn horrors. Many of his men died. I believe it has traumatized him."

Yvraine's ears flicked up in surprise. She looked sober. "I didn't know that was even possible. What does an Angel of Death need to see that will scar his mind so deeply?"

"It is very possible. Nobody likes to talk about it, but it is. Granted, it is also not common. In that you are correct. It takes a special kind of hell to leave that kind of scarring."

"But I suppose being lost in the Warp for five years is as special kind of hell."

"It is."

"He also doesn't seem to popular with your boys. I've heard some...less than flattering remarks."

"You probably hear everything with those ears." He said with a small smile. She snorted a laugh. "He is...a divisive figure. Many respect him. Many cannot stand him. I know one of my ambassadors really dislikes him."

"I've heard people calling him sexist."

"He is not. That rumor is stupid." Roboute said, thoroughly tired of it. "I thought my sons were more mature, but apparently not."

"Boys will be boys Robu." She pinched his cheek.

He sighed. "I wish to help him, but I don't know how. And..." He trailed off, uncertain of how much to share.

"Go on Robu. You know I won't breathe a word of it."

She read him like an open book. He loved that woman. "The mission I sent the Redeemed on. It is a success so far. If all goes well, I will be off to Medusa soon. If that goes well, I will need Cato then. And I will need him at his sharpest. Beyond, even."

The Redeemed were a...peculiar chapter of Astartes under Roboute's direct control. They were perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was entirely made up of former Chaos and traitor marines. He had a soft spot for them, and they were by far his best weapon against daemons and Warp spawn of all kinds.

"Ah. The thing with your brother?"

"Yes." That was the end of that train of discussion. "I know I cannot rush his healing, but I do not believe he has even begun to heal. His wounds still bleed. I fear if I try and intervene I will make things worse. I do not wish to hurt him."

"You said he had a serf he's fond of. It seems he's not entirely without comfort."

"He loves her. And it is good he has her. He does not trust his brothers with this. He does not trust me with this. Let him have her. Someone."

"I think you could reach out to him too. Don't force him, but merely inquire. Tell him you've noticed his change in behavior and be honest about your concerns. You are still his father, after a strange fashion. Maybe he could use some kind words from his Primarch. His Primarch certainly needs kind words too from time to time."

He smiled at that. "Not inaccurate. I will see what I can do. Maybe talk to his serf as well."

"See? There's the Robu I know. Always making plans." She patted his head. "And you are still as infuriating as ever." "Shut up and drink your tea before it gets cold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful evening. The light of the setting sun was golden, the day was warm and the breeze was cool. It was nice enough that even the Ultramarines took notice, spending their small amount of free time outside in snatches.

Cato sighed. The wind made his robes ripple and flutter. He'd received a note inviting him to share a jug of wine and some small talk with a few other officers. His first instinct was to refuse, but then he remembered he was trying to retain some semblance of normality. So now he felt obligated to show up. He would have brought you with him, but you were fast sleep in the sunshine. Instead he'd covered you up with his cape and let you nap. You were cute like that anyway.

He found the others sitting in the shade of an old willow tree, the wind rustling the long branches. It sounded like rattling bones. Marneus, Uriel, and Demetrian were scattered across the benches around the trunk. They all looked unusually relaxed and in good spirits.

"Sicarius."

"Cato."

"Cato."

He sat on the edge of the bench Titus was on, who promptly handed him a clay cup. The liquid inside was a dark red, dry and sour tasting.

"Chapter master, Uriel, Titus." He nodded to each. "I wasn't expecting an invitation. Did anything special happen?" He asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Can't we just want to enjoy your company?" Titus asked, smacking his shoulder.

He snorted. "Nobody enjoys my company. I thought that was established."

"That serf of yours seems to enjoy it. Congratulations on that." Uriel smiled at him. "I never would have guessed you to be the type to seek out something like that."

Titus nodded. "It's very rare, but not unheard of. I know the Chapter Master had a girl once, when he was young and attractive."

Calgar raised a grayed eyebrow. "What do you mean was?"

"Well...you are old." Uriel offered.

"Brilliant observation Ventris. It's that tactical genius that made you captain of the fourth."

Uriel and Titus both snickered at that. Cato offered a small smile at the Chapter Master's witticism. He took a sip of the wine to offset the fact that he wasn't laughing. A small one, though. It was starting to look a bit too much like blood for his comfort.

Then Marneus's gaze turned squarely on Cato. "But I'm not so old that a replacement needs to be considered yet. Sicarius."

He nearly choked on his wine. "Who, me? Absolutely not. I don't want to be Chapter Master. Keep your chair."

The thought was utterly laughable. He had aspired to it. Once. Not anymore though. he'd already proved himself too incompetent for that seat.

That earned him three raised eyebrows.

"What happened to you, Cato?" Uriel asked. "I thought you were counting down the days until Calgar was unavailable."

"I was. When I was young, and still had hope." He replied, then seeing the looks he was getting, "But it doesn't look like our venerable Chapter Master will be abdicating anytime soon." He added, forcing a joke.

"1st Captain Severus will be pleased to hear it." Titus told him with a grin.

"Seems I get a break from young upstarts for a while." Calgar said wryly.

"And when the time comes may someone worthy take your place."

He held up his cup in salute to the chapter master. Hoping that they believed his words were true. Because they were. Someone worthy. Not him.

The others raised their cups in return before taking a swig.

"Maybe one of you two." He added.

Titus shook his head. "I think I'm happier where I am."

"I never considered it." Uriel admitted. "I try to keep my aspirations reasonable."

"You would be a good pick though." Titus mused, agreeing with Cato.

He nodded.

"You have the track record." Calgar nodded slowly. "If you're not dead by the time I am, and if Agemman doesn't want to job for some reason."

"You're a hero, Uriel. The things you have accomplished go beyond even our line of duty." Cato said. "I believe you have a lot of qualities the Primarch likes to see in us as well. That might make you more a favorable choice."

"Don't sell yourself short Cato. You have done a lot of good too. Lord Guilliman wouldn't have made you captain of the Victrix for nothing."

The wine was starting to acquire an oddly metallic taste. Like iron. "Everything I have done has come off the heels of a spectacular blunder."

"I got sent off to Medrenguard because I didn't follow the Codex Astartes. Remember?"

Cato shook his head. "You did what needed to be done. I sent my men to their deaths."

"The Emperor's Will was not your fault, Sicarius." Calgar interjected. "Blaming yourself accomplishes nothing."

"And what about the losses at Damnos? Or Black Reach? I have proven time and time again that I am not a good commander."

"There is no leader of men who has only victories. Not even Lord Guilliman can claim that. You have failed, and you have failed hard. That is certainly true. But you have learned from it since. I doubt you would make the same mistakes again. Would you?"

"Of course not."

"There you have it then."

He felt a warmth in his chest for a moment before the doubts he held to be truths reasserted themselves. He had missed this. This fellowship. It was like he had been gifted a taste of the brotherhood he had lost, and he hadn't realized how bitterly he had missed it.

"That is something easier said than applied." He countered, and before he could stop himself, added. "Some things still haunt me."

It eve smelled like blood now.

Uriel nodded sagely. "I still think about the things I saw on Medrenguard sometimes. Although time has sanded the edges a great deal."

"Yes, of course." He said, a little too quickly. "It always does. But it's still unpleasant."

It didn't. He thought. Everything is still as sharp and painful as ever. Do you still smell the charnel reek? Do you still hear the screaming and moaning of the poor wretches of the Daemonculaba? Is your sleep full of daemon music and rot? Do you see Tyranids in every shadow and Iron Warriors in every doorway?

Time hadn't healed any of his wounds. He could still feel them, deep in his mind, pulsing with pain and oozing infection. That's how he felt. Like an infected wound. He had simply gotten worse and worse over time. That's why he was in this state now. Both his honor and his mind in pieces.

He wondered why they had asked him here in the first place. His hand shook, and he put the wine cup down. It all tasted like blood anyway. He wasn't like them. They were all heroes. They were everything an Ultramarine was supposed to be.

Maybe that's why he was here. So he could see everything that he wasn't.

He fell silent for the most part after that, listening to the other three and occasionally answering yes or no to some question or another. As quickly as that moment of warmth had come it was gone, and he felt hollow again.

