#how it is to be a simmer during the war in your country

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Blackout in Ukraine

My dear kittens and puppies! 

I know I promised some of you to share Anakin Sim this month, but alas... The reality decided against it. As you may know, this Autumn russia began to bomb our civil infrastructure massively. Due to constant shelling our energetic system suffers a lot and we experience total blackout during days. Without electricity, water and heating. And we're expecting it to get much worse. Without doubt, this winter will be the hardest for Ukraine since the days of it's independence. 

That's why, I'm physically not able to share Anakin this month and I don't know if I have any opportunity to share him on December. Of course, I'll do the best I can to keep up updating my blog here and my Patreon, but you must understand if there will be long pauses between posts. Also, I would like to ask you not to demand sims from me in the private messages. During this winter (and probably till the end of this war) there's nothing I can do to give them away instantly. Sharing sims, alas, takes time,  internet, electricity and (no less importantly) my good spirit I might not have. 

I want to thank everyone who's supporting me during these dark times. Every dollar means a lot to me. On the money you so kindly donated, I managed to support my army, buy power banks, weekly dry food and water supplies and candles to keep me and my family alive. Bombs can still hit my house, though. But if you see a new post from Wistful Poltergeist - know that I'm still breathing. 

With love, Yours Poltergeist 

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — A handful of Israeli government officials — but not Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu — have acknowledged and taken responsibility for the failures that contributed to the Hamas attack Oct. 7 that left more than 1,300 Israelis dead, thousands wounded and nearly 200 people captive in Gaza.

The official line, widely repeated by people of all political orientations, is that the time for inquiries and assigning of blame will come after Israel concludes its war against Hamas. But a simmering rage over how Israel’s vaunted security apparatus could have been surprised by the attack, and over how the government has responded since, has repeatedly broken through.

Families of victims have castigated government officials who have come to hospitals. Supporters and family members of hostages protested outside an army base in Tel Aviv last week.

And on Monday, the mayor of Ashkelon, a southern Israeli city that has been pummeled by rocket fire from Gaza, castigated Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich during a Knesset meeting about allocating aid in the wake of the attack. “After everything is over we will settle accounts with whoever is necessary,” Mayor Tomer Glam said.

Smotrich was one of at least three members of Knesset so far to acknowledge responsibility related to the attack. A minister who leads a faction of the government on the far right, he has been appointed to oversee a special council to distribute funds during the war.

“I take responsibility for what was and what will be. We have to admit with pain and with a bowed head — we failed,” Smotrich said on Sunday. “The country’s leadership and the security system have failed in maintaining the security of our residents.”

Also on Sunday, Miki Zohar, the minister of culture and sports, said plainly on Israel’s Army Radio that the country had been unprepared.

“The preparations were not in place for an attack like this…. The government, the state, was not ready for an attack like this,” Zohar said, according to Times of Israel.

He added, “In the name of the government of Israel, and in the name of the whole State of Israel, we ask your forgiveness for what happened. Because the responsibility is on the government of Israel and the whole State of Israel.”

The apologies follow what was reportedly the first, by Education Minister Yoav Kisch, on Thursday, five days after the attack. Kisch suggested in his comments that the government was distracted by other priorities. Until the Hamas attack, the main issue occupying Israelis was the government’s effort to weaken the judiciary.

“No one will escape responsibility. We are responsible — I am responsible as a member of the government,” Kisch told Ynet on Thursday. “We were busy with nonsense. We forgot where we live.”

Polling shows that the vast majority of Israelis, including those who previously supported the government, believe Netanyahu and his fellow ministers deserve the blame for the attack.

On Saturday, Netanyahu visited some of the communities near Gaza that bore the brunt of the attack, in some cases seeing 10% of their populations murdered. It was his first visit to the area since the onslaught.

[overseermartin]

as someone who rotates martin inside their head all day, i for one would Love to hear your thoughts on his traumatic backstory

Ah, a fellow Martin rotator 😌

I'm 99% sure I've posted about this before but I'm too lazy to find it so I'll summarise my thoughts as briefly as I can. Also, a lot of these ideas surface in my fic, through the dark, but most just exist in my brain (though I do plan to write a few oneshots on this).

So, here's my version of Martin's backstory:

Martin was born in a small fishing village near Arran in 1797 as the youngest of three children. His father was a fisherman and spent most of his time out on the sea. He had a difficult birth that left his mother sickly and unable to do much else to earn money other than mending nets and making crab traps etc.

During the Insurrection, his father served in the Morleyan navy but was injured and returned home before the war was lost. His father was once a quiet but stern man, and the war turned him short-tempered and prone to fits of rage. He's left unable to walk unaided and struggles to find work to support his family in a country that doesn't want him.

In those terrible years following the war, famine strikes Morley and Martin's mother doesn't survive it. Martin and his two older siblings, Aoife and Niall, take up small jobs to keep them afloat, neglecting their education.

Martin's father is a wrecked and foul man after the loss of his wife and he spirals into drinking himself into oblivion, throwing blame at the easiest target: young Martin. He berates his youngest son for weakening his wife, for draining what little coin they have to afford medicine for Martin's fickle health and frequent seizures. His father believes him to be a curse on their family.

Morley, post-insurrection, simmers with brewing tension as the Empire stakes their claim. Taxes rise, new restrictions limit the movement and gathering of the working class, and naturally, pockets of resistance begin forming. Martin's father becomes the centre of one such resistance. Angry men who's livelihoods have been ruined by the war gather and plan to strike back at the Imperial soldiers occupying their towns and cities.

Martin is only thirteen when the Imperial soldiers raid their small home, bursting through the door with men shouting and guns pointed. Aoife puts herself between him and a soldier, and as he wriggles through a window and runs, he hears the gunshot.

He doesn't turn back.

Alone, Martin travels to the nearby city of Alba where he sleeps huddled up in alleys and doorways, scrounging and stealing for food. He hears of the Imperial Army recruiting boys from the street, providing the starving and desperate with food and shelter in return for their loyalty, and at age fourteen, he enlists.

He learns a lot from his time in the military. He learns how to fire a gun, how to plan attacks, how to lure out the nationalists hiding in small towns and camps spread out over the southern Morley coast. He's part of a force meant to pick out the rebels and secure the Empire's rule over Morley, betraying his father's beliefs, and turning against his own countrymen. He doesn't believe in what he does, but he finds he doesn't care as long as he is fed and housed and trained.

Martin is a survivor. He's loyal to no one.

At twenty-one, he's offered a large sum of coin to turncoat and kill a commanding officer of the Imperial army by stopping his carriage on a quiet road. He does it, for no other reason than the opportunities that amount of money will afford him. There's no progression for someone of such low social standing as him.

Unfortunately, the carriage carried more than just the officer. He had been travelling with his young family. Martin can't bring himself to hurt his young son and leaves him alive, instead fleeing.

With a price on his head, Martin keeps moving, never staying in one place for long. He makes his money robbing those travelling on the roads, being careful to only take from those who can afford it.

He crosses paths with Daud at this stage of his life and the two engage in a mutually beneficial relationship, taking jobs and splitting the prize. When Daud moves on, Martin meets a gang of smugglers led by a woman named Resa, and knowing how valuable a good partnership can be, he joins them.

He travels with the gang for years, slipping into an on and off relationship with Resa. Their focus begins to drift from smuggling contraband and illegal goods to heretical items and slowly, Resa becomes obsessed. She becomes fixated on acquiring an artefact she believes can bind the Outsider, but requires a sacrifice to do so. She turns on Martin, wounding him, but he gets away and flees.

Feeling that the only safe place he can go to protect himself against Resa's wrath, Martin turns to the Abbey. He slips into their ranks with the intention of it being temporary, but eventually warms to it. He finds sense in the strictures, comfort in the regulated structure of life as an Overseer, and most importantly, recognises a route to power.

Sorry this was so long! I swear I tried to make this brief 😅 I breezed over all the detail, so there's a lot more nuance to these situations than I can go into here, but that's essentially it!

[impossible-rat-babies]

under the cut bc this is just. paragraphs of eyrie and lyse’s friendship stuff

the conflict between eyrie and lyse is just. kinda tragic? it’s the inevitable of two people changing, and the conflict of realizing that change and longing for when it wasn’t like that. how change isn’t always upwards and for the good. it’s the disillusionment of lyse in her admiration for eyrie—that they are a hero and yet they can still do terrible things, as humans are wont to do. they lied to her. committed acts of violence and murder. have been callous and rude. they are nothing if not terribly flawed.

it’s eyrie’s pain of realizing how they have changed, and not for the good. they cannot deny what is in the mirror when lyse is shoving it in their face, asking them why it is different than she remembers. Were they always this bad? what made them like this? the difference between being aware of your own flaws v. showing others those flaws. the vulnerability and exposure. how shameful it would be to admit the cruelty of their life to her, and how they are not a good person. (good as in worthy of her admiration, respect and friendship.)

stormblood changed lyse for the better despite the hardships. she suffered and learned and grew—she saved her homeland, and is a leader that will continue to grow over time as her nation rebuilds from the ravages of war. how they will, in time, pave a new path and hopefully make themselves into a nation many people can be proud to call their own. much of lyse parallels that. (also additionally how she will learn about the culture of her father as the nation discovers and redefines that culture for themselves in the wake of 25 years of garlean occupation.)

She did well by the memory of paplymo.

she isn’t the same person who eyrie met in gridania. no longer is she the ditzy young woman stuck in the shadows of her sister and the scions. she gets to decide who she is going to be. And eyrie has been along with her for so much of that. As tentative as their friendship was in ARR, they still were friends. even if eyrie kept their heart and feelings close to their chest, she still saw how soft, warm and intelligent they were beneath all of that because that’s how they were with papalymo. she watched them grow from a simple adventurer to this grand hero. And a lot of that came with the expectations of being a hero and the static nature of that. A bit of their humanity left behind in favor of The Image of a Hero. how could they be different? they’ve always been this way—a soft, respectable, kind and selfless.

but stormblood was a lot. much of it for eyrie was spent in the volley between the numbness and rawness of grief for both haurchefant and ysayle—the horrors they had seen during the war. the loss of papalymo, most especially. they never stopped bleeding from that. the simmering rage and frustration at the injustice of death. thordan looking at them and asking not who they were, but what they are. zenos gets under their skin—pokes and prods at these monstrous feelings. how they are a hero, but how much that has separated them from being human. they are distinct—divorced from their humanity by the seemingly impossibility of the actions and fortitude. raised so high up as to become an impossible ideal. Trapped behind that reputation. they live in a gilded cage of a reputation.

twenty five years sees a baby grown into a man, but for eyrie who has lived the lifetime of a man already, it’s the not so distant past. they remember being there when Ala mhigo burned—the terrible things they did and saw when the garleans conquered it. they are not scars, but festering wounds to these people. they see this and none of them know their hand in that this is their reality. even as nothing but a common foot soldier, they still hold that shame and guilt close to their chest for their actions. they did these things and yet they would be asked to save this country. it’s ironic to a laughable degree—enough to make them scream.

they feel like a monster, and if zenos does understand that, maybe there is some justice to be found in indulging him. letting themself go to be the monster zenos craves so they can be the “right and good and just” person for killing him. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, devouring the other wolf. they get to be the right person, and hope to god the parts of them that are the same as him die with him.

but Zenos dies—by his own hand. Denied catharsis, they are left alone—the last monster standing. The last rat in the cage, blood soaked with corpses and all around. A monster by virtue of killing the rest—the horror above all the other horrors. the one left to suffer alone with the thoughts he put into their head. they should feel right—they did a good thing fighting zenos and his death, but they just feel Alone. this just builds and builds as they try to look for a way to take their mind away from it. put the choices in someone else’s hands—have someone else decide how and what they are going to do. it worked well enough in ARR to keep them safe. it should work now. If they can take all the power of deciding to be that hero away—put the choice in the public and the scions—then they’ll be safe. they aren’t responsible for their actions.

it’s that sort of line of thinking that has them kill the qalyana woman in the throne room before she can summon lakshmi. the scions combat the threat of primals, and they are the champion of the scions. they were doing their duty. it doesn’t matter that she was a person with her own hopes and dreams for the future—even tempered, it was still there.

It’s eyrie’s cold detachment towards killing the woman that truly bothers lyse. She is no stranger to the reality of what happens to the tempered, but it’s never not uncomfortable. but to her eyrie is just….stone faced. appearing as if there is no regret or remorse to their actions, or even a thought to it. because there was no thought. they didn’t think—they did as they had been taught and believed to be the right thing from all their previous experience. they just took out a step by killing her before the summoning could happen. it saved lives, didn’t it?

and their fight about it really boils down to all of that. This simmering change into something utterly unrecognizable and is no longer salvageable. they are too different now—far too changed and in opposing ways.

[unioncolours]

I posted 349 times in 2022

19 posts created (5%)

330 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@backgroundcharacterno5

@yeoboseyokyu

@thespookymoth

@bakapandy

@blackkatmagic

I tagged 60 of my posts in 2022

#majsasaurus - 18 posts

#shikatema - 3 posts

#shikajin - 3 posts

#shikadai x inojin - 3 posts

#shikatema fanfic - 2 posts

#temari - 2 posts

#shikadai nara - 2 posts

#inojin yamanaka - 2 posts

#i am shikadai - 2 posts

#just how much are the parents hiding - 1 post

Longest Tag: 72 characters

#this is an illustration of every spicedgold nara fam fic in existence 😆

Keep reading to see my Top Posts of 2022 <3 Thank you everyone for being here for me.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

FIC: no one cries for unknown soldiers - BEHIND THE SCENES

Hi!

If you choose to see more, you’ve most likely finished my fic no one cries for unknown soldiers, my Shikatema WWII fanfiction, or you’re too curious, haha!

A fic about World War II demands a lot of research and thinking to make sense for an audience of 2022. I wanted it also to be as realistic as I possibly could write, hence a lot of planning went into the end result. Beneath the cut, here are ideas I had which didn’t fit into the finished product, plus what my first ending would be! Read on your own risk for spoilers. Thank you, everyone.

⬇❤❤

I am a person who lets my ideas simmer for a long while before I commit to them and write them from beginning to end.

The first seeds of this WWII were born early summer 2021. The very first idea was a one shot, with Temari and Shikamaru on the same side on a battlefield, and the fic would end with them charging into combat. 

Now, that didn’t go anywhere and I let the idea of a WWII au die. Who wants to step on that landmine and write such a fic anyway?

Apparently this fool.

I let the idea of a WWII au fic rest for the entire autumn of 2021. It wasn’t until late 2021 I, actually out of spite, decided that it’s now or never, I will write this fic. That was of course before war and suffering broke out in Europe again in late February 2022. I might have never written this fic if the war had broken out earlier, yet here it is.

I always knew I would place the setting in Finland, since - well - it’s much easier to write about the part of history which you know the best. If someone didn’t pick it up, yes, I’m Finnish. Moving on! From scouting the WWII tag on AO3, it seemed most writers, from all kinds of animanga fandoms, either wanted to make the characters Japanese (to honour the origin of the franscise), British during the Blitz, or SS officers (probably for added angst). However, I felt like I couldn’t make it real or have proof my facts are correct if I wrote solely about another country’s army and culture. 

I always knew Shikamaru would be a Finn in the story, but to play with canon Temari had to be from another country.