Eventually he stood up to take his leave.

"Wait." He turned to see Titus holding out a few long sprigs of mountain laurels. Clusters of beautiful, star shaped white, pink and red flowers.

"Take these to your lady. I notice you've been bringing her flowers all the time." He said with a smile. Cato took them with a nod of gratitude.

"She likes them. Thank you."

"Good luck with her." Titus called after him, before his expression turned stony.

He was going to have to talk to someone about this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Peahen." Cato called softly, opening the door to his quarters.

You were awake, sewing up a few ragged edges on his broad red cape. Looking up, your face broke into a wide grin when you saw him, and the gorgeous flowers he had for you. Putting your sewing down, you sprung into him like a rabbit into a trap. He gathered you up in his arms and held you tightly. Tucking the laurels into your hair.

"They're beautiful Cato. Thank you so much." You beamed at him. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiled. Feeling all his earlier distress draining away as he held you close. You could see his expression soften, the tension drop from his shoulders.

"One of my brothers suggested them." He said.

"He has good taste." You ran your fingers gently over the petals. "You know you don't have to bring me flowers every day." He sat down, pulling you into his lap. "Maybe not. But seeing your eyes light up every time I present you with some makes it worth doing. I like making you happy."

You snuggled against him, as content as a cat with a stolen fish. "I appreciate it. You know I've saved every single one. I'm filling a book with them."

"Really?"

"Yep." You nodded. "I dry and press them. It's like a record of sorts. Since we...became and item."

He took your small hand in his and squeezed it.

"I want to make you happy too." You told him.

"You make me happy just by being here."

He kissed your cheek.

"You are my solace."

You pulled one of the springs of laurel from your hair and tucked it behind his ear. "You look so handsome Cato."

"I love you." He whispered. Holding you close. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Titus." Roboute greeted his son as he walked into his office.

"Lord Primarch." He returned. "Am I interrupting anything?"

He sighed. "Nothing out of the ordinary, lieutenant. Is something wrong? You look troubled."

"Forgive me if this is nothing, but I felt that I needed to speak to someone about this." Titus began. "I...believe there is something going on with Cato."

To his surprise Roboute's expression darkened almost immediately. "Tell me." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hole-dwelling, hole-dwelling, hole-dwelling, you’re just like me

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter Two

Word Count: 2100-ish words

Warnings: just violence, reader is a smart-ass and has PTSD, putting the enemies in enemies to lovers

Almost drowning is really peaceful once you accept it. As my body was being crushed under the weight of what felt like all of the water in the River Seine, my life didn’t flash before my eyes, believe it or not. Maybe I knew that I wasn’t going to die just yet, and Bast saved my once-in-a-lifetime nostalgia for the real deal, but I’ve got to say, it really wasn’t that bad. The water was a little chilly because it was November, and it was like a cleansing flood, silencing the never ending chatter from the night. But then, all at once, the water in my lungs, ears, and stomach exited my body and I lurched forward onto the steps I’d just come down from. Heaving and coughing, coming back from the dead was a lot grosser than I thought. But when I thought I was safe, the assailant brought me back down to Earth.

“Y/n, daughter of Ayila, ambassador of Wakanda. Rise.”

As much as I would love to, I was a little busy throwing up water and shivering. I thought about standing, but as soon as I was on my feet I would've fallen, so Namor would have to settle for me lying on my side. He floated down in front of me with all of the regality he was owed and two soldiers to his right and left rode a wave onto the stairs. As much as I’d heard of Namor and the Talokanil, I was still surprised to notice that they were very blue. At least, Attuma and Namora were. Namor was quite human looking, except for the pointed tips of his ears and his wings. Logically, I doubted that they were what enabled him to fly, being that they couldn’t have been longer than a foot across each. Still, his figure was unbelievable.

Layers of corded muscle in his arms and a proud chest were adorned by a golden mantle engraved with scales. From the mantle hung a ruby cape leading all the way to his feet. Where his powerful legs met he wore an intricate green and black woven fabric, but all this embellishment couldn’t hold a candle to his headdress. It was a masterpiece carved out of gold, clearly fit for a god. Fashioned in the shape of a serpent’s head, its teeth and eyes were the finest emeralds. An array of feathers and leaves sprouted straight up from the back of it imitating razor sharp spikes, and despite all of this decoration, his eyes were the most striking of all. Up close, they were like pools of anger, burning with pride. 

I forced my eyes away, but immediately, he spoke, drawing them right back up. 

“Are you acting as queen?” He implored, still towering over me.

“No, I’m the garbage man.” I replied drily, even though I was soaked to the bone. Maybe if I kept him talking, Shuri would reappear and come kick his ass again.

“Where is the queen?” Namore asks again, more insistently. His soldiers point their weapons at me, and the vibranium in my rings starts to vibrate softly, picking up on… something. Then the humming noises aren’t on me, they move around me, swimming and strumming almost like the sirens’ songs, only more grounded. They evolve into something more… chirpy. Shit.

This was supposed to be my solo mission. After security was heightened so many times, it took forever to convince the Dora Milaje to allow any of the Royal family out without at least 6 of their soldiers, and the first time they say yes, Namor comes and they have to clean up my mess. I’m never going to live this down, but at least I know I’m going to keep living.

“She’s occupied. Can I pass along a message for you?” I ask coyly, batting my eyelashes at him. Namor’s nostrils flare once, and the air is still in the room. Then, faster than anything, Namora lunges at me. 

She reaches ferociously, grabbing at my neck, but I block her with my salute and break it, snapping into a fighting position like a whip. I don’t have time to worry about the other two because then I hear the unmistakable sound of a spear slicing through a body. At first there’s just the slight whistle and thrum of wood and vibranium soaring through the air. Then a squelch of tissue being split and the hitch when it finally stops moving. Namor whips his head around to see his second general, Attuma, pierced straight through the left side. He looks around wildly, searching for the perpetrator and locks eyes with the Winter Soldier.

Namor grabs his wounded fighter, crashing through the windows on the ceiling. I barely have time to duck before the Winter Soldier chucks three, four, five more spears through the air at my opponent. Namora expertly jumps and weaves past them, but lands harshly skidding across the floor. Behind her, the Black Panther waits in the shadows and traps her in a headlock.

“Are you hurt?” I hear a heavy, sarcastic, distinctly male voice grumble from somewhere behind me, but I can’t place it. Too busy planning an escape route, I don’t even respond. That’s another reason why it took so long for the Dora to approve this mission: I have trouble with catastrophes. Every major event where thousands, if not millions of lives are lost, including some of my loved ones, starts off just like this. I’m unprepared, I’m vulnerable, and I have no idea how to stop the villain instead of just escaping. And the villain sometimes looks a lot like the man who was in the audience earlier twenty feet away from me. 

“Are you okay? Can you hear?” The voice is right behind me, and two big hands grab my shoulders, giving me a light shake. I scream louder than thought was possible, and writhe away from him with horror. His eyes are wide in surprise like he’s not one of the most notorious men on the planet.

“I’m–” Out of breath. “I’m fine. Where’s Namor? Wha–” I twist in his arms, looking frantically through the crowd of fighting Dora and Talokanil, the flashes of light and scrapes of metal. “Where’s Shuri?”

“Wherever she is, she can hold her own, but you need to get out of here.”

I still completely and screw my face up at him, shocked at his audacity. Who the hell is he to tell me where to go?

“Someone who’s been in a billion other situations like this, so trust me. I know when we’re outmatched.” He replies, arching his brow. I’m so taken aback by the nerve he’s showing that I don’t say anything, just stare at him like he’s crazy, because he is. He slides his hands to his hips, staring back, daring me to challenge his authority. After a while, he just shakes his head and grabs my upper arm, pulling me along. “Trust me or don’t. I don’t care, but I’m not going to let you die here.” His grip is soft, giving me room to get away if I really want, but his motion is unstoppable. I find myself struggling to keep up with his pace as he leads us away from the calamity and for some reason, I can’t look away from his hand on my arm. 

The cold November air stings compared to the heated floors of the venue, and the wind blown around from the jet only makes things worse. It arrives as silent as an arrow, purple lights tracing every line, but this one is only a soldier’s ship. The real light show is the royal aircraft which takes my breath away everytime. Beside me the Winter Soldier still stands stoic as ever, hands covered over his front. Deep lines are etched in his face from frowning all these years, but he somehow looks happy to see Ayo’s face out from underneath the cargo door. Well, he’s not literally smiling, but the scowl he wore lessens and his eyes brighten up.  

 Her spear glints in the light, and she taps it to the ground twice, before crossing her arms over her armor. I can’t lie either, a part of me softens too when I see Ayo. As my knight, she was assigned to me when I was younger to train me in self-defense and accompany me wherever I went until I was proficient enough on my own. Only a few years older than me, she took the responsibility head on and taught me everything she knows. Even today, as I’ve grown, seeing her after a crisis feels like a balm on my heart. 

“What happened, usisi?” Her eyebrows crinkle in the middle in concern, and before I know it, tears are streaming down my face. I stand silently in the cold, sniffling until Kena, her second in command, throws an arm around my shoulder and leads me into the warmed-up jet. 

For some time, we sit in comfortable silence, allowing me to process the chaos of the night. The very same fear-mongering villain who’d haunted me whenever I left Wakanda came alive and I had to face him. My aunt’s killer was back to claim more lives, and I did nothing but let him attack. It was all just too much to handle.

Kena sits in her seat and turns around to face me, holding out a handkerchief. I gather myself, wiping my eyes and clear my throat. 

“I wish I’d have fought back.”

Kena hums at my wishful thinking, already knowing not to say anything significantly agreeing or disagreeing. Years have passed, and she’s tired of telling me I’m too hard on myself.

“Well, you certainly made an impression on Namor. And the Black Panther has proved herself to be more than capable of protecting herself against him, so there’s no point in being disappointed in yourself.” 

“Do you think he’s going to come and find me?” I ask her, hesitantly. Shuri can hold her own, but if I’m attacked on my own, there’s no chance I’ll be able to escape him. 

“No, not if he knows what’s good for him. If he really wants to conquer the surface world, he knows Wakanda is his only enemy, and attacking us will put a swift end to his operation.” She replies, cool as a cucumber. I’ve always envied her poker face.

“How long until the Queen joins us?” Maybe I’m asking to many questions, but after everything that’s just happened, I deserve some comfort. She purses her lips and looks at the floor of the jet as if she were holding something back. “Kena?” I whisper, tentatively, because maybe I don’t want to know the answer. Fear rises in my throat, and my hands shake even more, just like that day in Vienna. Kena grabs my hand and squeezes it, giving me an encouraging look.

“The Black Panther lives, and Namor has given his word to respect her safety as she ventures to Talokan in his company.”

“Again!” I whine a little, but I can’t help it. So much endangerment for the same conclusion over again. Namor will never forgive the surface world, and Shuri will never turn it over to his wrath.

“It was her choice, usisi. We must respect it.” She keeps her impenetrable expression.

“Right. Of course.” I reply bitterly. Every day I’m thankful that it’s not my job to protect her. I settle into my seat more, taking a deep breath for the first time in what feels like ages, but then Kena’s Kimoyo beads rumble on her wrist and she stands abruptly, grabbing her spear. My eyes go wide like saucers and my hand starts to shake on the armrest as I push myself up. 

She whips around and pushes my shoulder back down into the seat: “Relax, I’ve only been called by Ayo. Rest.” She looks me up and down, taking in my disheveled dress and hair. “You need it.”

I can’t help but feel like something more serious is at hand because of how she squeezes her spear like it might be ripped from her at any moment. 

She opens the door and walks down the ramp, and it folds back up just as I stretch my head to look through it. I catch a glimpse of the Winter Soldier talking to Ayo, looking at the ship with irritation and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever she’s saying, he is not pleased by it. Good, maybe she’s finally taking him to jail for the numerous traitorous deeds he’s committed.

[botanikos]

𝐅𝐮𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧

The Basics

Name: Jude. Age: 30yrs. Pronouns: They/Them. Timezone: EST, USA. Catchphrase / something you frequently say: I hate it here. & Eat my feathers. Night or Day: I prefer nights most of the time, but it depends! Favorite Element: Water!

Four Quotes From Four Books To Better Understand Me

☆ "Other people would call him sensitive, but it is more than that. The dial is broken, the volume turned all the way up. Moments of joy registered as brief, but ecstatic. Moments of pain stretched long and unbearably loud." — THE INVISIBLE LIFE OF ADDIE LARUE, by V.E. Schwab.

☆ "I promise to live, richly and shamelessly and with arms wide open to the world." — A DOWRY OF BLOOD, by S.T. Gibson. [ bonus: I have this tattooed on me with part of the cover design; permission was granted by both artist and author ]

☆ "Oh, I will be cruel to you, Marya Morevna. It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be. But you understand, don't you? You are clever enough. I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I am your servant. When you starve I will feed you; when you are sick I will tend you. I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone I will be weak." — DEATHLESS, by Catherynne M. Valente.

☆ "Nikolai had been told that hope was dangerous, had been warned of it many times. But he'd never believed that. Hope was the wind that came from nowhere to fill your sails and carry you home." KING OF SCARS, by Leigh Bardugo.

Things To Associate Me With

Books / miniature snow globes / rocks / indoor plants / enamel pins / hoodies / vintage boxes or chests / candlesticks / horror movies / unfinished projects / sunflowers / ocean sunrises / bookstores / thunderstorms / ballpoint pens / scarves / the moon / coffeeshops

Foods To Associate Me With

Scones / fresh fruits / brioche bread / chocolate chip cookies / cucumbers / sfogliatelle / papanași / cream cheese stuffed pretzels / asiago bagels / French toast / Greek yogurt / rice

Four Shows I Can't Get Enough Of

Midnight Mass / Castlevania / Killing Eve / Arcane

Four Songs I Currently Have On Repeat

☆ King of Disappointment, by Echos ☆ Tell It To My Heart, by MEDUZA & Hozier ☆ Boom, by X Ambassadors ☆ Savage, by Bahari

Tagged by: I made this up! Tagging: @gynaiko / @aroyaltailor / @a-hell-of-a-time / @themosthatedbeingg / @contractfee / @umbravirtus / @hellishvxbes / @cyberneticlagomorph / & anyone else who sees this and wants to do it! Feel free to tag me c:

[violettduchess]

A/N: This fic fulfills one anon request from my 1k First Kiss Event as well as the request for a fic with one of the new princes! 💜

This was written in July 2023 before ANYTHING was known about the princes other than the name of their country and the climate.

Achroite Prince x f! reader

This is also for my Snow, Sand and Sakura event with the talented @dear-mrs-otome ❄

WC: ~2100

Barbaric, you think as you march through the gray stone halls of the castle, pulling your fur cloak tighter around your body. It's as white as the snow that caps the Achroite mountain peaks and so soft it pains you just a little whenever you remove it. 

You burst out from the wooden door that leads to the battlements, the sunshine near blinding and the cold air stinging your flushed face. Blinking against the shock, you welcome it, hoping it will temper some of the hot anger that churns through your veins. Before you, a sight that still takes your breath away: the jagged beauty of the Achroite mountains stretching out in either direction, endless as the sea. You flatten your palms against the icy stone ramparts, cooling the wind-blown embers of anger that are tunneling their way through you.

The sound of heavy boots approaching breaks the quiet.

You don’t even wait for him to speak. Instead you spin around, meeting his silvery gaze head-on.

“That is horrific.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, as tall and broad as the mountains in the background. His hair, pale as bone, is braided away from his face, the rest spilling over his powerful shoulders and broad back, both of which are emphasized by the fall of his dark sable fur cloak. His handsome face, with its hard lines and chiseled cheekbones, is dusted with dark stubble which does nothing to hide the tense set of his jaw.

“It is our way. The woman stole. She loses a finger. The punishment fits the crime.” His voice is as hard and unyielding as the stone of his impressive mountain castle. And just as cold.

You shake your head angrily at his words.

“Her child was going hungry. Surely there is room for empathy.”

His sword-hardened, calloused fingers curl inward for a moment, the only sign your words upset him.

“Would you prefer we separate her from her child by throwing her in a jail cell as is custom in your country, Rosebud?”

That nickname sends a river of aggravated sparks rushing down your spin. You stand your ground.

“It is cruel and it is barbaric.”