My very first idea was that Temari would be a German soldier dispatched in Finland solely for the war - especially in Lapland thousand of German soldiers were dispatched to protect mines and fight alongside Finns. The main plot would be the Finns (among them - Shikamaru) deporting the Germans, and it would base itself on allies to lovers to enemies, or something along those lines, but in the name of honesty I didn’t know if I could make it feel real(istic). And, I would have had to study double the more of the Lapland war against Germany, since I don’t know as much about it as about the Continuation War. That meant that Soviet would be framed as the ‘enemy’ instead of Germany.

I played with the idea of having the Sand Sib family Russian, so they would have that extra predicament of being ‘traitors’ to both countries, but I don’t know how realistic it would end up being.

Finally I settled for German-born but raised in Finland version of Temari, and I’m super proud of the development. I think it added a perfect bittersweet, lighter version of geopolitical angst.

Things I thought about writing in, but in the end didn’t:

Rasa was going to die. At first I had scheduled it into the 4th chapter, with Rasa also being out in the field, but I never did it. I think the fact that he survived brought in even more possibilities to the story.

The Russian prisoner of war Kiba killed was going to be Omoi, but I honestly forgot to write in the hints of his identity and remembered it after the chapter was published haha.

Kiba’s death was originally going to be much more brutal. At first I was going to have him commit a war crime brutal enough to be court martialled (war trial) and was going to be executed by shooting behind a sauna. Temari and Shikamaru were going to be the executioners, as a punishment for going out their way as they did in chapter 7. It was hinted with Temari saying “We should shoot men like him” in chapter 5, with her later shooting him. Executing the own soldiers in tries to raise moral was a thing. I discussed it with my beta reader, who was of the opinion it wouldn’t make sense to write in such a crime for Kiba, so I scratched that idea before I wrote it. Him suffering an SCI and then ending his own life instead of Temari doing it was brutal in it’s own right.

Originally Lee was going to die instead of Sai in the end, but given the impact Sai had on the characters (and probably readers) it was more powerful to kill him. Lee’s death would have been heartbreaking, but not powerful, in my head.

The reason I was so hesitant with killing off Sai was because the original ending was going to feature Inojin and Shikadai on the first day of their obligatory military service (which would take part in the later 60s) and kinda tie together the idea that the experience of serving in the army is (in Finland) passed down generations as part of a heritage and culture, to always be ready to protect the country from an assault. That meant I would have to have Sai alive. 

However, in March 2022 I read an article where they interviewed one of the first women who joined the army in the 90s (now way over 40 years old) and inspired by that, I decided that *that* would be my ending, that Temari sees the army open for women be passed on to future generations instead. That way I could kill finally kill Sai.

I wanted to have a cool scene of Ino coming by skiis to them with more rifles, I had this super cool vision in my head, but no matter how I tried, I could not justify that such a thing would realistically happen in war. It’s my big sorrow I couldn’t get Ino in more scenes.

I was going to have a scene of Temari bonding with the W*ehrmacht soldiers that were sent to the Finnish-Soviet front that Kankuro spoke of in chapter 10. She would enjoy their company and become their friends. I never managed to squeeze in this scene in the already very long chapter 11.

Yes, Shikamaru’s partner who died before Temari joined his platoon was supposed to be interpeted as Asuma.

I wanted a scene with the German word “panzar” (tank). I just think that is such a beautiful word and thought of having a fun little scene when Shikamaru wonder how the name of the antitank weapon “panzarschreck” was supposed to be pronounced and Temari has some lighthearted fun. I never got around to write it in.

Things playing a bit with canon

The fact that Gaara is the one who has to take over the family’s belongings because he is the only one with Finnish citizenship was a definitive nod to him being Kazekage after his father, and Karura’s love giving him his powers = giving him the power over his family in this version.

Rasa’s brother who died in a trench in WWI and whose body was never found was a nod to the 3rd Kazekage.

Shikaku’s death in an air-strike was a nod from the Tailed Beast bomb in the 4th Ninja War.

See the full post

9 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#4

Happy Pride for Shikajin!

As usual, my version of bisexual Inojin Yamanaka and gay Shikadai Nara 💖

15 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

#3

Gift to @sandcatart ! 🤍 

ShikaTema as grandparents 🥰

(my twitter name is majsasaurus)

17 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

#2

I know this is random, but do you have headcanons for Saiino before they got married? Like, how do you think they try to make the relationship work? Because I don't think it will be easy for them to understand each other at the beginning of their relationship.

Hii! Thank you so much for your ask.

I think love where one learns to love the other one over time is underrated! I think Saiino is an example of a couple that learned to love each other over some time, and that is not a bad thing.

Ino - however hot headed she could and can be - is also an understanding person and not stupid either; she knows Sai's background and the rocky road he has had to get where he is in Boruto. We see that she shows compassion for him in Shikamaru's story, and I can't believe she finds it too hard to continue with the same patience.

Sai is goal driven - he has an end goal after he caught feelings/interest for Ino - and thus he makes certain decisions and imitate certain behaviors to gain her interest back.

Dating ensues!

But we all know romance isn’t a single track and there must’ve for sure been times Ino is frustrated at Sai for not getting certain clues or Sai beats himself up for not understanding the situation. 

However, what makes Ino stay is when she knows Sai is trying, and he is trying for her. That is what will make her swoon over him over and over again, after a life time of competition and whatnot, and here is a man who tries his best for her and only for her. And I think knowing that is what Ino needs. She needs to not have to compete for once in her life, the least in her romance and she grows to love him back, deeply. 

This is only cemented harder when she gets to be a motif for his artwork, to know she is the apple of his eye, to have his eyes on her. “Paint me like one of your French Girls”, anyone?? The intimacy that comes with portrait painting, y’all. Underrated.

So, whenever they had an argument where they miscommunicate, I’d assume Ino would rant to Shikamaru, who from a logical sense can calmly let her know what he thinks is Sai’s POV and what he fails to tell her, and Ino would calm down and they’d talk it out. Oh god, I can see them talk a lot, not only because Ino knows talking and opening up is healthy, but also because Sai genuinely wants and needs to know what went wrong and how they can fix it. Deep talks during starry nights, over tea, in bed, in every mundane life situation. 

NSFW! He’s probably also very good at sex because this man studies and reads up on the anatomy of the female body and orgasms ensue. To be physically connected in a way sex allows one to be is something he cherish a lot, hence why he makes sure Ino comes, over and over again. Man’s a keeper. 

These were my incoherent rambles, which were maybe more of an analysis than headcanons, but I hope, anon, that you got a peek into my brain and small headcanons of them 🥰

Thank you for asking, and asks are open!

22 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Not the Witcher AU I expected to create, but the one you get

Chocho: “Did you really have to take your bard with you, Shikadai?”

Shikadai: ....... yes

Can be read as Shikajin 🥰

22 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rayroseu]

AMES I HOPE YOU KNOW YOURE ONE OF THE REASON WHY MY SCREEN GETS TEARS ON IT SOMETIMES AMAJDKQJRIW ALTHOUGH i Jump from joy knowing theres baul and Meleanor mention 🤩🤩🤩🤩✨✨✨🙏

okay but srsly as many have commented on rb, the way you depicted Lilia's ptsd here is so very very delicious AAAAA😭✨💕💖💕 I SWEARRR WE DESERVE THIS KIND OF MOMENT IN LILIA'S STORY ✨😭😭

I've always been a fan of stories that depicts every traumatic incident can never be healed even though thats kinda what TWST is going for with Lilia (yk his grieviances can "be left behind" bcs he has learned how to love and be loved in the present era, thats sweet, but like aaaaaa i felt like he moved on too fast lol i wouldve like more chapters about him being disturbed by suddenly losing everything he has known for, his status his friends his country yk, i would like lilia's past to remain a scar that still exists even if the wounds have closed up, like its still haunting and the mark is visible WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS FIC ENCAPSULATES AND I AM SOOO HERE FOR IT ‼️‼️‼️‼️I HOPE YK I WAS CHEERING WHEN I CAUGHT ON WHAT THIS FIC IS TRYING TO PORTRAY LMAO

and the subtleties??!?!!!! GODDFFF the entrance of exposing Briarland people's mentality of suppressing emotions was so good and Lilia's hypocrisy of deviating fron that by not teaching it to his sons but still couldnt help but still practice it like an old bad habit ITS SO GOOD AGRHWUDUW also i was mindblown by the reference of the way you made the glinting of light reminded Lilia of iron glinting, yk during his war times where his enemies wore alot of metal and swords, and the transition of the day having a great weather just made him remember that its similar to the weather of the day where Meleanor had been besieged JSJAIDIIAD 😭😭😭💔💔💔

You don’t know the Right General: the man who destroyed armies and fucked up on the biggest task he was given (in his mind, at least). AAAAAA THE PARENTHESIS 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔 what hurts the most about this part is the fact its true aaaa 😭😭💔💔

I also love MC here and their dynamic with Lilia in this fic !!!!! The way their response to Lilias disassociation is so realistic and understanding and not intrusive 😭✨

He so wishes to ask you to stay, to explain to you what this all was, but he stills the words in his throat. He isn’t ready to discuss it yet. Not with you, not with his boys, not even Baul. He’s the largest hypocrite to exist for a good reason. .... Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

And thats why Malleus overblotted and spilled everything all about it 💥✨ KIDDING THIS PART HURT ME AS WELL AUGH what a way to end, absolute cinema, will be simmering in my mind for a long time 🤌✨🤌✨🤌✨

“kiss  me.  take  me  from  this  place.  ’” for the writing prompt with Lilia and reader 👀👀

I went a bit of a different approach with this where the prompt isn't written in, but is instead what this whole fic builds off of. I couldn't find an appropriate place to put the words based on the content, so I hope this is ok <3

HOOKED

Inc: Lilia, Baul mention, Reader (spoken second person here). Warnings: Heavy discussion of PTSD including a detailed PTSD-attack. Read at your discretion. WC: 2.5k Summary: Many of those who came from the era of Briar Nation before Briar Valley believe the silent suppression approach is both more mindful and correct in terms of etiquette. Lilia is not exempt from this, even when he knows it's a ridiculous belief.

There is a stigma against seeking help that Lilia would argue is the most ridiculous belief to have been ingrained in the older generation. Rather than communicating one’s thoughts and emotions to others, many of those who came from the era of Briar Nation before Briar Valley believe the silent suppression approach is both more mindful and correct in terms of etiquette.

Of course, he’s not exempt to this.

The difference between himself and the rest of his generation is that he’s the largest hypocrite to exist among them. He encourages his children and those nurtured by his hand to speak their thoughts and to be aware of how they feel in the moment. Meanwhile, he’s shoving every stressor he’s experienced into the nooks and crannies of his mind, where they sit and stare at him expectantly as he tries diligently not to look back.

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

He wasn’t quite aware of the term ‘post-traumatic’ until he heard it spoken of on one of his trips abroad forty years back. By fate, be it cruel or kind, there was a conference occurring in the hotel he was staying at that he took upon himself to quickly visit. Uninvited and for free, of course, but that’s beside the point. At the time glamour still wasn’t as illegal as it is now, and so it didn’t take much concentration for him to conceal the pointed ears and sharp teeth he has to blend in with the crowd of well-dressed folks with degrees too long to remember. That day he played a clinical psychologist, a physician, a biologist, and someone in forensics all in the span of a few hours. It was an exercise in acting he quite enjoyed.

Back to the main focus, though: Post-traumatic, or PTSD, as it would come to be called.

It was new, it was fresh, and it made the pinpricks of discomfort crawl across his skin the more he listened to the psychologist whose name he didn’t recall describe it. Glasses—the man had large, coke-bottle glasses on his face, which kept glinting under the fluorescent glow of the lights while he spoke about the consequences of war on the mind. His hands would wave in the air with each sentence and his glasses kept glinting as the pinpricks grew to daggers until finally Lilia just got up and left the room. He went to the hotel bar, got smashed for the first time in god knows how long, and spent the rest of the night staring at the colourful glasses on the shelves until he was finally asked to leave.

Glasses had described it as presenting in several ways. Recurring dreams (he dreamt of it at least once a week, a dragon’s shriek, and then the sudden nothingness), avoidance of external reminders (he didn’t immediately go back to Wild Rose even when it became accessible), persistent negative beliefs about oneself (no comment), self-destructive behaviour (no comment), sleep disturbances (no comment). If he and Glasses had engaged in a one-on-one conversation for all of a minute he wagers the man would’ve tried to recruit him to be studied.

Glasses did miss the mark on a few things, though. Granted he was basing his work off of a human’s experience in war, not that of a fae like Lilia. Glasses had said that PTSD could make someone feel as though they were trapped in a prison that was their own mind—but prison felt like a very child-friendly way to describe it. To Lilia, it felt more like a fish on a hook. It pierces into his body and pulls at the flesh, ripping into his muscle and making sure it’s the only thing he can think of coherently. Sometimes he’s so numb that he hardly notices it’s there, until something triggers it, makes the string the hook is on yank upwards, and then he isn’t able to do anything because all he’s stuck on is that fucking hook.

Sometimes in the late evening when he finds himself sitting with Baul on the man’s porch there will be a sound—a twig snapping, a tree falling—that will make both of them tense and look around. Their eyes will meet, an unspoken look of understanding will be shared, and then it’s back into the next topic of conversation. Maybe if he told someone he was caught, if either of them told someone, they’d be able to wiggle that hook free. But that’s not mindful or correct in terms of etiquette, isn’t it?

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

_________________________________________

It’s because the sky is blue.

It’s the simplest, most common thing in the entire world that never changes no matter what occurs. The sea changes colour, the leaves change colour, the earth changes colour, but the sky somehow consistently stays blue.

He’s been having a bad week, and he knows you can tell because he hasn’t been poking fun at you as often. He hasn’t felt like gaming, he hasn’t felt like socializing as much, and he’s been going for walks more than usual. His boys can tell as well—the close scrutiny Silver has had him under is almost endearing—but they also know better than to react too much.

You don’t. He likes you mainly because you know barely anything about him. You’re not as aware as his boys may be. You don’t know the Right General: the man who destroyed armies and fucked up on the biggest task he was given (in his mind, at least). You know Lilia: the vice Housewarden of Diasomnia who hangs upside down in hallways and plays screamo on a guitar.

He's also developed a bit of a soft spot for you.

Well. Perhaps more than a bit, but that’s semantics.

This is also why he doesn’t say no when you invite him to go into town with you for a few errands. It’s a simple task that he’s done with you many times before, but today it feels like a huge commitment he isn’t sure he should have done. This is because he can feel it tugging in his head—the gentle pull of a thread that’s done before whatever is on the hook is yanked up to the surface. He’s trying hard to ignore it, trying hard to focus on your voice as his hand taps his thigh and he keeps looking around the woodland path.

“—and so, Ace is paying for it, because he was the one that went and dumped the grape juice on it in the first place.” You look down at the red-stained garb in your arms as you frown. His gaze goes to it only for a moment before he hums and looks away again.

“How much of a fight was it to get him to agree to that?” He asks, pushing to keep the conversation going and to keep you talking so that he has something to focus his attention on. The trees around you feel both familiar and foreign in this moment. “If I recall correctly, our dear Ace is as good at negotiating as Azul when it comes to his own money.”

You give a laugh at that which allows a brief blanket of warmth to drape itself on his shoulders. “Combined with Deuce, we managed to get him to agree quickly enough. I don’t think dry cleaning costs that much though, so it isn’t like this is going to break his bank.”

“Ah, you would be surprised.” A smile touches on his lips which still doesn’t quite reach his eyes as you both continue walking. You direct the conversation to other matters going on around the school and he falls into an attentive silence, letting you talk away so he can focus on your voice.

It’s when you step out of the forest and into a meadow clearing, when his eyes inadvertently go upwards to look at the blue sky, that the world shuts off. The sky had been like this—clear and blue—right before it had all gone to shit. Sunny, slightly cooler, with the sounds of a thousand bodies moving and the heady scent of grease in the air. He can see the glinting of light (glinting like Glasses had been), he can feel the tension grow in his body, taste saliva and copper in his mouth. In a manner of a few seconds, he’s sucked up out of the forest around NRC and into a sub-level of his own personal hell where he’s now sitting and watching all of his mistakes play back.

He's fighting against that hook. He’s squirming, wiggling, and biting as it pulls him all around. The world is black. He’s sitting on a silver chair and there’s a television in front of him and it’s playing that day at Wild Rose as the sky becomes a thunderous grey. He wants to scream and change the channel, but the hook has pierced the back of his head and is jutting out of his mouth. He can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but watch as the same shit happens again and again and—

“—Lilia?”

His head turns as much as the hook allows. He can taste the rust from it as it stays in his mouth, but his eyes go wide when he sees you in the corner. The hum of television static and his quick breathing are all the sounds he can hear as you stand there in those shadows. Something garbled leaves his lips. You move a few steps closer, close enough that the light of the television reflects on your features, which wear a mask of your own fear as you kneel by his side.

You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t there, not when it was all unfolding, so you shouldn’t be in the same basement of horrors he’s currently in.

Your hand rests on his arm. It’s as though a thousand needles erupt where your skin touches and he recoils in that chair, jerks to the side, and causes that hook to split more skin. You move back quickly, and he can see what he thinks might be panic on your face.

“What can I do?” You ask. It’s such a simple question and he wishes so deeply to tell you an answer but what can you do? What can he do? It isn’t mindful or correct in terms of etiquette, right? He shakes his head. Panic turns to a touch of worry, of frustration, as you move to sit cross-legged beside his chair.

“I... don’t know what’s going on.” You say slowly. He listens as he forces his breathing to regulate. The dim hum of static is still coming from the right side of him as he keeps looking down at you. “But I’m going to sit right here, okay? I’m going to sit right here until you can tell me what I can do to help. And if there’s nothing I can do, then at least I can keep you company until you’re ready.”

Ready? Company?

He keeps looking down at you until he finally turns his head back to the television where those scenes are still playing. Beyond the television, he can see the outline of trees forming in the dark room.

The two of you sit there for what feels like an extraordinarily long time. The hook has stopped tugging, and the trees are becoming more visible in the darkness as the show comes to an end. He can hear birds chirping past the static, he can smell woodland instead of grease. He isn’t tasting rust anymore. A small, strangled hum leaves him, which catches your attention.

“Yeah?” You ask, scooting forward on the floor beside him to look up at his face. You’re so goddamn endearing when you look up like that, and he hates that you’re in this room with him right now. He needs to leave because he needs to get you out of here as well. You barely know anything about him, and he isn’t ready to ruin the perceptions you have quite yet.

“Can I touch you?” You ask.

“Yes,” is what he manages to choke back beyond the hook.

You stand back up and your hand comes to rest on his cheek. He doesn’t feel daggers like he did before, but he does still tense, which makes you stop again. A heartbeat passes before you lean down so your lips are by his ear.

“Breathe,” you whisper, and he does.

“Focus,” you whisper, and he does.

“Come back,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple, and he does.

The television shuts off and is pulled back into the shadows by something he can’t quite see yet, but he feels he will come to meet very soon. The chair he sits on vanishes and is replaced by a rock with a bubbling creek at his feet. The hook unlatches itself and is reeled back up for another day. It’s like he’s waking up from a dream as a groggy feeling settles over him.  

Neither of you speak for a long moment as he continues to sit on the rock and your hand moves to rest on his back. A sense of embarrassment forms in his chest that he knows shouldn’t be there, but it exists anyway. Embarrassment, shame, and heavy, heavy exhaustion. His tongue licks his dry lips as he clears his throat to speak.

“How long?” He asks.

“It’s been an hour.”

An hour. That feels shorter than usual as he rolls his shoulders and gets to his feet. His hands are trembling slightly, and he appreciates you not mentioning it despite the way your gaze lingers on them.

He turns to you as he shoves them in his pockets, and he forces his lips into a smile. It’s a good thing he’s an expert at fake smiles to the point that he does this without a thought. “Do you mind if I...?”

“Not at all.” You reply quickly, grabbing your stained clothing from the ground. When you rise, you look worried. For a moment he fears that you may ask what just happened right now—but you don’t. You just offer him a slight smile back and hold your clothes a bit tighter. “Will you text me when you get back?”

“Yes,” he replies automatically, feeling a bud of relief blossom in his chest when you nod and step back onto the path. This is immediately replaced by guilt. “Thank you.”

The words feel dead and heavy on his tongue, despite the way they seem to soothe your own anxiety.

“Always.” You murmur in response as he watches your gaze linger on him a moment longer. He so wishes to ask you to stay, to explain to you what this all was, but he stills the words in his throat.

He likes you mainly because you know barely anything about him. You’re unaware of his past, much like his boys, and your perception of him is one he’s carefully gifted to you himself. The abruptness of this attack may have broken a crack in the pristine image which unsettles him.

He isn’t ready to discuss it yet. Not with you, not with his boys, not even Baul. He’s the largest hypocrite to exist for a good reason.

He continues to watch you until you vanish back into the forest, and it’s only with your departure that he finds himself able to breathe properly. The back of his skull aches and all he wants right now is to go to sleep for a few hours. His smile drops to a grimace as he turns and begins to go in the direction opposite of you.

Perhaps in time, he tells himself.

[munsons-maiden]

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐆𝐨

Hi lovelies! This is one of the requests I’ve written (only 19 others to go now😁) and I really got inspired so it’s long ♡ I hope you enjoy! - Love, Kiki 🖤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 |  Loki x female reader

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 |  “Don’t let me go.” (by anon) 

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 |  A fight with Loki unveils feelings which have always simmered beneath the surface, feelings neither of you has ever dared to voice. But maybe it’s too late now to finally confess (sorry for the vague summary, I wanted to avoid spoilers for the story). Takes place after the events of Thor: Ragnarok; Infinity War never happened, Thor and Loki have managed to rescue the Asgardian people and have now joined the Avengers (Loki more or less willingly...) 

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 |  an angsty fight ending in romantic smut, protective Loki  

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 |  8.8 k 

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 |  SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU’RE 18+ YEARS OLD!), unprotected sex (please be safe in real life and use a condom!), mentions of torture, angst with a happy ending  

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡ 

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝🖤 

The briefing had been going on for half an hour by now, in which nothing had happened but Steve droning on and on about minor security breaches and a new tech update which had somehow caused a havoc with one of Tony’s newer projects running rampage on the upper floors last week. The burn hole was still marring the wooden floor. Sam, Wanda and Vision were staying in Sokovia to help rebuild what was left of the country after the devastating battle against Ultron – you’d never really met them – while Bruce was insisting on working in the lab for a while, far away from any Avengers business, and Clint was staying with his family for now. Which left Steve, Bucky, Tony, Nat, the Asgardian brothers and you.

In the seat opposite of you, you could see how the boredom in Loki’s expression kept growing while he stared at the little green sparks dancing on the tips of his fingers as he obviously had a hard time staying awake during Steve’s sermon. With his attention fixed on the little sparks, you took the chance to watch him for a few seconds and admire the way the rays of the warm afternoon sun flooding in through the glass façade behind him fell on his smooth black hair, making it shimmer like the softest satin, and how his long, dark lashes brushed against the sharp line of his cheekbones whenever he blinked.

It had been one year since Thor had brought the surviving people of Asgard to Norway after their home had been destroyed during Ragnarok, and he and his brother, who’d helped in the fight against Hela, had joined the Avengers – only weeks after you and Bucky had managed to escape Hydra’s clutches with the help of Steve, Sam and Nat.

While Thor, Bucky and you had been accepted as new residents in the Avengers tower with open arms, Loki hadn’t been granted the same warm welcome. The memories of the battle of New York had been too fresh to simply forget his crimes, no matter what he’d done to help Thor. Now, a whole year later, most of the others were still wary of him, if not openly hostile, and it hurt you to witness.

To be honest, you’d been just as unsettled by his presence in the tower in the beginning, when you had reluctantly agreed upon Loki helping you train your own – then barely controlled – magic abilities. He’d been the only available teacher for the job, and you’d desperately wanted to learn how to wield these mysterious powers which had always seemed as hard to shape as water running through your fingers, to finally put them to good use. And in return, Loki had gotten a chance to prove that he wasn’t the vicious villain anymore who’d waged war on this very city with an army of aliens only a few years ago.

Then, you hadn’t expected for the tender bond of a friendship to form between you and the mischievous god. And you certainly hadn’t expected to fall in love with him. But you had, hard and thoroughly, and when he now caught your lingering gaze on him, the little smirk he flashed your way made your weak little heart flutter against your ribs like a trapped little sparrow begging to be set free.

None of the others had spent nearly as much time with the raven-haired trickster as you had, training with him every day, and you wished you could make them see what you saw when you looked at him now. Not a villain, but someone who’d been forced to carry his own pain all alone, who craved attention because he feared he wouldn’t be worthy of love, and attention was all he would be able to get. With each passing day of practicing your magic together, you’d spied glimpses of the person beneath all these cleverly forged illusions of arrogance and deceit, and with each of these glimpses, you had fallen a little deeper in love with Loki, these feelings growing like the vines in a jungle after a monsoon. You knew he wouldn’t reciprocate these feelings you were harbouring for him, and thus, you’d become an expert to bury them in your heart and veil them from him and the others. As long as he didn’t confirm what you already suspected and feared – that he would never feel the same for you as you did for him – you could dream. Daydreams, such as this one, his long, elegant fingers ghosting over your skin as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. It hurt when reality came crashing in again, and you realized it wouldn’t be your lips he kissed, or your ears he’d whisper sweet nothings to. It hurt. Like a knife twisted in your chest, over and over again, and you helped twisting it willingly with your silly little hopes and daydreams. If friendship was all you would ever have, you were glad to take it, as long as it meant Loki would be in your life. Even if you would never be the one for him the same way as he was for you.

The glass door to the conference room was pushed open with enough fervour for you to tear you from your wandering thoughts and you quickly averted your gaze from the trickster as everyone’s heads, including Loki’s, snapped up to Maria Hill who was striding into the room with an expression of worry which she barely managed to contain beneath the guise of calmness on her face.

“Change of plans”, she announced without a word of greeting, and you sat up a little straighter upon hearing the tension in her voice. “There’s news about the remaining Hydra members we’ve been pursuing.”

Your heart plummeted to the floor as she reached out to swipe at the hologram’s screen at the end of the table and opened another file with the swift move of her hand, Steve stepping beside respectfully to let her take over the word. “We’ve found the Hydra agents and scientists which were able to escape when Steve, Sam and Nat brought down SHIELD, and it looks like they have an ace up their sleeve now. They’re led by this guy.” Another swipe, and the screen was filled with a picture of the face starring in some of your most recurring nightmares. It made your heart freeze over with a horror so sheer you thought your blood cells might have actually turned into little icicles as you stared back at the man in the photo. “He’s a biologist and overly fond of playing with genetics. As you all…know.”

A pause, and everyone’s gazes wandered first to Bucky, before finally coming to rest on you, faces slack with horror. You kept staring at the hologram, but in the corner of your eyes, you could feel Loki’s blue gaze pinned on you.

When you’d first realized there was magic simmering in your veins, you’d joined SHIELD to learn to control these raw, barely sculpted skills and put them to use. Fight evil. Little had you known that by joining SHIELD, you’d stumbled right into the very claws of evil itself, and they had snapped close around you. HYDRA took you, experimenting on you in their hopes of finding out how you could have been born with the abilities you possessed. They didn’t find any answers. Had Steve and his friends acted a few days later, you would have faced death. Or worse, the same fate as Bucky.

It had only been weeks, but it was enough to scar you for several lifetimes, haunting your dreams with memories you desperately wanted to forget.

The shift in the air – from bored and sleepy to alert and tense – was nearly palpable, and it was all you could do to steady your breath and fight back the panic attack blossoming in your gut like a beast stirring awake after a long hibernation.

“So, Hydra’s back”, Bucky finally broke the horrified silence, looking as gloomy and forlorn as you felt.

“Yes”, Hill nodded, “And they’ve found new allies along with new headquarters.” Another swipe of her hand, and the man’s photo was replaced by the map of what looked like a huge building complex.

“What’s that?”, Tony asked, “Another creepy castle? How original.”

Hill nodded again. “It is, indeed.”

“Where is this castle?”, Steve inquired with a grave tone and an even darker expression on his face which mirrored the mood in the conference room.

“They don’t exactly hide anymore”, Hill announced. “They sent a message. They’ve been hiding away in the Caribbean over the past year, and they’ve been diligent in regaining the upper hand. Their scientists managed to develop a virus, dangerous enough to eradicate over two thirds of the world population, and contagious enough to erase all chances of controlling it once it’s set free. It will spread faster than a wildfire. Our intelligence team could verify the information. It’s not a bluff.”

You could have heard the drop of a pin on the floor in the deadly silence which followed her words.

“And let me guess, Hydra is planning to use it as a leverage,” you finally said hollowly.

“They already did. They announced that patient zero will be contaminated in a span of twenty-four hours. They have a vaccine ready, enough doses for every country which is ready to pledge allegiance to them.”

“We need to stop them”, you whispered, and realized you’d been curling your hands on the table into fists so tight to keep them from shaking uncontrollably that your nails had left bloody little crescents in the skin of your palms. Beside you, Natasha’s hand gently settled on your arm in a helpless attempt to calm you. When your gaze briefly lifted to lock on Loki, you could see his eyes were full of concern as he watched you. It felt a little strange, to see him so…serious. Worried.

“That’s the plan,” Hill said softly, “A simple break-and-enter, easy in theory. You go in, arrest the remaining Hydra members and steal the virus so we can destroy it.”

“Very easy”, Nat deadpanned.

“When do we leave?”, Steve asked.

“Tomorrow. Our agents are preparing the jet and an evacuation of the whole region surrounding the castle.” We don’t want another Sokovia. You knew it was what she and everyone else in the room were thinking.

“Before I start going into the details of the plan – there are some other threats awaiting you which you should know about,” Hill went on, her fingers already flying over the projected screen to open up another file, and a row of blurred photographs, the lightning dark as if they’d been taken by night, filled the whole wall. The images in these photos were disturbing. Animals, but…not animals.

“What are these creatures?”, Thor murmured from beside you, just as shaken as everyone else.

“I heard of these things”, Nat chimed in, and it made you a little uneasy to see the concerned scowl etched on her features as she continued, “It was a file in Hydra’s database, but I thought it hadn’t worked and they’d abandoned the project for good. They took animals and then tried to fuse their DNA with that of the dead Chitauri SHIELD collected after the battle. The plan was to enhance certain abilities, erase others, and add new ones. Ultimate killing machines. Like Winter Soldiers, but with the claws of a lion or the strength of a bear.”

The tension in the air seemed to intensify with the notion of the battle, as it always did.