He holds your gaze, silent as the cold daylight that falls upon you both. The moment stretches out slowly as your heart beats a rapid tempo in your chest, but neither of you look away. You are holding him as captive as he is you, gazes locked like antlered beasts in combat.

He finally speaks, breaking the thick silence.

“You are very opinionated and speak your mind whenever you like. These are not good qualities for an ambassador.” 

The truth of his words feels like an anchor sinking through the churning sea of your stomach and you have to swallow at the sudden lump in your throat. Chevalier claimed he had sent you of all people here because of your honesty and intelligence. But maybe….he has finally made a mistake.

The snow prince continues, his words measured. “But they are the qualities of a strong heart.” He assesses you with those cool storm-colored eyes and you are reminded of the ancient myth of the God who judges the weight of a person’s soul against a feather.

He nods once, a decision made.

“You will tell your king we are open to negotiations.” 

And then he is gone, turning on the heel of his black boot and heading back inside, leaving you alone and speechless. 

Never would you have imagined the great hall, a place that had first struck you as cold and impersonal, could seem so warm. The glow of the massive wrought-iron chandelier changes the stern stone of the walls and floor into something welcoming, something almost comforting. The candles bathe the room in a softness you have never seen before. 

Enjoy this, you tell yourself. Because morning is coming. Morning always comes, no matter what story the night has written. And tomorrow's morning will bring you home, back to the soft, lush gardens and elegant spires of Rhodolite.

Drawing a breath, you run your hands over the soft white velvet of your gown. The tailor in Rhodolite had truly created a wonder. A dress as pure as freshly-fallen snow, embroidered with deep red roses along the bodice and trimmed with fine gray fur. A perfect blend of both countries. You’ve even styled your hair in the Achroite custom: loose and falling freely behind you. It almost feels scandalous. Back home, in public, hair is controlled by pins and plaits, buns and braids. But here? It brushes the back of your neck and grazes your cheeks with the intimacy of a caress.

“Does this meet your standards?”

You turn at the sound of his voice, a low bass below the music of the partygoers’ chattering, the metallic clinking of bronze mugs holding sweet mead, the incidental laughter that shoots up above the din like a cymbal crash.

“It’s…..amazing.” 

You mean it. He sees the sincerity in your expression as you take in the hall, the open smile you wear without even a thought of concealing it. The warmth of the candlelight is reflected back to him in the gloss of your hair, the brightness of your eyes. He finds he must look away, unnerved by the odd tightening sensation in his neck, like a hand grabbing him by the throat and forcing him to admit that the sight of you, draped in his country’s colors, enchanted by his castle’s celebration, moves him.

He is saved from his own distracting thoughts by the sounds of the stringed instruments warming up. As if on cue, the crowd begins arranging themselves into two lines, facing each other. The Prince nods once, offering you his arm. You accept, placing a hand on his raised forearm and you’re struck by the thought that this is the first time you have ever touched him. Upon arrival his greeting had been a stiff bow and a scowl. Now, the feel of his supple leather tunic, embossed with striking silver filigree, embeds itself into your mind. Something that is usually so rough imbued with such surprising softness....

You take your place at the end of one line and he stands across from you. The first few notes ring out across an excited crowd. The two lines bow to each other and the dance begins. It starts as slow as the Rhodolite rondels you are familiar with. You weave your way from partner to partner, palms touching briefly before you spin and move on to the next. Joy bubbles up inside you, sunshine spilling across your face as if you were standing on a hill on the brightest of summer days. Your gown twirls along with you and for a moment, you are nothing but pure light, flickering from here to there, shining on each dance partner for a moment and then blinking to the next.

Then you are suddenly facing him, his cool gaze meeting yours. Your breath catches in your lungs, your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings as you slowly raise your hand and press your palm to his. His skin is warmer than you would have ever expected. Your gazes lock once again, a similar version of your earlier combative stand-off. Except now instead of feeling the hard edges of anger and injustice, there is a different heat that burns through you. This is softer. Warmer. And perhaps, even more alarming.

The dance shifts and the dance partners draw closer to one another. One large hand settles on your waist, brushing against the crimson roses embroidered there. Will they catch fire at his touch? He pulls you in, the moon whispering to the tide. His arms feel like an unspoken promise, his eyes flicker like light in a gray fog. There is something there, something just beyond the haze. You step closer involuntarily as the room slowly spins, wanting to see what lies just beyond the unknown.

But the music ends, the final notes drifting to the rafters like smoke, and the dancers break into applause and laughter, scattering the moment. He steps away from you, shaking his head as if forcing himself awake from a dream. You feel the need for air yourself.

Words tumble from your lips, a jumbled apology and you don’t wait for his response. You turn, gathering your velvet skirts and you head for the sanctuary of the battlements once again, your slippered feet whispering over the stone steps as you make your way to the familiar wooden door. 

Tonight there is a guard outside who nods to you when you burst through. You manage a nod in return before you begin walking briskly to the left. The walls are lined with sconces that throw warm, wavering firelight along the walkway so you are able to see, despite the deep obsidian of the night sky. You stop after you feel there is enough distance between you and the hall, breathing in the cold air, once again bracing yourself on the icy stone of the wall. The mountains are dark, jagged outlines that cut their way across the diamond-studded heavens.

Achroite makes you feel so very small in the face of such enormity. Who are you to these mountains, these giants of time? A speck, a brief fizzle of light that burns and fades like the embers of a dying fire. 

This time when you hear his footfall, you don’t turn to look at him. Your gaze remains fixed on the enormity of the starry sky, the snow-capped peaks of the mountains.

“It’s so beautiful.” Your voice is hushed in the still of the night. The castle’s thick walls keep the sounds of the celebration entirely to itself.

“It is.”

Something in his voice draws your attention away from the dark peaks and argent starlight. He isn’t taking in the view. He’s staring straight at you. You feel like you are teetering on the edge of the very battlement you are leaning on, like the stone under your hands may simply vanish and send you free-falling into the darkness below.

Safety. You need to return to safety. Pushing away from the wall, you begin to walk. He falls into step beside you where you continue in silence for several seconds until he clears his throat.

“Will you miss this place when you return home?”

You grasp the question like a lifeline. It is secure. It will give you respite from the dizzying feelings of your clamorous heart.

“I won’t miss the yak milk.”

And then, unexpectedly, he laughs. A short sound but a laugh all the same. It's warm as midday, as rich as dark chocolate, and it pierces you as surely as a fire-tipped arrow. Your heart staggers in your chest, your lungs falter in their ability to breathe.

“Come on, Rosebud, it’s not that bad.” This time the nickname sends sparks of a different kind bubbling through you.

Somehow you find words to reply, despite the echo of his alluring laughter in your ears.

“Oh it is that bad. But….” You stop walking and he stops too, standing before you. “But….there are…..some things…that I’ll miss.” 

Your voice is quiet but in the calm of the late hour it reaches him loudly as an echo from the mountain themselves. 

He reaches out, placing one finger under your chin and tilts your face upwards so he can see you, your face illuminated by the wan firelight of a nearby sconce. It is enough for him to see the glint of hope in the brightness of your eyes, the slight tremble of your lower lip as he brushes his thumb over it, unable to resist the petal-like softness they promise. 

This is dangerous business. He should turn, right now. Temper his desire, wrap his heart in cold steel and leave you, you with your bewitching eyes and sharp mind and skin warm as summer’s kiss. He should be the Snow Prince, the man with ice in his veins that all know him to be.

He should.

And yet…….the blood that flows through his veins is not ice. It is roiling with heat, an avalanche of want tumbling through him in a way he has never felt before. Never has anyone had this effect on him. Ice and steel are no match for the blazing light of your gaze. His name escapes those lips, the place his thumb still lingers, your breath heated against his skin.

Control shatters like ice against stone and for the second time that night he pulls you to him. The moment he kisses you, your heart loses its balance and spirals into a wild freefall, plunging down into the gray unknown. All you can do is wrap your arms around him, clinging to his strong frame to keep yourself from buckling under the weight of the longing that floods you. You now know what you saw flickering in the soft fog of his gaze: a wildfire of desire that you and only you sparked.

And you welcome it. With the mountains and night sky as witnesses, you welcome all of it with the press of your fingers, the parting of your lips, the gasp of your breath. 