“Sounds amazing. Their own – how would Cap call them? – army of flying monkeys”, Tony quipped and pinched his nose.

Steve asked, “Do we know which mutations will be waiting for us?”

“Well, I’m sure there won’t be funny little talking racoons waiting for us there,” Tony shrugged with a glance at the images.

“There are no such things as talking raccoons”, Bucky huffed, and Tony threw him an exasperated look that seemed to say, Are you dumb? Nat snorted beside you.

“The question,” Tony continued with a glance at Loki, who’d been uncharacteristically muted and serious during the whole crisis meeting, “is why Reindeer Games here has been so suspiciously quiet. No uncalled-for jabs and witty little remarks to provoke us. Am I the only one who finds that strange?”

“What, exactly, would you have me do in the face of a crisis threatening to eradicate all of Midgard, Stark? Jump on the table and strip? You’re not important enough to put that much of an effort into a simple provocation, believe me”, Loki countered with a raised eyebrow, as if he couldn’t be deigned to pay any more attention to Tony than necessary, and you bit your lip to prevent the grin from spreading over your lips despite the threat of the crisis you were currently facing. The tight fist of panic which had squeezed your heart loosened a little.

“That is enough,” Thor growled with a warning glare at Loki, who only cocked his head in response.

“Ah, yes. My brother the great king. Has there ever been an argument you didn’t intrude on?”

“I still don’t like you”, Tony sneered at Loki, who replied, “I will get over it, somewhere in the span of the next few centuries.”

“You’re both insufferable,” you conceded, but you were glad for the brief diversion from the topic of Hydra and the upcoming mission. It had managed to tear you from the sticky spider’s web of panic which had caught you like a fly, and you briefly wondered if it had been Loki’s intention with his jab at Tony.

“The plan,” Steve interrupted the argument. All eyes were trained back on him and Maria Hill, who gave a curt nod before she said, “Thor and Loki will stay at the compound here in New York alongside Banner –“

“That’s absurd. I will do no such thing”, Loki protested , but Tony chimed in before Steve could.

“You will. You’ll stay here because we don’t trust you, and Thor will stay because somebody has to watch your traitorous ass, Reindeer Games. The last time you were left unattended in New York, you tried to conquer it.”

“How is it we always end up talking about Loki again?”, Steve sighed, which drew another wicked grin from Loki. “See? I didn’t even need to utter a single word and still I’m getting all the attention. Are you jealous, Stark?”

“Tony is right if uncalled-for, Loki. You’re a security risk”, Steve interrupted, ignoring Tony’s huff in protest.

Loki rolled his eyes, locked his arms in front of his chest and leaned back in his seat. “How glorious it must feel, to have every single one of your artificially enhanced muscle cells filled with such star-sprangled self-righteousness”, he drawled with a slow smile, and you could see how Steve ground his teeth, trying hard not to snap at Loki’s obvious attempt to vex him to get exactly such a reaction, before Hill went on to explain the plan, “Tony, Bucky, Sam and Steve are going to create a diversion and arrest every Hydra member they can find. Y/N, you and Nat will be the ones to get the vial with the deadly virus from its safe. There will be guards and some of these lovely mutations we’ve seen, so you’ll be the best choice because you’re the one to cast the illusions to hold these creatures at bay and probably help Nat break open the safe.”

“Are you up for the job?”, Steve added softly with a glance at you, and you could tell from his tone that he was slightly worried. But the sense of pride flooding you at finally being given this chance to accompany them on your first mission and prove yourself as an Avenger after a year of training and watching from the sidelines was overpowering every dreg of fear you probably would have felt at the risk this mission would put you in.

“This might be one of the most dangerous missions we’ve ever faced”, Nat added.

“I am”, you said with all the composure you could muster, just as Loki cut in, “She’s not.”

Your head snapped back to him, shock at his words written over your face as he met your gaze with his own cool one. Your mind flitted back to a moment only weeks ago.

The threads of magic – seidr, as it was called in the old Norse language –unravelled beneath your fingers once more just as you’d thought you’d finally managed to weave them into an illusion. An army of warriors in shining armour – no easy image to conjure, but an effective one to create a diversion. “Hold the strings”, Loki instructed in a calm, low voice as not to break your concentration with his sudden words, but it was too late, anyway. The threads you’d so carefully spun into the illusion came loose, once again slipping through your fingers as if they were water you’d tried to carry in your palms, and the image dissolved into sparks of green which floated in the air for a few more seconds before they, too, vanished.

With a shaky sigh, you let yourself fall to the ground in the training rooms. Tears you’d desperately tried to fight back, to blink away, had started to stream down your face in rivulets, and you pulled your knees closer to your body. It didn’t even have anything to do with the raging headaches you oftentimes suffered after practicing seidr, something Loki had told you he’d suffered for a few years as well when his mother Frigga had first started teaching him. No. These were tears of frustration and anger at the slowness of your progress, the feeling of your own incapability, of being unworthy in your new role as an Avenger.

You didn’t know how exactly you’d expected Loki to react when all your pent-up emotions finally broke the surface of your calm demeanour like a sea monster ready to strike – but it wasn’t this. Loki didn’t even sigh as he quietly sat down beside you on the ground, fingers dancing in the air as he conjured a green handkerchief out of thin air and gently used it to carefully dab at the blood which had started gushing from your nose, its metallic taste mingling with the salt of your tears on your lips. You hadn’t even realized that the bleeding had started. It did that, sometimes, when the exertion got too strong. Shame curdled in your stomach as you sat there, tears of frustration running down your cheeks as if you were a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“I think we should call it a day,” Loki finally spoke, and his voice was soft. Devoid of any judgement or annoyance, and full of understanding.

“I can’t. Not yet. Let me try one more time, okay?”

“Your ambition is something to be admired and cherished, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your health. It’s taking a toll on you. You should rest.”

Your hands reached up to grasp the kerchief from his hands, and the skin of your fingers tingled where they briefly brushed against his before he pulled away.

“One more try. Please.”

“Why?”, Loki asked gently, and when you finally turned your head to look at him, and you were met with a softness in his gaze you’d never witnessed him display before. As if he’d allowed for the mask he’d so carefully crafted and conjured, spun from the air like one of his illusions, to slip and reveal what all the witty quips and jabs were meant to hide away from the world. A vulnerability and brokenness which resonated with something deep in your own soul.

You’d already started falling for Loki some time ago – for his dazzling smiles, his witty quips, the easy banter with which the two of you communicated. His humour, his smooth, dark voice which made you wonder if he ever sang, and how it would be to hear this beautiful voice form a melody. The way he flipped his gorgeous black hair back during combat training, and the sparks in his mesmerizing ocean eyes, so vibrant and clever and full of mischief, always making your pulse spike and your knees weak whenever they lingered on yours.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. In front of yourself, and in front of another person. In front of Loki, of all people.

“When I came to the Avengers, it was with Bucky. They saved both of us from Hydra’s claws when Steve brought them down alongside SHIELD.”

Loki nodded. “I know. Thor told me. About Hydra.”

“HYDRA had me for a few weeks. Bucky had been in their clutches for a few decades. I feels so wrong to compare my pain to his.”

“Pain isn’t something to be compared”, Loki mused. “It just exists. It doesn’t need justification.”

You swallowed against a new wave of tears threatening to spill upon hearing his words, his own anguish laced in them. Thor had told you about Loki’s story, as well. You knew, right then, that Loki would understand. That he was ready to listen to your story, to the memories you’d never shared with anyone before, the ones which kept you company in the dead of night and drew screams of horror from your lips to finally rouse you from the nightmares they were conjuring for you. Memories which would never leave you, no matter how much time would pass. Just like a wound which healed to leave nothing but a scar, a memory of the pain which had been there. A tug from time to time to remind you that the scar was still there, as faded as it might be with time. It would always be there.

“I want them to be eradicated. All of them. And I fear as long as I’m locked up in this tower, still not ready to fight the rest of them who were able to escape when SHIELD was destroyed…they’ll grow stronger. With every day, and every new member they were able to recruit, and then people will suffer again at their hands. It’s happening right now – and I’m still not able to hold up a simple illusion for a few more seconds. No wonder the others still haven’t taken me on a mission with them.” Your voice had grown into nothing but a hoarse whisper at the last sentence, and you took a shaky breath to somewhat steady yourself.

“I want to do something”, you added with newfound fierceness, and your hand curled into a fist around the soft green cloth of the handkerchief. “I’m not as good a fighter as Nat and I’ll never be. I’m not a genius like Tony and Bruce, and I’m not as strong as Steve and Bucky and Thor. Magic is all I have, the skills Hydra gave me against my own will. I want to use these skills to fight, just like the others do. And instead, I’m the weak Avenger hiding away from fights because she still hasn’t mastered the skills she claims to possess. They’re my friends, and the only family I have left, and still I feel like I don’t belong with them. Not really.”

You’d never even dared to voice these thoughts aloud to yourself, and instead had kept them hidden away in the darkest recesses of your mind in an attempt not to let them get to you. But here, with Loki sitting beside you and such gentleness brimming in the ocean blue of his eyes, you realized how heavy they’d weighed on your heart and how desperately you’d wanted to tell somebody about them. Who would be better to understand such feelings than Loki? Still, you were surprised how easy it had been to voice such things in front of a man you not so long ago had hated with so much passion for what he’d done.

A few minutes of silence passed; an easy, peaceful silence of just sitting beside each other in the empty training rooms, finding solace in each other’s presence.

When Loki finally spoke again, his voice was low and soft, like honey, and his gaze so far away as his mind wandered to a memory of his own practice in the art of wielding seidr, a memory so cherished he’d never dared to share it with anyone because he’d always felt it would rob it of this special feeling if he did. Not with you, though, he suddenly realized. And so, Loki began to tell you, his words opening a door he’d kept locked for others, and in the end even for himself for such a long time while guilt and grief about his mother’s death had made him feel unworthy of such happy memories with her.

“I wasn’t a strong child, like Thor. I lost most of the training fights, and the others used to make fun of me for it. For my lack of strength and my lack of power, walking in Thor’s mighty shadow, even as children. He’d always been the one drawing all the attention, the one making others laugh and desiring to be his friends. I never belonged, even then. My mother saw it, I think. And one day, she took my hand and told me to close my eyes, to see the loose threads all around us – and I did. Seidr, she told me. Threads waiting to be woven into something so real and vivid that it would be able to trick even the most cunning of minds. I remember the exact moment when she opened her hand, and there was a little hummingbird fluttering above her palm. I remember everything: how the feathers looked so soft, how they shimmered in the light in such pretty hues of pink and blue, how fast its wings were beating in the air to keep it afloat. I knew it was an illusion, but it seemed so real. I wanted to learn how to do this, how to spin all these lose, meaningless, isolated threads into a picture so vivid and beautiful. I waited for her to tell me that I couldn’t, simply because that was all I only ever heard from Odin and Thor, but she promised to teach me. She said that I could do everything I wanted, as long as my mind was set on it and I was ready to show some patience. With myself, and my abilities. It wasn’t easy, but she was right. I could do it. I learned it. Illusions, not only the ones my magic could weave but the ones I could, with my demeanour, my words. So, what I’m trying to say…” he halted, overwhelmed with his own emotions at the memory of this day, the way Frigga’s words reverberated in his mind in her soft melodic voice. “What I’m trying to say”, he started anew, “Is that you will be able to do it, too. You only need patience. And if you don’t believe in yourself…I do.”

You took a few heartbeats to watch the ghost of a smile curling his lips, holding so much happiness and sadness and grief alike. “An impressive woman,” you finally said softly, “And an amazing mother.”

“She was. Not a single day passes in which I don’t miss her with all my heart.”

You wanted to reach out and take his hands, spend him comfort just as he had done for you, but you didn’t dare. The moment passed.

“You’ll be ready to go on your first mission soon. They will ask you to join them, and you’ll get your chance”, he stated. “But for now, grab some water and rest.”

It was the exact same moment you’d realized the trickster had stolen your heart for good. That your feelings for him had grown into actual love. And now, after all you’d told him, after this moment of vulnerability the two of you had shared only weeks prior, he took the chance to humiliate you in front of the others instead of supporting you.

“Pardon?”, you asked, daring him to repeat his words.

“You’re not ready yet”, Loki simply replied, voice calm – but the storm brewing in his ocean eyes betrayed his emotions.

“I have been training these skills for a whole year now. I’m more than ready.”

“That is not on you to determine”, Loki hissed, reciprocating the glare you were giving him, before he continued, directed at Steve, “She’ll be a danger for the success of the whole mission if you let her come with you. Her illusions aren’t sufficient enough yet to fool the human eye, as bad as it might be, and not stable enough to fool an animal, either. And her telekinetic powers are fickle, at best. Such power, when unchecked, is a security risk at best and a death trap at worst.”

His words, his betrayal, stung as much as if he’d just stabbed you right in the back. He knew. He knew how desperately you’d waited for this very chance to prove yourself, and he knew how hard you’d worked to improve your skills. Just as you knew that it was enough. You could do it. You were ready. And yet here he was, embarrassing you in front of the other Avengers as if you’d never poured out your heart in front of him and told him about all these fears, the feelings of not belonging. Shock and pain morphed into blinding, white-hot rage.

You could feel the blood boil in your veins as your gaze focused on Loki and you said, with as much listlessness and indifference as you could muster, “I think I’m perfectly capable of assessing the risk I’m putting myself and my teammates in. And I think they’re capable enough to assess on their own whose words they trust. Mine, or yours.”

There were a few beats of silence in the room, with every single Avenger staring at the two of you, watching with unease how you and the trickster kept glaring at each other, like an audience watching a tennis match. Beneath the anger simmering in Loki’s blue-green eyes as he kept holding your gaze without relenting, you could see something else briefly flare to life before it subsided, like the sparks of a firework bursting in the sky. Hurt. Your words had hurt him. Your use of the other’s obvious distrust – and your implication of agreeing with them on it. Something tugged at your chest, a pang of guilt, but for now, your fury had won over every other emotion.

“Okay, you heard her, Reindeer Games”, Tony chimed in in an obvious attempt to diffuse the sudden tension between you and the trickster, which had settled over the room with the same heaviness as the air right before a thunderstorm after a hot summer’s day.

“It’s settled, we’ll stick to the plan. See you all tomorrow morning. We’ll leave at sunrise, make sure to pee beforehand because it’s gonna be a few hours. Didn’t imagine my next trip to the Caribbean to whip some scientist’s asses -”

“Language!”, Steve interrupted.

“- but here we go.” Tony clapped his hands together and rose from his chair, and you left the room – stormed out, really – without another glance at Loki.

When you stepped out of the elevator and onto the level holding your own rooms, the blood was still roaring in your ears and your mind was going a mile a minute at the sheer audacity ��

“Y/N, wait”, a smooth voice sounded from behind you, and you whirled around to come face to face with Loki, who looked a little awkward, standing in the middle of the empty hallway, the expression on his handsome features unreadable.

“What for?”, you scoffed. “You said everything you needed to say.”

He took a step closer, until there were only a few inches left between the two of you, as close as he’d never been before, and for a split second, he looked as if he wanted say something else, probably apologize – before his eyes narrowed and he replied, “And I can tell you’re angry because you know I’m right.”

That was the last straw. A new wave of rage flooded you at the self-righteousness and arrogance he carried himself with, and you drew yourself up to your full height as if he wouldn’t tower you still, anyway. “Don’t you dare explain my own feelings to me,” you hissed, stabbing your index finger at his chest, “You were the one who told me they will ask me to join them. You were the one who told me I’d be ready to join them! YOU were the one who told me he believed in me even if I didn’t!”

“Well, I changed my mind”, he shrugged, and his calm demeanour in contrast to your boiling fury made you see red once more.

“Yeah”, you nodded with a bitter smile, “That’s so easy for you. Loki, god of lies and deceit. Just floating with the tide, right?”

“If you have something to say, go on”, he dared you, and the threat in his voice, suddenly so much darker, made cold shivers skitter down your spine, “Spill the tea.”

“I told you about my fears. I trusted you! And you went and used them against me right in front of everyone! YOU KNEW HOW MUCH I WANTED TO BELONG TO THEM!”, you yelled, and your voice threatened to break under the weight of your emotions at the last words.

“Maybe you will never belong to them if you have to try so hard. Have you thought about that?” The words hit you like one of Clint’s well-placed arrows. The cool mask was back on Loki’s face as he watched you flinch with the shock of his words, knowing all too well that they’d hit home. As if you’d handed him a dagger, and he’d only waited for you to turn around and give him the chance to lodge the blade in your back.

With your strained voice barely strong enough to form a whisper as you fought back the tears of rage and hurt which threatened to spill, you added, “I should have known better than to confide in you. To think you would be able to change your nature. Because that’s what you do, over and over again to the people who trust you, right? Stabbing them in the back as soon as you get the chance. It must have been fun, to humiliate me in front of the people you knew I so desperately wanted to fit in with. A funny little pastime for the god of lies. I can’t believe I gave you the benefit of the doubt when I knew what you are all along. I can’t believe I fell for your tricks.”

Loki took a step back as if you’d slapped him. Good, you noticed with bitter satisfaction rushing through your veins like poison. You wanted Loki to feel the same pain his words had inflicted on you.

“Is that what you think?”, he asked quietly, and the hurt was now evident in his eyes, laid bare for you to read like a blinking neon sign, and the impassive mask was starting to slip from his handsome features.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK?!”, he screamed when you didn’t reply, and this time it was your turn to jump back at his sudden outburst, and your hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife you kept strapped to your thigh.

Loki noticed, and a cruel sneer twisted his lips. “So, you’re afraid of me? Do you still see me as a monster?” There was something pleading in his gaze, but you were too far gone in your rage to stop – just as he was.

“No”, you replied, suddenly so impossibly tired, “Not a monster. Monsters aren’t locked up in towers like pets.”

You knew you’d gone too far. You knew it hadn’t been solely about his betrayal in front of the others, the way he’d used the things you’d confided to him in your moment of vulnerability, but the pain of knowing he was right – maybe you would never belong to them if you had to try that hard. It was the deep pain of your daydream, the hope he could one day reciprocate the feelings you were harbouring for him, shattering with his words. The reality of seeing him every day, of loving him so fiercely and so silently because he was a god, and you were nothing but a girl dabbling in sorcery. Not worthy. It was all coming together, coalescing into this tsunami of hurt and grief and heartbreak to sweep you away and drown out any rational thoughts from your mind, making you lash out blindly like a wounded animal.

You could feel the pain of hearing these words ripple through Loki, see him flinch with their meaning.

“Fine”, Loki spoke at last, and the tone in his low voice was cold enough to freeze over a lake. “Go on then tomorrow like the desperate little fool you are. Die. I couldn’t care less.”  

With that, he vanished in a shimmer of rippling green light, leaving you alone in the hallway in front of your bedroom.

Free to ultimately let the tears spill and the single sob tear from your throat you’d fought so hard to hold back, and the fight and fury which had flooded you only seconds ago left you like a tidal wave, leaving behind nothing but sorrow and hurt.

Die. I couldn’t care less.

You sunk to the cold floor, knees pulled to your chest and head in your hands, sobs tearing through you as your heart broke.

“Don’t let me go. Not like this,” you whispered. “Please don’t let me go like this.”

***

Night had fallen, and eventually, your tears had stopped flowing, leaving your eyes red and stains of dried tears on your cheeks when you’d changed into your pyjamas and crawled into bed, feeling more miserable and lonelier that you ever had in your life. Had Loki really meant these words? Could you have been so blind in your feelings for him that you’d fallen for another of his illusions, one of kindness and empathy? Had you fallen for somebody who’d never really existed in reality?

Maybe you would die tomorrow. It was possible. Had Loki been right, and your skills weren’t ready enough for a mission of such impact?

If you died tomorrow, or, worse, fell back into the hands of Hydra, the last words you’d ever said to the love of your life would have been calling him a pet-monster unworthy to be trusted. In your pain of his own perceived betrayal, you’d lashed out and used his own obvious fears against him. You weren’t an ounce better than he was.

You needed to talk to him, you realized. You needed to apologize and tell him you hadn’t meant a single word of these vile things you’d thrown at him in your rage. You needed to tell him that you were sorry. Without a second thought, you jumped out of bed, not caring for the late hour. You needed to talk to Loki. With determination fuelling your steps, you pulled open your door – only to find Loki staring back at you in front of the doorway, hand raised as if he’d prepared himself to know on your door just as you’d ripped it open.

For a few heartbeats, neither of you uttered a word into the stunned silence which followed, before Loki finally breathed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t let you go like this. I can’t lose you.”

He crossed the last few steps separating the two of you, and there was no time for you to muster a reply before his lips crashed on yours and his hands found their way into your hair to pull you closer, the weight of his body pinning you against the nearest wall while your hand moved to slam the door close without ever breaking the kiss.

It was all you’d ever imagined it would be like kissing him, and so much more. His kisses, hot and heavy on your lips, were demanding, fuelled by a hunger which resonated with an ache deep within your own heart. His breath was hot against you as his lips parted to let out a soft groan, and his fingers raked through the strands of your hair while your own palms settled on the thin green fabric of his nightshirt, feeling the heat radiating from his firm body as he pressed closer, and your back hit the wall again with a soft thud.

You sighed with the sensation of Loki’s lips travelling along the line of your jaw and down the column of your throat while the grip of his long, elegant fingers in your hair tightened slightly to guide your head to the side and grant him further access to the sensitive skin on your neck, and the gentleness of his touches, despite the need the feverish kisses incited in both of you, made your heart leap with affection, and with love.

A moan tumbled from your lips when Loki’s teeth grazed the spot below your ear, and the last of your restraint dissolved like the smoke of an extinguished candle with the new fire his touches instilled in your lower belly, the pleasure which rippled through your body like waves in a pond when his tongue flicked out to graze the skin above your thundering pulse. You could already feel your arousal soaking the silky fabric of your panties when his hips pressed against yours. Your hands snaked down his chest and under the hem of his shirt, and when your palms made contact with his bare skin you could feel him quiver with the sensation of your touch.

His lips found their way back to yours, and one of his hands untangled from your hair to travel down the curve of your spine and settle on your lower back to pull you flush against him, and your body melted into his with another soft, blissful moan falling from your parted lips at the sensation. Your hands kept exploring his chest, every firm muscle, every slope, relishing the feeling of Loki’s fierce, messy kisses, the way he moved against you with the force of a thunderstorm, and still his touches, as urgent and possessive as his lips moving against yours, held a tenderness that made your heart sing with a happiness you’d never felt before.

Your legs hooked around his waist to pull him closer, and through the thin fabric of your panties, you could feel his erection pressing against your core, and both of you moaned at the contact.

A flash of green – and Loki had teleported the two of you across last steps to your bed in the blink of a second, never once breaking the string of passionate kisses you were sharing when he placed you down on the mattress, before he settled over you, his knees gently parting your legs and your heart rate spiked at the thought of what came next, what would happen if the two of you continued.

A whimper escaped your throat at the sensation of Loki’s hands roaming down your sides, nails grazing the skin on the curve of your waist before his fingers found the hem of your panties, and he began to toy with the delicate lace while he pulled away from the kiss, panting and flustered. The breath hitched in your throat at the sight of Loki hovering above you, his silky black curls messy where your hands had raked through the soft strands, and his pupils were dilated with desire – for you. And mixing with the lust darkening the blue of his eyes like storm clouds over the roaring sea, you could see softness swirling in the depths of his eyes, and something else, something you’d so often dreamed of seeing directed at you.

“Is this what you want?”, Loki whispered, and the roughness in his voice, strained with his own arousal and emotions, made your heart clench with the love you felt for him. Words had left you, and you nodded, breathlessly, hands tugging at his shirt in a silent plea to finally get rid of it, and Loki obeyed with a mischievous dark smirk, before another flash of green light illuminated the half-dark of your bedroom and the shirt was gone, along with the rest of his clothes, leaving you to marvel the firm muscles in his lean, strong body, the way they flexed and rippled when Loki lowered himself over you, one elbow resting on the pillow beside your head while his fingertips stopped toying with the lace of your panties and instead ripped them away in a flourish, and the fabric tore beneath his strong grip like paper with a ripping sound.

A shiver of anticipation rushed through your body, and Loki closed the space between the two of you once more, sealing your lips with his to resume the feverish kisses, and there was an ache in your chest for him, a hunger in your heart you knew could never really be sated. You needed him, you wanted to feel every inch of him against you, inside you, and your hands shot up to grab him. Inky black hair wrapped around your fingers, and you pulled him down to you with an eagerness which summoned a low, dark rumble of laughter from Loki’s lips, reverberating against your kiss. A sharp gasp of pleasure was torn from you when he buried himself inside you, your velvet walls wrapping around him as he pushed deeper, and the breath caught in your throat at the sensation. You could feel how he was restraining himself, afraid to hurt you, and the sinful sound he uttered at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, engulfing him in your wet heat, drove you mad with want. Your legs wrapped around his waist to change the angle and pull him deeper still. When you raised your hips in a silent command, it was all the reassurance he needed to begin to move with slow, measured thrusts which quickly grew faster, more erratic, and a string of moans escaped you with the ripples of scorching pleasure Loki’s movements sent cascading through your body every time he hit that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust.

The sensation of your bodies melting together, becoming one, the pleasure he was bestowing on you which kept blazing through your nerves like bolts of electricity, shattered you in the best possible way and made you pant and writhe beneath him. When he pulled away from the kiss to watch you, the softness he held for you in his lust-darkened eyes would have been enough to incite little fireworks of happiness in your heart. All the vile things you’d thrown at each other hours ago in the hallway didn’t matter anymore. The world blurred, and your senses heightened to his every touch, the feeling of his bare skin beneath your fingertips and his erratic breath mingling with yours in the small space between the two of you, and his delicate scent, a mix of pine soap and himself. Nothing else mattered but this moment, with Loki.

“I’m yours”, you whispered hoarsely, and your voice broke into another cry as his hand glid down between your bodies and the pad of his thumb brushed over the bundle of nerves between your thighs, sending another cascade of pleasure skittering through you, building the tightness in your lower abdomen with every thrust and every stroke of his fingers over your clit until your climax ripped through you with the force of a lightning bolt, and you could feel Loki’s own high pulling him under alongside you. With a groan, he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, his black strands of hair pleasantly tickling your cheeks while his pace slowed, and he rode out the last wave of your climaxes, before he collapsed into the sheets beside you.

For a few heartbeats, while you waited for your heartbeats to slow and the sweat on your bodies to cool, the only sounds breaking the silence which had settled over the room were your laboured pants mingling in the air and the sharp wail of a siren somewhere in the city streets below, before Loki pushed himself up to hover over you once more. Your breath caught at the sight. He looked so beautiful, with the soft orange glow of the never sleeping city below and the silver light of the half-moon spilling through your window from above, painting golden and blue patterns on the side of his still slightly flushed face and on his halo of midnight-black hair, tousled and unkempt from the things you’d just done together. There was a sparkle in his captivating eyes as he gazed down at you with marvel, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened – before the smile vanished, and sincerity took its place.

“I didn’t mean any of these things I said to you earlier, Y/N. I didn’t mean them,” he finally spoke, and it sounded hoarse with emotions.

You kept staring at him, dumbfounded and at an utter loss of words, so he added, “And I don’t want you to die.”

“Thank you”, you mumbled with a small smile in an attempt to say something, only to mentally slap yourself as soon as the words were out.

“Look, I’ve never done this”, Loki went on, “So…this is new for me. The reason I told them you weren’t ready wasn’t to hurt you. I wanted to protect you. You’re more than ready to join them, but then you’ll be in danger, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being in danger, not even for a second. The thought that these people and their monsters will try to kill you after having hurt you so much already. I’m scared. Terribly so. To lose you. Okay? I can’t lose you because…I love you. I’m in love with you, deeply, and I have been for a while now.”

There were tears shining in his eyes, and tears welling up in your own upon hearing his words, the confession you’d so often dreamed to hear from his lips, the most beautiful words forged by his silver tongue. You were overwhelmed with everything it made you feel, the sheer happiness which flooded you like warm rays of sunlight, strangling every word you could have uttered in reply with happy tears. Loki seemed to panic at your loss of words.

“Please tell me that’s not how you see me. What you said, about…”

“Loki, I love you”, you finally whispered with a half sob, and his eyes briefly fluttered close as he exhaled with relief. “And I’m so sorry for the things I said. I wish I could take them back. I didn’t mean any of it.”

With the sweetest of smiles playing on Loki’s lips, he gently rested his forehead against yours, before he placed a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips.

“Please don’t go tomorrow”, he whispered, and the despair was back in his pleading tone. “I can’t lose you, my love.” He knew he couldn’t talk you out of it, and you could feel that he didn’t want to pressure you. It was your decision, and Loki respected it as such – he was only pleading with you to reconsider. But your mind was made up already.

You began to trace the side of his face with your index finger, and he immediately leaned into your touch. “I need to. I can’t just stay here and do nothing. These men hurt me, and they’ll hurt so many more people if we don’t stop them. All these hours of training together, the things you’ve taught me – you helped me achieve these skills. It’s time to put them to use.”

He swallowed, obviously fighting to keep his panic at bay, but he nodded. “Then let me come with you.”

You blinked up at him with surprise. “I don’t think the others will let you.”

“I don’t care”, Loki breathed, placing another feather-light kiss to your lips. “You go, I go.”

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ♡

♡ 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫  𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠  (𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞  𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭)

♡ 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢  

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝)🖤:  @boneheadduluc @spiderhostia @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 @zemosimp05 @justfangirlthingies @cazzyimagines @rumblelibrary @victias @justanothertruebeliver @chiptaylormybeloved @vverliebt @madhatter2727 @a-simp-recommends-fics  

[levicanpunchme]

I love your writing so much 😭😭😭 can I request ReaderxLevi they’re married after the war and treated Falco and Gabi as their owns? thank youuu

A/N: Thank you😭 I’m sorry this is a little late but I was procrastinating so much. I hope you like it ❤️

———————————————————————

Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Fluff/Tiny Angst

Warning: Major Manga Spoilers ⚠️

Lucky To Be Alive

The kitchen was bathed in bright orange, soft strokes of wind travelling through the window, swaying against your frame. There was a distant sound of birds murmuring but it was overpowered by the bubbling of water. You were currently making tea for your husband, just the way he liked. He had taught you his intricate method of brewing tea, so specific that he strongly recommended boiling water on the stove and not a microwave. His tea tasting skills were so sharp, he could tell the difference in taste immediately. You knew because you had tried tricking him once.

You were pouring the steaming water into the cup when muscular arms wrapped around your waist, embracing you. You didn’t flinch because you recognised your husband’s scent immediately but froze in between your actions when you felt his body’s warmth against yours.