You may only be a speck, a brief fizzle of light. But tonight, you are going to burn as brightly, as furiously, as fiercely as you can. 

Morning be damned.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[kpforpresident]

from the prompt list - time travel 💫😌 please

Clarke slams into the ground so hard her teeth rattle. Every muscle aching with effort, she manages to fling out a shaking arm to hinge herself onto her back, teeny rocks biting into her palm with sharp edges as she flops down again, arms screaming.

With another desperate burst of energy she manages to curl her fingers around the knife that is digging a razor tip into just above her knee, bringing it to clasp over her chest as her lungs burn from the abrupt change in both altitude and oxygen content.

The sky is a bright ceramic blue, puffy white clouds lazily sailing by as birds chirp merrily in the background, the sounds of an idyllic marred only by the loud wheezing Clarke found herself emitting as she struggled to catch her breath.

Why the fuck is that time jump so goddamn hard? When I go forward it doesn't give me a rib stitch like that, Clarke finds herself thinking as she massages her right rib absentmindedly.

Three large breaths later Clarke finds the fortitude to peel herself off the ground, staggering upright as she shakes the pins and needles out of her leaden feet. She surreptitiously checks the glowing map that surrounds her wrist, noting the golden, pulsing dot in the middle is moving steadily closer to her location.

Nodding decisively, she moves forward, finds a slightly rotten, moss coated log to settle onto by the side of the road, and settles in to wait, eyes glued to the glowing orb that is moving from the crook of her elbow to the green x that is projected above her wrist.

///

Lexa rolls her next side to side slightly, straightening up and nodding infinitesimally back towards Gus's direction when he tilts his head in her direction, eyes questioning.

Yes, I'm ok.

Stiffness from her neck alleviated slightly, Heda settled into the rhythmic movement of her horse, Laika's gentle walk, and resigned herself to a boring ride north, mentally preparing for the mind games and underhanded treachery that two weeks of all of the ambassadors in Polis for their annual meeting held.

At least Luna is coming this year, that's something.

Lexa was so entrenched in the thoughts of her dark eyed friend that she almost missed the flaxen haired girl, curled up slightly off the path on a crumbling redwood log.

Her guards, however, did not.

Lexa was unable to bark an order to stand down before Ryder drew his bow, a lethally honed arrow whistling through the arrow with deadly speed before Lexa could raise a hand in warning.

Before she could breathe, a blue glow washed over the clearing as an orb, crackling and pulsing with energy, encompassed the girl. Ryder's arrow fell to the ground silently at Laika's feet, arrow tip compressed cleanly into a flat disc where it had come in contact with the energy field.

Brow pressed tight in silent disbelief and worry, Ryder silently stooped to scoop up the arrow and hand it to Lexa, both chastisement and concern etched into his features.

The clearing was completely silent, dusk rapidly creeping into the forest as purple smudged the horizon.

The girl was awake now, expression blank behind the wavering energy as she stared silently back at the company before her. She stands quietly, every muscle clearly on alert as she raises her hands in deference to Lexa, either somehow knowing or assuming that she was the one to address. Lexa makes a mental note of her observation skills,

"Hello. My name is Clarke Griffin."

Lexa turned the arrow over in slender fingers twice, thumb gently worrying the downy soft fletching of the owl feathers before coming to a snap decision.

She speaks the language of the mountain people.

"Hei, Clarke Griffin. I am Lexa."

Something akin to recognition washes over Clarke's features, intelligence clear in her bright eyes.

"Lexa."

Confused, Lexa cocks her head, Laika stamping uneasily as Lexa's hands tighten unconsciously on the reigns.

"Lexa kom Trikru." The trig words trip uncomfortable, foreign, off of Clarke's tongue.

Gus's head snaps up at this, hand tightening around his sword as he looks at Clarke Griffin with renewed suspicion.

"The only people who refer to me as that are my familiars or my advisors, of which you are neither, Clarke Griffin. Explain yourself, or you will not be so lucky as for Ryder to miss a second time." The words come out colder, tighter, than initially intended. Clarke's tech and her appearance among a trail that was a tightly kept secret as Heda's preferred traveling path was unlikely to be a lucky guess.

The blue orb flares again around Clarke at Lexa's threatening tone, Lexa's guard blinking against the bright glow that once again surrounds her figure. Despite this, Clarke takes one, then two hesitant steps towards Lexa. Laika

"Lexa. I'm here to help you, to help protect you."

Lexa can feel her eyebrow quirk in amusement and disdain as a ripple of laughter ran through her men. Lexa, clad head to toe in leathers with two swords strapped to her back, black war paint smudged down her cheeks in a fearsome mask, hardly conjured images of helpless maidens in distress. Lexa had staunchly curated her image in defiance of her stature as a slim young woman since the day she had climbed bloodied and victorious out of her Kongeda.

"Protect me?" Lexa snorted in derision, though not unkindly. This Clarke Griffin clearly meant well, although mistaken. While they would have to question her on her knowledge of this trail, there was nothing to be concerned about, Lexa decided as she settled back into her saddle once again. "I highly doubt that, Clarke Griffin."

"I come from a future where you are killed by an unseen assassin at the last night of the yearly ambassador meeting, Heda. With your death the conclave falls into disrepair, triggering the start of World War Four. I was sent back to save you, and I intend to do my job."

The reins slip from Lexa's hands as she is unable to stop the shocked breath from escaping her lips.

A steely blue gaze meets a dazed green stare as Clarke hesitantly lowers the force field, stepping foward into Lexa's path.

"I believe we have much to discuss."

[evita-shelby]

The Pullet Story

Sorry kinda couldn't find a title for this my bad inspired by the story in the post thank you for finding this story @bcolfanfic

John Egan x Diane Shelby

He’s dog-tired after Emden and the whole thing with Meatball and the Farmer. Bucky wanted nothing more than to enjoy his night off with Diane. She’d suggested they skip the pub and just head straight to the room they rent for the nights where the tree or the jeep don’t feel comfortable enough.

Unfortunately, he had promised her a song and a dance, so they were down at the pub where fellow soldiers asked about the Meatball vs the Pullet story. Bucky liked telling the story especially because by evening it had changed entirely.

“None of those boys knew what a pullet was or how much one’s worth these days.” He recounts the tale of what happened earlier, Diane had learned it from soldiers who visited the injured at the infirmary and heard a different tale about it. The one she heard claimed Meatball ate a rooster and left only feathers in his shit.

“Do you know what pullet is, darling?” he asks with his arm around her and making her wish they’d gone straight to the inn they check into to fuck.

“A half-grown hen, obviously.” The dark-haired girl answered simply.

“And how would Lady Di know that?” John Egan loved to tease her about her upbringing, half the men here still couldn’t believe she was an heiress and others couldn’t believe John Egan had romanced an heiress to be his girl.

Strangely enough, they have the longest relationship either has been in.

“My baby sister named one after the Princess of Wales and Lizzie was not amused.” Diane said as if it were a normal occurrence. It was but because the Shelbys were anything but normal.

“I’d get shot if I named one of ours Franklin Roosevelt, how the fuck did you manage to name a farm animal after your future queen?” he laughs just as she knew he would and it doesn’t take convincing to tell him and their friends how the Shelbys came to name their silkie chickens after the royal family, elected government officials and the American ambassador, Jack Nelson, who looks far too similar to Bill Veal.

John’s back to his old self by the time they get to the modest room where he plans on forgetting the hell they live in even if it’s just for a night.

They’re sharing a cigarette much later when her major says the last thing she’d expect. “Should’ve gotten you a ring instead of the locket, huh, Lady Di?”

Those words alone remind her that she’s seen him shot down over Germany in the cards yesterday. She wants to pretend it won’t happen, to live in the now with her lover, but then he had to say something like this.

“You can get me the matching ring later, when the fighting's done, John.”

Six days later he is shot down in Germany.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

New Rule: Identity Crisis | Real Time with Bill Maher

And finally, New Rule: now that we're all recovered from St Patrick's Day, let's make it the last one. You know, I never understood Irish Pride or any pride in anything other than what you've actually accomplished. And as holidays go, St Pattie's is kind of malarkey. You don't get presents like Christmas or candy like Easter or joyless appointment sex like Valentine's Day. You don't even get a Peanuts special.