It was too warm-the kind where you assumed he had been sitting in the depths of hellfire for hours.

“Levi, why’re you so hot!” You screeched, dropping the strainer as you looked over your shoulder, horrified. You met his silver gaze looking at you in a daze. His lips then curled into a dizzying smile and he chuckled like he was drunk, catching you off guard.

“Why thank you for noticing-isn’t it a little too late for a confession. I’m already married to you,” his words abrasively slurred, his head lolling into your neck and his eyes glinting as if he was actually losing his marbles.

You quickly turned in his arms which were still fastened around your waist and gasped at the sight. The rim of Levi’s nose and his cheeks were stained red, his narrow eyes squinting more than usual. You anxiously placed your hands on his jaw, cupping his oval face. The touch burned your palms. You frowned, your heart palpitating. “Levi, you’re burning up,” you frantically muttered. “I think you’ve caught a fever.”

He stared at you silently for a moment and then his gaze flicked in realisation. He nodded. “Ah, I was wondering why my body feels like someone threw me into a cauldron to cook me up,” he rasped, lightheartedly.

You didn’t laugh. You pushed his arms away, earning a groan from him, which you ignored. You grabbed his hand, pulling him along with you. You noticed Levi didn’t fight your hold and your concern grew larger, realising, he probably didn’t have the strength to disobey. You headed to your bedroom and sat him down on the sheets.

“No, I’m tired of laying around,” he rasped. “Let’s go to the new amusement park you wanted to visit so badly,” he suggested and you looked at him like he had grown two heads.

“You don’t even like amusement parks,” you muttered, reminded of the time when he called them too loud and social.

“Yeah, but you like them.” Your heart fluttered at the softness in his tone. He always acted too tough but was unknowingly the most expressive man you knew.

“I’ll get you some tea. Lay down,” you urged, pushing at his toned chest. Unwillingly, he persisted your motion but when you glared daggers his way, he cowered like a young boy and laid down, his head resting against the headboard. You eyed him narrowly once again, silently warning him to stay in place and then hurried to the kitchen, hoping tea was still warm.

You touched the rim of the handle and flinched at the burning sensation it left on your fingers. Relieved, you placed the cup on a saucer and jogged back into the room. Levi was sat upright, his eyes shut and breathing heavy. You approached him in the blink of an eye, giving him the freshly brewed tea.

“It’s exactly the way you like it,” you whispered, a concerned smile uplifting your lips. He surveyed the cup and then brought it up to his pale lips to drink. You patiently waited for his reaction.

He was silent for a moment, but you could tell he liked it because he was already sipping some more and more. You still waited for his praise. Levi had praised you for everything but your tea making and at this point, it was an obstacle you had to conquer- to feel the taste of sweet victory as you finally marked this off your checklist.

“It’s darker than normal.”

You wanted to smack him so bad. Your fists clenched in annoyance as you rolled your eyes at him; no matter how great of a tea you made, he would always have something to add against it.

Levi, on the other hand, sat grinning as he sipped more of the simmering tea. His inner conscience was telling him to confess the truth, the truth being that the tea was fucking beautiful-just the way he liked, perfect colour, temperature and flavour but he wanted to tease you and watch the feisty glow inside your irises bloom.

You restrained from throwing a tantrum over his lies, all your attention driven towards another issue at the moment: Levi’s health.

“Levi, it doesn’t seem like you’ve caught a cold. Have your wounds been infected again?” You worriedly placed your hand on his free one, feeling the feverish heat radiating off his body.

It had been five years since the battle of heaven and earth, five years since Levi Ackerman lost fragments of his soul into the greatest turmoil of humanity. During the battle, your allies were brutally killed-murdered, yet the whole time, you prayed for his safety. He was in no position to fight but you knew he couldn’t back away. There were things only the greatest solider of this era could’ve achieved.

Levi‘s skin was a canvas of his pain; the wounds were deeply carved into his skin, telling the story of a solider who fought with all his might. His beautiful face was struck in the middle from a sharp blade, a large scar embedded in the right side of his face, elongating all the way to his eye. The mound around his ears was burned and tore off due to immense heat exposure. This was just the tip of the iceberg: Levi’s body was scarred thousand times over.

Levi didn’t answer immediately. He took his time, ingesting the last two sips. Then he placed the cup on the side table and stared into your eyes. “I’ve survived countless wars. A mere fever won’t kill me,” he said expressionless, making your guts twist in agony.

You feigned ignorance like his comment didn’t just dig at your heart. If that was his way of comforting you, then damn he sucked at it.

“I’ll make you some stew,” you told him and stood up to leave but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“No, stay with me,” his eyes reminded you of the time when everything finally ended, when the rumbling stopped and the war was won. At that time, he didn’t look like he had won anything. Levi had battled against Titans all his life but when, the curse of the Eldians had faced its destruction, Levi’s grey orbs were faraway, in another land.

Your body tightened in concern and you sat back down on the bed, beside him. He held your hand, surveying you, and traced his thumbs along your knuckles.

The silence was suddenly interrupted when you heard heavy footsteps hit your porch. You looked at the main door in anticipation and then the sound of a bike’s ringing resounded. The door opened hurriedly and at first you caught sight of brown hair swaying and then in rushed Gabi. You smiled as she came rushing inside.

“Y/n!” She dashed inside, the aroma of freshly baked cookies diffusing into the room. The petite brown-haired devil was now an honourable soldier of the country.

Five years ago, if someone had told you that you’d be visited by a Marley warrior, you’d have called them crazy. However, after the war it was like living in a new world. Marley, despite their reluctance, were forced to forgive and forget. It was the only way out for the remaining 20% of humanity to not fall into extinction. Intermarriages between Marley and the Eldians grew rapidly after the revival of earth. It took years but things had finally begun to settle.

“Oi, how’d this brat get in?” Levi narrowly stared at Gabi, his eyebrow arched in scepticism. Gabi glared at him, her brown eyes glinting with annoyance. “The door was open,” she muttered.

“Weren’t you here like yesterday?” Levi again said nonchalantly and you stared at him wide eyed, giving him the ‘shut up’ look.

Gabi clenched her fist frustratedly. “I’m not here for you grouchy pants,” she yelled and then turned towards you, ecstatically. “Y/n, I’ve brought you cookies from the new bakery that opened on our street,” the wide eyed girl cheered, handing you the bag of goods.

“I love cookies! Thank you so much Gabi!” You graciously smiled, ruffling her hair.

“I told her you liked them.” You heard a silvery voice from behind and turned to see Falco, against the wooden door, holding his baseball cap in one hand as he smiled. The scared little boy who’s biggest dream was to marry Gabi was now an aspiring baseball player.

“Oi, who told you she likes cookies,” Levi’s threatening voice emerged and poor Falco shrunk against his cold gaze. You rolled your eyes at your husband.

“Well, I-uh-I saw her making some the other day and assumed that she liked them-I didn’t mean to-” the teen stuttered over his words, incredibly disturbed.

“Don’t mind him. Thank you Falco,” you chimed, standing to ruffle his hair.

“But I bought them for you in the heat of the morning-standing in that long queue!” Gabi scowled, her eyes narrowing at Falco who looked like he wanted to jump off the window, feeling the walls of the room were now suffocating.

You giggled softly and placed your hand on both of their heads, ruffling their hair lovingly. “I appreciate both of you so much,” you chimed. In return, Gabbie proudly puffed up her chest.

She then turned, surveying Levi who sat on the bed uninterested. “Captain, why does it look like an elephant trampled over you?” She sarcastically assumed and you almost laughed.

Levi narrowly stared at Gabi, about to clap back at her sarcastically but you quickly intervened. “He’s got a fever. I was just going to make him some stew,” you told the teens. Gabi’s smug smile wiped off as she stared at Levi silently; Falco also stepped closer to inspect the sick man.

Your heart melted as the two watched Levi, concern washing over their faces, making them pale. Gabi and Falco were deeply attached to Levi after the war. Despite acting like they hated him, they carried immense respect for the Captain and followed him around like little ducklings-inspired by his great strength and combativeness. Gabi was so intrigued knowing he alone had slaughtered 58+ titans without modern weaponry that she couldn’t stop questioning him about his experiences. He acted like she was a bother but secretly enjoyed the look of fascination in her eyes after every interrogation. They visited your home very often along with Jean and Connie.

Your raven haired husband noticed their worried frowns and grew embarrassed. You could tell by the sudden frantic look in his eyes. “Tch, I’m perfectly alright. Y/n likes to exaggerate,” he rasped, staring at you for help.

Levi was always so awkward when someone expressed genuine concern for him; he had warmed up to you eventually and loved your concerned nagging but with others, he still didn’t know the correct response.

“Guys, don’t worry. He’ll be better in no time.” You smiled warmly.

Suddenly Falco stood upright, eagerly putting on his cap. “I’ll get the fever-reducer and painkillers,” he announced like a solider on a mission and marched out the door to a pharmacist. “I’ll make stew and some honey tea, Reiner drinks it whenever he’s sick,” Gabi rushed to explain and hurried out to the kitchen.

You stared blankly. Your eyes warmed up. You looked towards Levi and noticed his eyes twinkling with something unknown. You could feel his overwhelming emotions and grabbed his thin hand, tracing your thumb against his skin comfortingly.

“Levi, aren’t we so lucky to be living in this world?” You softly whispered, afraid to break his trance.

His eyes which used to be dull, scared, tired were now brimming with happiness. You could feel it. He looked at you, nodding softly.

As you caressed his hand, his hold grew tighter.

“Do you think they remember?” He rasped, his voice so small you barely heard him. “Every time they see us, do they remember what happened to Colt... Udo... Zofia?” His voice cracked, overcome with the horrors of each war.

You edged close, caressing his jaw to meet his eyes. The eyes were so grey and sad.

“Levi, are you reminded of what happened to Sasha, Hange and so many of your comrades every time you see them?” You asked, making him ponder upon the question.

He instantly shook his head, disagreeing. “No, I don’t because... it’s not their fault.” He looked sullen. You nodded, staring into his eyes so he could understand the truth behind his words.

“Exactly. None of it is anyone’s fault. It was never our fault,” you reminded him.

Levi stared at you, his gaze softening.

Five year ago, he’d have swore he was nothing but a sacrificial lamb for the humankind’s sake. How did his empty existence manage to build himself a home? He had somehow lived. Struggle after struggle, he was finally free. Beyond the walls, there was a paradise, a paradise of freedom which he was sharing with none other than you.

Levi’s lips curled into a soft curve; he was never sure of the right answer. Was he thankful to have survived or did he wish to be rolled up into the destruction, ending his pain once in for all? He didn’t know. He only knew one thing deep in his heart: he wouldn’t trade his life for anything in the world right now.

He leaned in and kissed your mouth, tasting the sweetness of his life. You kissed back instinctively, his touch making your insides curl up.

“I’ve brought the medicine!”

You pushed him away, wide eyed while Levi groaned in annoyance. Rolling your eyes, you stood up, facing Falco who was red-faced, seeming like he had run his way back hurriedly to bring the medicine. You smiled at him.

“Give them to Levi. I’ll check up on Gabi,” you ruffled his hair again and walked away, leaving the tense duo together.

Falco edged closer to Levi, his anxiety topping the roof as he poured water into a cup. He silently gave Levi the cup of water and medicine. Levi silently observed Falco and then took the medicine, gulping it down in one go.

“Captain, do you need to see a doctor?” He hesitantly asked.

“I’m not a captain anymore, Falco,” Levi told him as a matter-of-fact.

All nerves disappeared from Falco’s frame as he heard the audible softness in Levi’s tone. He again stood upright and answered passionately. “You’ll always be a captain,” he responded. “No matter what.”

Levi smiled at the boy’s admonition. When Falco saw the smile, he couldn’t help smile huge too. It was rare to see Captain Levi break into any expression whatsoever; he’d only seen the captain smile bright with his wife.

“Have you still not got the balls to ask Gabi out?” Levi suddenly asked and Falco’s face reddened, his eyes widening in shock.

“Uh- I- no. I tried but she’s so busy all the time,” Falco winced as he tried to explain, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, embarrassedly. Levi threw his head back, a hearty laugh leaving his chest. The laugh made Falco want to crawl out of the room and hide away.

“Who’s busy all the time?” Gabi and you walked in, your hands carrying a bowl of stew which you kept on the side table.

“Nothing-No one!” Falco yelled like a deer caught in headlights, his voice cracking, straining to keep it together. You looked at Levi who seemed to be smug, his gaze flicking with humour.

“I have tickets to the amusement park,” Levi suddenly announced. You eyed him, confused. “I was going to take my wife if I wasn’t so sick but Falco and Gabi can go or it’ll be such a waste,” he said it like a command, and pulled the side drawer to reveal actual tickets.

You eyed him, shocked. You didn’t realise he had planned an entire trip to the amusement park for today. No wonder, he was going on about it. You smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah guys, it’s the new park. You’ll have lots of fun,” you told them. Falco and Gabi hesitantly stared at the tickets.

“Uh, it’s okay I don’t want to go-” Gabi said.

Levi arched an eyebrow at Falco, hinting at him to take action. The brown haired boy wanted to agree with Gabi, not wanting to discomfort her but Levi’s challenging expression made him abruptly move to grab the tickets.

“Yeah, we’ll go or it’ll be a waste...” he told her and Gabi’s face flushed, her eyes widening in embarrassment. She hesitantly looked around and then replied, “Fine!” She squealed and then the duo wandered out. Before Falco left he looked back at Levi, his eyes glinting with joy and the look in Levi’s eyes told you he was involved in setting up Falco and Gabi.

“You helped Falco out, didn’t you,” you muttered, eyeing him accusingly.

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and then grabbed your arm, pulling you on top of him, his heat travelling through your body. You gasped as he attacked your lips again. “I needed them gone... to do this,” he whispered against your skin, expressing his ulterior motives and left his marks down your throat, causing goosebumps to rise on your flushed skin.

You were surely very lucky to have this man beside you- everyday-every night-this entire life.

•=•

[nonwal]

so like. you’re the elf equivalent of a 19 year old who's working on his second PhD while also in a powerful political position. everyone is super impressed with you but also, you’re a fucking baby to them. They’re all hundreds if not thousands of years old with multiple lifetimes under their belt, and all they see is someone on his first life who has spent far too much of his first hundred years buried in books.

it’s not that they don’t think you’ve earned your place. but you are quite literally peerless. you substitute your own growing ambition and thirst for knowledge for friends. you’ve accomplished more in one century than most of these pretentious fuckers have in a millennia. you don’t need them. you need them to let you do your work.

but they’re too obsessed with ~religion~ to let you do anything interesting. so. you make a deal with mages from the empire. you’re basically committing an act of both treason and heresy, but like. hey. if they’re going to stick to their stupid rules and grudges at the expense of progress and knowledge, someone’s gonna have to do it.

obviously everyone is super upset over this, but you figure they’ll figure out how to fucking deal with it. things are tense but more or less okay for a decade-ish. no one suspects you, and you begin to think that you got away with it. then shit falls apart, and you realize you don’t have control over the situation anymore. your country goes to war, which turns out to be incredibly inconvenient, because your job during wartime is 1000% suckier and you barely have time to study things you’re actually interested in.

then some foreigners show up with the beacon you traded away, claiming they want to end the war.

you try not to panic. you keep an eye on them, try to figure out what these shifty weirdos know, what pieces of information they continue to uncover. one of them is a wizard with direct ties to your collaborators, and you’re not sure if this a test or some bizarre coincidence.

but shifty as they are, they do seem to be telling the truth, or at least an abbreviated version of it. they’re bizarre and unpredictable and have no sense of decorum, but they’re endearing and they’re trying so hard. 

and. they seem to like you? treat you as a confidant of sorts, send you ridiculous messages at inopportune moments, ask you to teleport them around to find an ancient dragon (how are these idiots still alive) or chase after their lost friend (whoops we actually meant a different spot) or or or

you try to be annoyed. you try to view it as a transactional relationship. you tell yourself this is a preventative measure to prevent them from uncovering your secret. but they’re trying so hard, and you want them to succeed. and that feels. 

bad. 

because you have always been the enemy they're hunting, long before you wanted to be their friend. you started this fucking war they’re trying to end—indirectly, yes, but callously, knowing it was a possibility and not caring.

and now you care about someone besides yourself. it is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you. it used to be that discovery would mean your death. now it means that you will die knowing that the mighty nein hate you. betraying your country meant almost nothing, but this—

Essek. We don’t know anything about you, we just realized—do they suspect?—we should really hang out more. Are you single? Do you have kids? Swipe right? Also, mom’s name? 

...you don’t deserve this. you’re going to go over for dinner anyway, aren’t you? 

(they ask you what the worst thing you’ve ever done is and for one insane moment you want to tell the truth.)

you help them and use them in the same breath. you want—need—this war to end. if you do things carefully, they never have to know, right? you’ve lost your resolve, your unwavering confidence in your own arrogant importance, but it’s worth the trade. you can simmer in your own private guilt for years, lifetimes, as long as you don’t have to see a look of betrayal on their faces.

you’ve never regretted anything this much. you’re starting to hate yourself.

then. of course. they’re on the fucking ship. you feel as if you are being watched, but maybe that is just your newfound conscience hounding you. you go to the damned party. you avoid them. it is in Jester’s nature to be completely unavoidable. she makes idle chitchat while you stew in your own anxiety and guilt. you’re terrified. you’re tired. you take a sip of your drink.

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

[root-admins]

SINoALICE x NieR Replicant - Weapon Stories

A complete compilation of all weapon stories from SINoALICE’s NieR Replicant collab... well, the ones that has lore to do with NieR anyways.

Whatever grammar mistakes/translation errors belongs to Pokelabo, and you will tell there are some. Most are stories are pretty self-explanatory tho.

Grimoire Weiss

We fought for what seemed like ages. To kill those things that took a twisted human form. To protect those precious to me, with my own hands. We were deceived for so long. Deceived by people in a land we've never been, whose faces we've never seen Issuing orders from a safe distance. We must have been in love. And despite the fact I couldn't save you, but I never got to thank you for saving me. These fragments glimmering deep in my depths... they seem to be the vague memories of people... the faded remnants of human wisdom... H-hold on! I’ll have you know my name is not “Booky Wooky!” You may call me "Grimoire Weiss" I am a great compendium of ancient wisdom. Treat me with respect!

Grimoire Noir

My name is the Black Book. Are you the king who will lead the world to salvation? Don't be so surprised, Your Majesty. For me, it is a simple matter to speak human words. I sympathize with your distress, Your Majesty. On this occasion, however, we have no choice but to let them deal with your sister. When sorrow overtakes you, you may come to me and speak of your tribulations. Reading is an admirable pursuit. Your Majesty--for me?? I shall peruse this volume if it comes on your recommendation... What is that? You think it odd for a book to read a book? Noir? I would prefer to dispense with this nickname. My name, Your Majesty, is the Black Book. I am a grand tome of human wisdom... thus, to refer to me by such a curious moniker is, dare I say, inappropriate.

Kaine’s Sword

She was slender, with smooth, white skin. The hint of a dark shadow in her expression highlighted her beautiful features. But something about the sword in her hand didn't seem to fit the picture. Anger, sorrow, hatred. When emotions overwhelmed her, she would swing the sword, so there was never a lack of blood to quench its thirst. The problem was that she couldn't put the sword down. A heart and body in constant conflict. No one in the world could understand her. And loneliness was eating her alive. The long war came to an end, and darkness devoured her. But her heart remained at peace. Because she faced fate in the arms of the one she loved.

Halua Head

File_25_10: Update Soon twins will be arriving. There is nothing at all in the white-walled, prison-like room except for a white bed. If only there were something to do in there... File_25_12: Update I went to look in on them, and the girl was kindly encouraging her anxious younger brother. The two of them had heavy expectations to fulfill. The weight of all humanity's hope bore down upon them. File_26_06: Update The day of the experiment, the girl passed me a letter. To the very end, she wanted someone to watch over her brother. Once I agreed, she quickly ran away. Report: Human Weapon Development Things seem to be progressing as expected with Experimental Subject A (Sister), but her condition has changed drastically. In her present state, she seems to have no sense of self. I am urgently beginning work on Experimental Subject B (Brother).

Devola & Popola’s Staff

－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks for that soup recipe! My mom loved it!  －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ A note received from a child in the village. Does this mean they are developing a sense of self? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks to the medicine you gave me, I'm feeling a lot better, though I can't leave home yet. Just sending a note to say thanks. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ According to our records, humans wrote their feelings down on pieces of paper, and sent them to others. Where did they learn to do such a thing? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, I like you a lot. Will you be my girlfriend? Waiting to hear back. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ I simply cannot understand the things they have written on these scraps of paper. I feel an unfamiliar feeling, my heart saying “no”… －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but I'm coming home late tonight. Go ahead and sleep if you're tired. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Ah, Devola. No need to worry about me this way. Tee-hee.

Favorite Pot

Yonah, I learned a special recipe! When you eat it, all your injuries will be gone! Oh! I want everyone to feed it to those they care about!

The ingredients are deer meat, sea turtle eggs, fresh veggies and herbs from the garden, and lastly tons of scorpion claws! Next, fill a pot up with all your ingredients, place the top on, and let it simmer overnight! The white steam rising from it is just so mesmerizing. ...Oh! I think it's ready! Smell for a soft scent when you take the lid off. That means it's done! I can't wait to give it to grandpa.

Transience

"Rule 0: You have the right to disband a rule by vote." I am the king's aide and second-in-command. Until now, all rules have be absolute, however, a "Voting Rite" was held where citizens could vote to change rules. Now, let's see what sort of ballots were made...

"Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime." And stated as the reason is: because I like drinking... Because it's anonymous, all these votes are based off selfish desires. We need to improve the system somehow that reflects public opinion.

"Rule 356: Royal inquiries are limited once per day." And stated as the reason is: because I long to be with the King more...? Could this Fyra's vote...? No. Of course not. She's not the type to be interested in love. Moving on...

"Rule 68: The King's aides are to forever serve at his side" Reason being: Thank you for all your hard work. You deserve a break once in awhile... Could this be from the King himself? I'm honored to have stood by your side all these years. And the citizens of this country are proud of your work. There's no doubt of it.

Note: After rigorous deliberation, "Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime", the most voted for rule, was repealed.

Grimoire Weiss ver.1.224

My name is Grimoire Weiss. I am an ancient tome of profound wisdom. After awakening from my long slumber, I traveled the world with my most beloved friends. She was a woman lacking respect for her elders. She'd continuously talk down to me, calling me nothing but paper and even set me aflame. However... Her rash words were also the driving force that moved us all. He was a compassionate and gentle boy who loved his friends. His manor of dress was odd, but his kind words warmed everyone's hearts. This I know to be true. I wonder if he, too had felt any relief from his sins. He was a cheeky guy, but not one you could just leave behind. We've been through a number of rough times together. I'd tell ya about it, but... I'm running out of time. If... If only I had an arm... Then I could have...hugged...him...

Grimoire Rubrum

It's the silk of fate. Knowing you, I shall begin living a life of truth. It's the forbidden fruit. Protecting you, I shall sink into wisdom's abyss. Those are the flames of anxiety. Thinking of you, I shall endure eternity's darkness. That is a reunion of bitter tears. Who are they? Why is it not me who's besides you?

Kaine’s Dual Blades ver.1.224

I craved it. Blind violence and blood-thirsty carnage. And I found it. I finally found it. A vessel stained with anger and hatred, seeking vengeance for the murder of her parents. I possessed that woman and gave her "power." That power turned the woman into a beast. One swing of her blade was enough to cut through stone and her grazes healed in an instant. She began downing every foe before her in the name of vengeance. I was delighted to witness the fruition of my desires. The woman's destruction didn't end there. After having her revenge, she continued to exert her "power" for the sake of her friends. Along her journey, her anger and hatred showed signs of waning, however, I gave it no thought. All I desired was to continue bathing in her bloodshed. Because her body has reached its limit, her power has lost control. Still, in the midst of the clashing of blades, I could feel her desire to protect her friends. Yes, this is the violence and carnage I crave. But why is it deplorable and empty?

Devola & Popola’s Spear

Upon hearing an old lady from the village caught a cold, I immediately collected my medicinal herbs with some boiled water, and rushed out from the library. I nursed her and remained by her side until her symptoms calmed down. She was extremely grateful for it.

I read a picture book to a group of children from the village. It was of an old tale about a brave, courageous man who triumphs over evil. I watched their expressions alternated between joy to sorrow to the story's pacing. I'm glad they enjoyed it.

Devola and I performed a song for the people at the village tavern. In addition to the regulars who drank there, elders and children were part of the audience. At the end of our song, the entire crowd smiled and cheered.

Every day Devola and I have been staying late at the library thinking of a plan to make life easier for the villagers. They're indispensable "vessels" for the project, so we need to do what we can for them.

Letter to the Postman

I was in a dimly lit cabin when I met a kind man. He taught me how to write a letter. What should I write on a blank piece of paper...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――��

Apparently, a letter should start off with the name of the person you want to give it to. Of course, I'd want it to be his. I hope he'll be able to read my sloppy handwriting... ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

At the end of the letter should be the name of the person who wrote it. Of course, that would be the name he gave me. Is it odd my chest feels warm writing it...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

And in-between these two names, I'm supposed to write how I feel. And tell him what I want the most. I wonder if he'll be happy to receive this...?

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans, Thank you　Thank you　Thank you Thank you　Thank you　Thank you　Thank you 　Thank you　Thank you. Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Everytime you come up with your amazing works in my Tumblr timeline I always think of how much of a talented and a beautiful soul you are. But what makes me appreciate your art even more, is the fact that despite all the horrible things happening to your country, you're still working to give us such beautiful stuff. Such an example for us all. 🤍

I've always wanted to write some lines to you, but I was too shy to do it or maybe too concerned.

Sending you lots of love from Italy, hoping that this hell on earth Ukraine is living right now will end soon.

Jane xx

Thank you so much, Jane. Your words truly warmed my heart! Indeed it wasn't easy to continue this blog. When the war started I wasn't thinking about Sims at all, but I asked for help from people here and surprisingly they helped me a great deal. They supported me, donated, sent their prayers. Simmers and just people who followed my blog and whom I don't even know showed me such kindness I never met before. So yeah… One of the reasons why I'm still here is the people who support me, people like you, Jane. You all made this blog possible^^ The second reason is that my silly art in Sims keeps me sane :D It helped me during my depression time and it helps me still. And the last, but not least, I try to help my family, my neighbors and my country using donations from Patreon. It's not much, but in such hard times it makes a difference and I'm truly grateful for everyone who chooses to support me. Wish you lot of peace, health and safety, Jane. Take care.

Eugene xx

[engelspolitics]

History of Chinese Emperors

https://www.grunge.com/199249/the-tragic-history-of-chinese-emperors/

Chinese emperors existed for 4000 years; 49 dynasties, the longest of which lasted 289 years and the shortest lasted less than a year

About half of all emperors died in office/abdicated by choice; the rest was assassinated, forced to abdicate or commit suicide

Some emperors were very powerful absolute rulers; others basically gilded prisoners

Qin became first emperor of unified China in 221 BC through Total War and killing of his enemies, including brothers and sisters

Tang dynasty (618-907 CE) is widely regarded as the greatest of China's dynasties but their system of succession was so unstable that 12 direct heirs to the throne didn't survive long enough

Murdering happened into the last Quing dynasty (1644-1911)

Even unified China fell apart every now and then

As the Jin dynasty collapsed (266-420 CE) in the fourth and fifth centuries, China fragmented into multiple competing kingdoms.

Only one emperor in Chinese history was monogamous (Hongzhi)

Some emperors were insane

Fu Sheng → "one-eyed tyrant," half-blind; forbade the words like "missing" or "without," killing anyone who said them in his presence. He was deposed and killed in just two years for drunkenness, idiocy, and needless cruelty.

Liu Shan, abdicated in 263, was so incompetent his name is now idiom for idiot

Being related to an emperor was dangerous → long-standing Chinese tradition to execute entire generations of your enemy's family

Uprisings and rebellions were usually led by people eager to cull the imperial herd

Not safe in own home; concubines often murdered emperor or family members

Lives of concubines

As early as the Jin dynasty (266-420 CE) concubines were conscripts, chosen according to the particular criteria of that dynasty or emperor. For over fifteen hundred years, women and girls were kidnapped from or given away by their families

Foot binding was mandatory

Harems were full of jealousy and rivalry, and attacks/murders were common

Concubines belonged to emperor, who could kill him if he wanted

As part of the royal household concubines were often subject to purges as well and could be killed by competing sons or warlords

Well-performing concubines could be buried with the emperor upon his death

Four beauties → most beautiful women of ancient China (one may have been fictional)

Their stories come from four different dynasties and epitomized Chinese ideals of beauty

Xi Shi was sent by a rival king as revenge; so beautiful that fish would forget how to swim and sink below the surface upon seeing her reflection in the water

Bao Si was of surpassing beauty but never smiled apart from when the king repeatedly lighted the signal towers warning the kingdom of invasion. This aggravated his allies and when an invasion did happen he was left to his fate.

Wang Zhaojun sent away on accident

Diaochan so beautiful the moon would shy away when she looked at it

Foreign invaders ended many dynasties.

Qin Shi Huang began construction of the Great Wall to keep out the Xiongnu, who only vanquished after over 200 years of war

It took Genghis and Kublai 60 years to complete invasion and takeover of China

The Yuan dynasty they established lasted over 200 years.

The last Qing Dynasty, ended partially after a century of aggression and meddling by other imperial powers and is now known as the "Century of humiliation."

However also internal powers also brought down dynasties

without even counting events of 20th century, 4of the 10 bloodiest wars in human history were Chinese civil wars.

Most Chinese dynasties dealt with too many rebellions and revolutions to count

Especially uprisings of the Ming dynasty (1368-1644 CE) The Han (206 BCE-220 CE) and Qing (1636-1911 CE) dynasties

Song dynasty (960-1279 CE) is known by historians as economically prosperous and culturally dynamic but not politically stable

Six rebellions occurred in the Song's first 80 years, the country split in two by 1127, and was overwhelmed by internal unrest for decades on end before finally succumbing to the Mongols.

China's emperors were beset by religious and ethnic independence movements simmering for centuries before boiling over

The Han put down the Red Eyebrow rebellion, faced the Five Pecks of Rice Rebellion, and was then taken down by the Yellow Turbans.

The White Lotus, a political and religious group started during the Song dynasty, helped weaken the Qing before the anti-foreign, anti-imperialist Boxer rebellion ultimately exposed incompetence and the empire fell forever in 1911.