There's just a parade. And what rights are we marching for? The right to drink in the day? Do we still need to take to the streets in a public expression of support for Irish migrants?

I think now more than ever we need to stop talking about the things that make Americans different from each other and start honoring the things that make us the same. So let my people, the Irish, lead the way because again, the Irish think I don't give a shit.

But, I do give a shit who wins the next election. And outdated racial pandering is one reason Democrats lose elections. When Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi put on Kente cloth, I don't think it earned them one vote for their powerful emotional ties to Ghana.

Here in California, we're now segregating kidnapping. Really. California doesn't just have amber alerts for missing children, we have ebony alerts for black children and feather alerts for Native American Kids. What is that we look for them by listening on the ground?

Look, even if you like identity politics, this kind of thing is antiquated. From 2010 to 2020, the number of people identifying as multi-racial in America went up 276 percent. One in five newlyweds now are in an interracial marriage. And that number goes up to 100% in ads for Subaru.

You couldn't do a remake of "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" today because almost 100% of Americans approve of interracial marriage. Especially with rich in-laws. And 95% of white women would leave their husband to marry Idris Elba. Idris Elba who says, "As humans we are obsessed with race and that obsession can really hinder people's aspirations." Actress Raven-Symone agrees. She told Oprah, "I'm tired of being labeled. I'm not an African-American. I'm an American." She says, "I don't know what country in Africa I'm from. My roots are in Louisiana."

And you don't have to agree with that, but it's a point of view a lot of people have. It should be respected. Morgan Freeman says the way to finish off racism is, "stop talking about it. I'm going to stop calling you a white man and I'm going to ask you to stop calling me a black man."

There's even a movement now to ban racial questions on the census, and many of its leaders are people of color like Professor Sheena Mason who says, "to undo racism we have to undo our belief in race."

The liberal group moveon.org formed in 1998 to urge Republicans to move on from the Clinton impeachment. Today's Democrats should move on from identity politics. It's not working. It's not working for them or for us. Democrats are hemorrhaging the very voters they think they're pandering to.

The Financial Times writes, "Democrats are going backwards faster with voters of color than any other demographic," and suggests the reason is that, "A less racially divided America is an America where people vote more based on their beliefs than their identity." Exactly. Far-left liberals are living in an old paradigm. Americans don't fit into into neat little boxes anymore.

Who has the number one country song right now? Beyonce. Lil Naz X won a country music award, and he's black and gay. And a brand ambassador for the waspiest purse in America, Coach. The biggest new star in country is Jelly Roll who was a drug dealer, then a prisoner, then a rapper and then a face tatted country music star. Not to mention a giant middle finger to the idea of staying in your own lane.

No, in America now, you're allowed to be many things all at once and that's a good thing even when it's really stupid.

Look, we're all Jelly Roll now. We're sloppy, complicated and contradictory. Two-thirds of Republican voters support weed legalization. And 41% of Democrats own or live with someone who owns a gun. Ms Marvel is Pakistani. And the winner of the last two NBA dunk contests is white. The new Captain America is black. And Spider-Man is black and Puerto Rican, just like AI George Washington.

Latinos make up half of the Border Patrol. And the name of the coolest black dude on the planet is Lenny Kravitz. Ru Paul has a ranch in Wyoming that does fracking. Really. And has a fortified compound with a bunker to die for. And somehow the leader of the Village People was straight. Really. Je just went to the YMCA to work out. And the leader of the Proud Boys isn't an old white guy he's Enrique Toreo, an Afro-Cuban. He burns crosses on his own lawn.

Caitlyn Jenner is a pro-Trump transwoman who supports a ban on trans athletes competing in women's sports. And there's even an LGBTQ organization called "Gays for Trump." And why wouldn't there be? Gays love drag queens.

Our black president was half white. And our black vice president is half Asian. And Tiger Woods is, oh we don't even have the time.

My point is, look, you're still building your politics around slicing and dicing people into these fixed categories. Democrats need to get the memo that you can't win elections anymore by automatically assuming you're going to get every voter who's not these guys.

The more you obsess over identity, the more you ignore the bread and butter issues that win and lose elections. The real issue is class, not race, and the real gap is the diploma divide. And the real future of the party and maybe democracy depends on Democrats figuring that out.

==

Prediction: Trump will win, because even if the Dems wanted to change course on this identity politics bullshit, there are far too many identitarians who've been elected into it on that exact basis. Look at The Squad, where every single one of them is a pathological liar who plays only by identity cards.

They can't undo a decade of abandoning their core constituency, the working class, in favor of privileged woke academic elites in the span of only six months. Even if they wanted to. Not with the wingnuts still around, doing what they've been doing for years: sucking up all the oxygen and screaming about their imaginary oppression. And there's no sign they do.

[deanwax]

unusual associations tag

if you listen carefully you can hear the screech and whistle of an eagle swooping, and it's me stealing @fortunatetragedy's tag game because i need a lil goofy one that doesn't involve actually writing haha teehee

Rules: pick an OC and describe what you associate with them in each category

open tag to any other predatory birds x

Doing this for Imperial Consort Hredon Philaemon Archaeus (and proficient sailor) from Ruthless

Seasoning: Salt (and butter)

Weather: Overcast clouds at twilight with a wind that licks at your hair

Color: Navy

Sky: Starry night

Magical power: Fire (literally canon)

Plant: Barnacle, which I'm aware isn't a plant, but I can't think of a plant that is equally as annoying

Weapon: Tax law

Social media: Network of spies and snitches amongst the servants

Makeup: #1 ambassador for Old Attie's bruise cream

Candy: Maple bacon

Fear: The savagery of man

Method of long distance travel: Cutter (water) or private carriage (land)

Art Style: Performance

Mythological creature: Phoenix

Stationery: Ostentatious feather quill

Celestial body: Mars

[eaglebow09]

Sato is a Rito OC from my |Revali X OC fancomic| - He is the father of my OC (Anya) and has sadly passed at the time of our comic. - This was just a quick pencil sketch I threw into Photoshop for a rush job shading. Just a doodle pg.  Born into the Rito tribe, Sato had always been destined for greatness. From the earliest days of his youth, it was evident that he possessed a rare gift – an unparalleled skill with the bow. His aim was uncanny, and his speed and bravery were second to none. The village recognized his talents early on, and Sato quickly became the pride of the Rito community.

But it wasn't just his archery prowess that set him apart. Sato was a natural leader, a charismatic force that drew people towards him. His loyalty to his people was unwavering, a blazing fire that fueled his every action. While he had a soft heart, Sato possessed the rare ability to set aside his emotions when it mattered most, whether in the heat of combat or during discussions among his peers.

Through numerous battles and victorious campaigns, Sato earned the respect and admiration of his fellow Rito. His many travels across the vast land of Hyrule had endowed him with a profound understanding of the world, one that had humbled and made him wise. The passion that once drove him into combat had evolved into a deep love for his people and community.

Sato had an innate talent for bringing people together. His experiences and interactions across the land had made him approachable and relatable to all. He treated everyone with respect and kindness, always striving to meet them on their own terms. His magnetic presence drew others towards him, and his words held weight.

As the years passed, Sato transitioned from being the village's fiercest warrior to becoming a skilled diplomat and ambassador for the Rito people. He embarked on journeys to far-off regions, negotiating trade agreements, peace treaties, and other essential matters on behalf of his people. His calm and centered demeanor, a stark contrast to his early days of battle, proved invaluable in these diplomatic endeavors.

Despite the trials and tribulations of his life, Sato maintained a sense of humor that endeared him to those around him. His quick wit and ability to bring levity to any situation made him a beloved figure among the Rito. Tall and imposing, he possessed striking features that many considered handsome. His white and silver feathers seemed to glisten in the sun, earning him the nickname "the ghost."

Though Sato and his beloved Hylian wife, Zyra (an alias name since she had run away and eloped with him. she didn't want to be found) , had perished in a tragedy years ago, their orphaned daughter Anya still strives to keep their spirits alive in her heart striving to become stronger and regain the pride her family lost at the time of her birth. though Satos contributions were great, his decision to follow his heart and wed a hylian broke all norms and traditions of his people. It was this decision that alienated Sato and his new family from Rito Village, but he never looked back. Sato's story was one of courage, leadership, and unwavering dedication to his community and inevidably, his heart. He is still a symbol of strength and inspiration amongst some of the Rito, that despite his decisions still held merit amongst a few. Sato was a  testament to the enduring spirit of the heart in the vast and at times unforgiving land of Hyrule.

Check out more on my deviant profile: same tag EagleBow09 ! ^_^

[munchmemes]

x ambassadors lyrics, vhs edition

▸ i will ... i will not be here. i will be away from you guys. far away.  ▸ we may follow you. ▸ you do and you die. ▸ run away with me. ▸ long live the pioneers, rebels and mutineers. ▸ go forth and have no fear. ▸ come close and lend an ear. ▸ all hail the underdogs. ▸ it's our time to make a move. ▸ it's our time to make amends. ▸ it's our time to break the rules. ▸ hold on to me, i'm a little unsteady. ▸ i'm alone cause this house doesn't feel like home. ▸ if you love me, don't let go. ▸ i know that you're tired of being alone. ▸ i know you're trying to fight when you feel like flying. ▸ you know you got to hang on. don't let go. ▸ i might be better off without you. ▸ there's too many people all around you. all these vultures that surround you, they don't know a thing about you. ▸ you're so gorgeous. 'cause you make me feel gorgeous. ▸ nobody understands you, you ain't nothing they can handle. ▸ we are young, we are free. ▸ can i start? ▸ lights out, i'm afraid of everything that moves. ▸ god, i'm running in fear. ▸ too good. ain't it all too good? ▸ i keep waking up afraid to look on the bright side. ▸ i get nervous when i'm happy. i get nervous cause what comes up must come down. ▸ okay. doing A-OK. ▸ i'm nothing but a low life, thinking about my own life. ▸ i'm trying to fight the good old fight but after it all, i'm still just a low life. ▸ now please tell me i'm broke. it's much easier that way cause i just let you down. ▸ i can't help myself from falling. ▸ i started to reflect on all that's been before. ▸ i've been working night and day. ▸ i'm going berserk and i'm going insane. ▸ i'm gonna go big, i feel bigger than ever before. ▸ hey, it's a new day. ▸ take it out on me. i try to help out, you push back. ▸ no matter what, you know that i will lift you up for now and forever. ▸ i will lift you up til you feel light as a feather. ▸ i know times are tough when you're under pressure. ▸ i know you need somebody to act like it's alright. ▸ i've been reaching from the ground up to the highest heights. ▸ i've been cooking up a shit storm and i feel alright. ▸ i got my head in the clouds and my feet up off of the ground. ▸ i feel like death is chasing me down. ▸ i've been picking up the short stick, going from bad to worse. ▸ today i'm gonna superpower. ▸ when you came around, i was dried up. i was broken down. ▸ i can't find it. the road i traveled on is gone. ▸ i can't give you love 'cause i'm loveless. ▸ i gave it all, they robbed me blind. ▸ when i met you, i was half a [man/woman/person] with half a heart and half a chance. ▸ i can't give you my love. i can't give up on you. ▸ i feel too cold to live, too young to die. ▸ just forget the wit, it's the best to use. ▸ ain't no god on these streets in the heart of the jungle. ▸ i lost my mind in the city of lights. in the backstreets buildings and the neon lights. ▸ when i heard the thunder, i could feel the rain. it's the same to me, just a different name. ▸ i ain't no ken and you ain't no barbie. ▸ ain't none of my friends have a perfect body. ▸ if we let it all go, we could break the mold. ▸ from my head to my toes, i'm feeling overexposed. ▸ all my faults, all your scars. who i am, who you are. i wanna be naked with you. ▸ no more lies, no more hate. no more waiting in the wings. ▸ take my hand, take this danger. ▸ classic on-camera moment.

[bloodycassian]

mcu fic.

Reader x Tony Stark. Angst, fighting then forgiveness. 

“You can’t blame me. I was making sure you were safe.” Tony followed you down the stairs and into the bedroom, even though you threw the door shut behind you.

“How couldn’t I blame you? You gave away my location before I’d even had a chance to get a read on them. I’m sure they’ll be conducting all their tests outside again after The Iron Man shows up.” You spat, voice dripping with sarcasm and venom.

Plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and trying to evade him was serving as a distraction for now, but you knew the moment you stopped that you wouldn’t be able to hold back your anger. Rage clouded your vision, and your wings twitched, readying for battle or flight. Tony had made miraculous mistakes in the past, but none that had ever interrupted a mission before. 

“That’s not the point - the tracker in your suit was shut-”

“You put a tracker in my suit?!” You rounded on him, nearly knocking over the vase of wilting flowers. You ripped them from their holder, readying to throw them at him. Tony had gotten them for you a few weeks ago, hand delivering them to your practice range. Perhaps they were to ease his conscience after apparently rigging you with a GPS monitor. 

He flinched away, holding his arms up and cringing. After a moment of a white knuckled hold on them, you lowered it, but didn’t let go. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you blame me?” He asked after a long silence. 

“Absolutely.” You snarled. You wanted to punch him, to throw him out the nearest window and watch his fancy suit catch him. He’d be fine, aside from a few bruises. You wished he were in that damned thing now, so maybe you could fight him. 

He’d risked not only US intelligence missions in the future, but also your life by showing up like he did. He was well aware that you couldn’t fly as fast as him, and showing up with homing missiles locked onto his suit as singed more than a few of your feathers. 

Blowing your cover because he was worried wasn’t a valid excuse. Your knuckles ached from your death grip on the bouquet. 

His eyes darted to your back, where your wings flared out behind you. His jaw clenched, seeing the blackened curled feathers. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, his voice low. He looked down, then to the unmade bed you’d left in a rush that morning. 

“What was that, Mr.Stark?” You prodded. He was terrible at apologies, but at least he saw he was at fault in this argument. “For what, again?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I mean I should trust you more. Trust that you can handle yourself.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He paced the length of the bed, his fingers fiddling with one of his rings. “I do know that you can. I just.. It’s hard, alright?” 

“That’s not an excuse, though.”

“I know its not a fucking excuse!” He said through his teeth.

Your brows raised, his tone stoking the fire that waited to burst from you. “Watch your fucking tone-” You brought the flowers up slightly, the stems cracking in your palm. You were ready for this, ready for his overwhelmed blow up. He was always like this if he was in the wrong. Overwhelmed and unable to handle it. Sure, the guy could fight aliens and plan strategic invasions with ease, but present him with an emotional conversation and he’d lose his shit. 

“Fuck, I know. I know! I’m sorry, alright? Can we just not-” He rolled his shoulders and looked to the tall ceiling, blowing out a breath. “I cant spend my time worrying about you dying. I’d rather be with you making sure you’re not dead than waiting for the news from some foreign ambassador. Next time I’ll just make sure I’m above you, and that your tracker is working-”

“You’re not putting a fucking tracker in my suit again Tony!” You threw up your arms, exasperated that he’d done it in the first place. You were well aware of his anxiety when you left, but never about why. He’d always told you to be safe, and you took that as his version of telling you he cared. But was he so truly convinced you’d die at any second? “The rest of them may be so willing to let you, because they really might die. They know that, and that’s what they signed up for. My job is not yours, or theirs Tony. Do you think I like being stuck at home while you’re out fighting off aliens and gods?” 

He was silent for a long while after that, staring out at the skyscrapers and overcast skies of New York. You waited, a million arguments at the tip of your tongue if he tried arguing again. Eventually his eyes found yours, glassy and reddened. “I am sorry.” He said, tone softer. “I thought the tracker would help but the second you went through a cloud I guess… I guess it malfunctioned. I couldn’t stand it. I watched for it to re appear, waited until I thought this thing was going to bust.”

He tapped the arc reactor at the center of his chest. “I wasn’t going to put my money on a technical difficulty. I needed to know.” His hands clenched at his sides, shaking slightly. 

Your body was still rigid, ready to fight. Ready to send him sailing out the window, still. But your heart softened seeing him so upset. He never cried. This was the man who’d nearly died several times over and hardly batted an eye. “So the solution is what, Tony?” You demanded, still angry that this fight had to happen at all. He knew better. He knew you better, didn’t he?

“Don’t put a tracker in your suit.” He nodded, eyes darting to your wings again. “And don’t bring home flowers the day after you put a tracker in your suit.”

“I knew it!” You gasped. He rushed to you though, before it could turn into any more of a fight. He hugged you, melting away the rest of your resentment towards him. The flowers dropped from your hand, the stale water from them coating your palm. Your body, still ready to fight, hugged him a bit more aggressively than necessary. 

“Want to take it to the ring?” He asked, voice strained from your squeeze. 

“I was considering throwing you out the window.” You muttered into his shoulder. He gripped the backs of your thighs and hauled you around him, pressing kisses to your chest and collarbone the entire way. His steps were sure and quick, and when he finally deposited you on the rubbery gym floor, you wiped the dregs of flower water that’d coated your hand on his chest. 

He nodded, accepting the mess of green on his tank top. “Thanks for not going with the window plan.”

You shoved him away, then rolled into the ring. The boxing gloves at your corner had been more worn than any of the others in the gym, including his. You pulled them on with familiarity while he adjusted his.

You batted at his head while he slipped on his second. “Just hold on-” He said, attempting to push you back with a leg. 

“Enemies won’t wait.” You teased. He’d used those same words on you so many times when you’d first arrived at the facility that it was now an ongoing joke.

You gave him his space, loosening up your body while you waited. You practically vibrated from the tension needing to get out. Fighting with him when he was being so stupid was a surefire way to get you tense enough to take a days long flight to nowhere near him. 

His first punch was only a warning, drawing your attention back to the ring. A soft jab in the side while you looked out the windows, searching the sky for any threats. Since the attack by the Chitauri and the space portals they’d opened in broad daylight, watching the horizon had become a way for you to be sure that you were safe. 

Your answering punch went straight to his bicep, then to his forearm and side. He blocked so well you hardly heard him sigh against the blows. “You’re a bitch.” You said quietly, taking another jab at his elbows, hoping he’d open his guard enough for you to get a good punch in. 

His strike was so quick you didn’t have time to raise your gloves. He caught you on the shoulder, forcing you backwards a step while he advanced. He put you on the ropes with ease, after that. On the defensive, you attempted to sweep his legs from beneath him but only managed to bruise your ankle. His footing was as sure and stable as it was if he were wearing the damn suit. His glove came in quickly to your face, but he slowed it and only tapped your jaw. “That’s a knockout, sweetheart.” He panted, a wild grin on his face. 

You didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Your body was no longer taut as a rubber band, and he wasn’t being paranoid anymore. With a smile, you leaned close to him and feigned a kiss, then brought your ankle upon the backs of his knees while he dropped his guard completely. 

“Oh who’s the bitch now?” He grunted, then grabbed for your legs. He brought you down to the floor with him, attempting to hold your limbs down while you tried fighting him off. His fingers found your ribs and he exploited that, tickling you while he straddled your hips. “Say it!” He demanded, laughing and batting your hands away when you tried to stop him. Your abs hurt, your mouth hurt from laughing. You couldn’t catch your breath. 

It was refreshing. It seemed like you’d been fighting with him for weeks over the smallest things, but now, with him being so normal with you, you could almost believe that you both didn’t risk your lives for the good of humanity every day. That he wasn’t supposed to leave for an undisclosed amount of time next week without you. 

You reveled in it. You let him keep you pinned until the tickling turned into slow kisses. 

“I will buy a new suit if you give me one reason to think you put another tracker in mine.” You warned. 

He buried his face in your breasts and groaned.

[chorusfm]

Adam Grundy’s Top Albums of 2024

Another year has come and gone, but the music remains. 2024 was filled with more great music, and in this article, I’ll not only be outlining my Top 30 albums of the year, but also my favorite EPs, songs (with a playlist), concerts, books, entertainment, and interviews I conducted. I want to thank everyone who took the time to visit this site this year, and I hope everyone had a very happy holiday season! Adam’s Top Albums of 2024 * The Cure – Songs of a Lost World * Snarls – With Love, * Post Malone – F-1 Trillion * Smallpools – Ghost Town Road * Sum 41 – Heaven :x: Hell * A Place For Owls – How We Dig in the Earth * Green Day – Saviors * The Decemberists – As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again * Barely Civil – I’d Say I’m Not Fine * Kendrick Lamar – GNX * Dua Lipa – Radical Optimism * Bayside – There Are Worse Things Than Being Alive * Real Friends – Blue Hour * Maggie Rogers – Don’t Forget Me * Charlotte Sands – Can We Start Over? * Kelsea Ballerini – Patterns * Billie Eilish – Hit Me Hard and Soft * Bleachers – Bleachers * Hippo Campus – Flood * Pale Waves – Smitten * Neon Trees – Sink Your Teeth * The Early November – The Early November * Taylor Acorn – Survival In Motion * Oso Oso – Life Till Bones * Eliza & The Delusionals – Make It Feel Like The Garden * Cold Years – A Different Life * Charli XCX – Brat * Lauren Mayberry – Vicious Creature * Glass Animals – I Love You So F****ng Much * Middle Kids – Faith Crisis Pt. 1 Honorable Mentions: * Linkin Park – From Zero * Taylor Swift – The Tortured Poets Department * Battleviews – Two Ghosts * 311 – Full Bloom * Coldplay – Moon Music * Twenty One Pilots – Clancy * Alkaline Trio – Blood, Hair & Eyeballs * Wallows – Model * Amigo The Devil – Yours Until The War Is Over * The Linda Lindas – No Obligation My Favorite EPs of 2024: * The Gaslight Anthem – History Books: Short Stories * Cassie Dasilva – You Don’t Wanna Feel This Much All The Time * Zebrahead – I * Koyo – Mile A Minute * Daughtry – Shock To The System * Be Well – A Tap I Can’t Turn Off/Without A Compass * Luis Middleton – Nothing Ever After * Broadway Calls – Coming After You * Bartees Strange – Magic Boy * Greywind – Antidote * Lily Meola – Heartbreak Rodeo * Career Day – I’ll Always Be This * Tokyo Police Club – Just A Scratch/Catch Me If You Can * Dreamcar – Dream EP * Laura Jane Grace & The Mississippi Medicals – Give An Inch * M.A.G.S. – Creator * Great Good Fine OK – Exist * Bartees Strange – Say Goodbye To Pretty Boy * Less Than Jake – Uncharted * Artless Jesus – The Assorted Grievances of Artless Jesus My Favorite Songs of 2024: * Thursday – “Application For Release From The Dream” * Billie Eilish – “Birds of a Feather” * Kacey Musgraves – “Deeper Well” * Bleachers – “Modern Girl” * Snarls – “Moon Tides” * Charlotte Sands – “Blindspot” * Smallpools – “Swayze” * Maggie Rogers – “In The Living Room” * Linkin Park – “Stained” * Billy Joel – “Turn The Lights Back On” * Koyo – “Mile A Minute” * Be Well – “A Tap I Can’t Turn Off” * Thursday – “White Bikes” * Barely Civil – “Better Now” * A Place For Owls – “Tattoo of a Candle” * The Cure – “A Fragile Thing” * Charli XCX ft. Lorde – “The Girl, So Confusing Remix” * Real Friends – “Waiting Room” * Lily Meola – “Cowboy” * Holy Pinto – “Death is in the Air” * Coldplay – “We Pray” * Hippo Campus – “Paranoid” * Pale Waves – “Glasgow” * The Decemberists – “Long White Veil” * Catfish & The Bottlemen – “Showtime” * Middle Kids – “Bend” * X-Ambassadors – “Follow the Sound of My Voice” * 311 – “You’re Gonna Get It” * Sarah & The Safe Word – “Pornstar Martini” * Post Malone – “What Don’t Belong To Me” My Favorite Concerts of 2024: * The Decemberists w/ Ratboys @ The Anthem Washington, DC; 5/10/24 * AJR @ CFG Bank Arena Baltimore, MD; 4/7/24 * Snarls @ DC9 Washington, DC; 6/8/24 * Underoath @ Rams Head Live Baltimore, MD; 9/28/24 * PVRIS w/ Pale Waves @ 9:30 Club Washington,… https://chorus.fm/blog/adam-grundys-top-albums-of-2024/

[stephanieinge]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Navaho Sterling Silver Feather Brooch by Native American Artist W Begay.

[tarmiches]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: New! FP Marjorie Feather Earrings.