The Tang dynasty's (618-097 CE) Empress Wu Zetian was the only outright female monarch in Chinese history

Became a royal concubine at 14, finagled her way into the position of first consort, then empress consort, then empress dowager, before ruling openly as emperor.

Accomplished this by murdering her own infant daughter and blaming the emperor's wife who she then had killed too

After China was defeated in the First Sino-Japanese War the emperor pursued the Hundred Days of Reform to modernize the country and reshape the government.

The Empress Dowager Cixi disagreed with this and supported a coup against her own son, reversed the reform policies, and took power, ruling from behind a literal screen) until her death in 1908.

Reformist Emperor Wang Bang, only emperor of the ill-fated Xin dynasty (9-23 CE) was killed by a peasant uprising for his efforts.

China's emperors were anointed to lead as the literal Son of Heaven.

Anyone approaching, or approached by, the emperor had to kowtow → prostrate on their knees with their forehead touching the ground.

Emperor had fleet of custom-carriages and personal roads no one else could use

Emperor had own unique first-person pronoun.

The colour yellow had been associated with nobility since the Han but the Ming and Qing made it illegal for anyone else to wear.

Forbidden City consisted of 98 separate buildings, thousands of staff, and was a city functioning on its own

The Mandate of Heaven bestowed on all China's emperors was not a birthright but was earned and could be revoked → if emperors let country fall into poverty and chaos or lose face they were removed by force, frequently by their own generals.

Song dynasty was started by a military coup, then neglected the military and focussed on art but after centuries of fragile peace the empire fell to the Mongols.

There were massive coups involving millions of people and going on for years, like the one led by general An Lushan against the Tang dynasty which lasted eight years and cost up to 36 million lives.

A failed coup against Qin Shi Huang solidified his position as King of Qin, allowing him strength to become the first emperor of a unified China.

Gift-giving (guanxi, meaning relationships/connections) has been widespread in Chinese politics and business

Illicit income in the Ming and Qing dynasties was calculated by University of Missouri to be 14 to 20 times as much as official income.

[ritankim]

Where do roots grow?

You have your Lebanon and I have mine.

You have your Lebanon with her problems, and I have my Lebanon with her beauty.

You have your Lebanon with all her prejudices and struggles, and I have my Lebanon with all her dreams and securities.

Your Lebanon is a political knot, a national dilemma, a place of conflict and deception. 

My Lebanon is a place of beauty and dreams of enchanting valleys and splendid mountains.

Your Lebanon is inhabited by functionaries, officers, politicians, committees, and factions. My Lebanon is for peasants, shepherds, young boys and girls, parents and poets.

Your Lebanon is empty and fleeting, whereas My Lebanon will endure forever.

- Gibran Kahlil Gibran, "The Eye of the Prophet" 1920

----

This ongoing research project is to document, archive and get to know better the plants used in traditional cuisine and medicine in Lebanon. Writing down knowledge passed on culturally, I want to safekeep it. Motivated by the desire to better understand the Lebanese identity, I went down the rabbit hole of all the tastes and smells I love and that remind of Lebanon and that are the work of the women in my family. There is also the desire to fight negative stereorypes of Arab countries as made for and by war, and to recover all the amazing relationship to the land and to science that dates back to hundreds of years in the region. It’s also to fight forgetfulness, the current fragility of rural knowledge, and the threats of deforestation and urbanisation because of the lack of protection to the land. My information also come from NGOS and organism working for the same purpose in Lebanon, and I want to synthetise the informaton into a more accessible, personal and artistic account!

In a way, I also hope to show that food production in Lebanon has traditionally be very decentralized and local and still is: everyone has a parent, family or a neighbour who they can get their essential products from, which means that production knowledge is very widespread outside of cities. With the current econimic collapse, this is particularly important. 

 Sources:

My aunts

Lebanon Biodiversity

Wild Lebanon

The Silk Museum

Slow Food Foundation

-----

Bousfeir or Bitter Orange

Latin name:

Locality: most famously Maghdoucheh 

Method of extraction: Alembic, or Karake for Mazaher. Peeling and cooking for dessert

The smell of bitter orange blossoms is so distinct and it will fill your lungs with absolute bliss when you happen to pass by one in the streets!

Culinary: The flowers from Bousfeir, or bitter orange, are used to make Mazaher, which smells like heaven and has many culinary uses. Mazaher flavours many rice and milk desserts (paired with Mawared, rose water) and is a main ingredient in the sugar syrup (qatr) that accompanies many sweets and pastries. 

If you add a teaspoon of orange blossom water to a cup of boiling water you will make ‘White Coffee’  or Ahweh Bayda, a delicious warm drink served after meals with many soothing properties. You can also pour mazaher tea and coffee for extra flavour!

We also use the peel of the Bousfeir, which is a little bit bitter, to make jams and sweets.  By simmering the juice of bitter orange in sugar, and boiling over medium fire, we make bousfeir syrup which used to prepare refreshing summer cocktails and tahini sauce. 

Medicinal use: We apply mazaher onto people’s faces who feel ill or faint. White Coffee is known to favour digestion and is very soothing and relaxing to drink before sleep.

Spiritual: Mazaher is associated with the celebration of the beginning of Muharram, the Islamic New Year.

Historical Context: 

Where to buy in Brussels: Chaussee de Mons, al Dayaa or other Lebanese brands

----

Name: Ward Joury 

Latin name: Rosa Damascena

Locality: Bekaa, Akkar, and everywhere !

Method of extraction: Alembic for mawared, drying the buds for zhourat

Culinary: We use Mawared in many desserts such as ma3moul, mhalbiye, baklava, cakes or sorbets. 

Medicinal use: Traditional medicine prescribes bathing in mawared or applying it on areas affected  by sunburns or other burns, allergies, rashes on the skin, as it has soothing and healing properties.

Spiritual: Mawared is also used for religious purposes. It is sprinkled inside mosques, and mawared mixed with zamzam holy water is used to clean the Kaaba in the Muslim holy city of Mecca

Historical context: We first cultivated roses as hedges or barriers around agricultural lands to prevent livestock from entering and destroying crops. It was only 300 years ago that we started distilling Mawared for personal consumption (Moody, 1992) Jabir ibn Hayyan, a renowned scientist, invented the alembic in the early Islamic era, and extraction through distillation became possible. In Lebanon, the production of mawared is still limited, and people consider it an off-season, secondary activity. The Damascus rose blooms in May and June, and production of mawared peaks during these two months.

Where to buy in Belgium: Chaussee de Mons, al Dayaa or other Lebanese brands

Where to buy in Lebanon: Organic women cooperative Jana el Ayadi 

----

Name: Zaatar

Latin Name: Origanum Syriacum

Native to Lebanon: yes

Culinary Use: Za’atar preparation usually consists of the same basic ingredients: Dried thyme, oregano, marjoram, sumac, toasted sesame seeds, salt and olive oil. Za’atar is traditionally eaten as part of a healthy breakfast and is the classic topping of man’oushe!

Medicinal use: Za’atar (the plant) has expectorant properties (heals coughs and throat infections) particularly when it is brewed in a tea. Thyme can help to clear out the respiratory tracts, so you can add this spice mix to your food when you’re feeling a cold coming on. The immune-boosting abilities of all the herbs involved also helps to ward off illnesses and is part of a very healthy diet.

Historic context: The origins of this name come from Greece and in ancient Greek language thymus stands for courage. Romans prepared baths with thyme and used them for good luck. Ancient Egyptians also believed that if you put thyme under the pillow, it would help with the memory and dreams.

THOUGHTS:

13/06 - au final je creer quand meme une espece d’idee romantique des plantes, surtout dans la represenation graphique - travailler la terre et l’agriculture n’ont pas d’habitude des couleurs aussi vive. c’est un travail rude, physique, et qui a plutot les couleurs du d’une terre seche et des mains rendues reches par le soleil et le travail. ce sont toutes des choses auquels je n’aurait pas acces non plus au Liban, car ma famille et citadine. mais je m’en fait une idee de ma famille plus eloignee, qui elle a des terres mais qui surtout nous a toujours fourni des fruits et des legumes les plus delicieux. ca vient d’un desir et d’une passion pour cette culture, mais aussi simplement de l’appreciation de son origine et surtout de mon penchant pour ces saveurs, et surtout de l’incroyable abilite qu’on ces plantes a nous donner du plaisir et de la sante.  c’est un desir de retour au sources, comme ma propre rebellion contre l’urbanisation de la vie et la depravation de la vie citadine ( donc encore une fois romantisation. je tourne grave en rond.)

lena - whose alambic is it, who taught her how to use it?

not being aloud to work on chadi’s form - foreign workers only..

minth, lemon, fig

[unioncolours]

FIC: no one cries for unknown soldiers - BEHIND THE SCENES

Hi!

If you choose to see more, you’ve most likely finished my fic no one cries for unknown soldiers, my Shikatema WWII fanfiction, or you’re too curious, haha!

A fic about World War II demands a lot of research and thinking to make sense for an audience of 2022. I wanted it also to be as realistic as I possibly could write, hence a lot of planning went into the end result. Beneath the cut, here are ideas I had which didn’t fit into the finished product, plus what my first ending would be! Read on your own risk for spoilers. Thank you, everyone.

⬇❤❤

I am a person who lets my ideas simmer for a long while before I commit to them and write them from beginning to end.

The first seeds of this WWII were born early summer 2021. The very first idea was a one shot, with Temari and Shikamaru on the same side on a battlefield, and the fic would end with them charging into combat. 

Now, that didn’t go anywhere and I let the idea of a WWII au die. Who wants to step on that landmine and write such a fic anyway?

Apparently this fool.

I let the idea of a WWII au fic rest for the entire autumn of 2021. It wasn’t until late 2021 I, actually out of spite, decided that it’s now or never, I will write this fic. That was of course before war and suffering broke out in Europe again in late February 2022. I might have never written this fic if the war had broken out earlier, yet here it is.

I always knew I would place the setting in Finland, since - well - it’s much easier to write about the part of history which you know the best. If someone didn’t pick it up, yes, I’m Finnish. Moving on! From scouting the WWII tag on AO3, it seemed most writers, from all kinds of animanga fandoms, either wanted to make the characters Japanese (to honour the origin of the franscise), British during the Blitz, or SS officers (probably for added angst). However, I felt like I couldn’t make it real or have proof my facts are correct if I wrote solely about another country’s army and culture. 

I always knew Shikamaru would be a Finn in the story, but to play with canon Temari had to be from another country.

My very first idea was that Temari would be a German soldier dispatched in Finland solely for the war - especially in Lapland thousand of German soldiers were dispatched to protect mines and fight alongside Finns. The main plot would be the Finns (among them - Shikamaru) deporting the Germans, and it would base itself on allies to lovers to enemies, or something along those lines, but in the name of honesty I didn’t know if I could make it feel real(istic). And, I would have had to study double the more of the Lapland war against Germany, since I don’t know as much about it as about the Continuation War. That meant that Soviet would be framed as the ‘enemy’ instead of Germany.

I played with the idea of having the Sand Sib family Russian, so they would have that extra predicament of being ‘traitors’ to both countries, but I don’t know how realistic it would end up being.

Finally I settled for German-born but raised in Finland version of Temari, and I’m super proud of the development. I think it added a perfect bittersweet, lighter version of geopolitical angst.

Things I thought about writing in, but in the end didn’t:

Rasa was going to die. At first I had scheduled it into the 4th chapter, with Rasa also being out in the field, but I never did it. I think the fact that he survived brought in even more possibilities to the story.

The Russian prisoner of war Kiba killed was going to be Omoi, but I honestly forgot to write in the hints of his identity and remembered it after the chapter was published haha.

Kiba’s death was originally going to be much more brutal. At first I was going to have him commit a war crime brutal enough to be court martialled (war trial) and was going to be executed by shooting behind a sauna. Temari and Shikamaru were going to be the executioners, as a punishment for going out their way as they did in chapter 7. It was hinted with Temari saying “We should shoot men like him” in chapter 5, with her later shooting him. Executing the own soldiers in tries to raise moral was a thing. I discussed it with my beta reader, who was of the opinion it wouldn’t make sense to write in such a crime for Kiba, so I scratched that idea before I wrote it. Him suffering an SCI and then ending his own life instead of Temari doing it was brutal in it’s own right.

Originally Lee was going to die instead of Sai in the end, but given the impact Sai had on the characters (and probably readers) it was more powerful to kill him. Lee’s death would have been heartbreaking, but not powerful, in my head.

The reason I was so hesitant with killing off Sai was because the original ending was going to feature Inojin and Shikadai on the first day of their obligatory military service (which would take part in the later 60s) and kinda tie together the idea that the experience of serving in the army is (in Finland) passed down generations as part of a heritage and culture, to always be ready to protect the country from an assault. That meant I would have to have Sai alive. 

However, in March 2022 I read an article where they interviewed one of the first women who joined the army in the 90s (now way over 40 years old) and inspired by that, I decided that *that* would be my ending, that Temari sees the army open for women be passed on to future generations instead. That way I could kill finally kill Sai.

I wanted to have a cool scene of Ino coming by skiis to them with more rifles, I had this super cool vision in my head, but no matter how I tried, I could not justify that such a thing would realistically happen in war. It’s my big sorrow I couldn’t get Ino in more scenes.

I was going to have a scene of Temari bonding with the W*ehrmacht soldiers that were sent to the Finnish-Soviet front that Kankuro spoke of in chapter 10. She would enjoy their company and become their friends. I never managed to squeeze in this scene in the already very long chapter 11.

Yes, Shikamaru’s partner who died before Temari joined his platoon was supposed to be interpeted as Asuma.

I wanted a scene with the German word “panzar” (tank). I just think that is such a beautiful word and thought of having a fun little scene when Shikamaru wonder how the name of the antitank weapon “panzarschreck” was supposed to be pronounced and Temari has some lighthearted fun. I never got around to write it in.

Things playing a bit with canon

The fact that Gaara is the one who has to take over the family’s belongings because he is the only one with Finnish citizenship was a definitive nod to him being Kazekage after his father, and Karura’s love giving him his powers = giving him the power over his family in this version.

Rasa’s brother who died in a trench in WWI and whose body was never found was a nod to the 3rd Kazekage.

Shikaku’s death in an air-strike was a nod from the Tailed Beast bomb in the 4th Ninja War.

Final words

In hindsight, I think I should have made this fic longer. It could have been a good 70k, but it is what it is now. I hope you loved it and of course felt for our characters.

Thank you all for reading. If there is anything you wonder about or want to ask me regarding my writing, headcanons or this story, the askbox is open ❤

[juminly]

Hide and Seek (Mitsuhide x Reader) Part 1

I’ve been wanting to write a piece featuring some hot sexy time with my favourite kitsune otome husband. Thank you anon for sending in the request for some Mitsuhide smut! Things kinda got a bit... out of hand so I’ll be posting this in parts <3 So stay tuned and hope you enjoy the read.  Warning: This part is only the prelude to all the smut. So I’m still marking this as NSFW xD.  Tagging: @yunohawkeye​ @kylor​ ------------- There was no point. No point at all to any of this… Taking up the challenge of the smartest and most cunning man of the Oda forces? You were definitely crazy. Absolutely, positively crazy for him. It all started with a simple game, yet, it was nothing but a very… very taunting scheme. “Say, (Y/N)” the softness of his lips tickled your ear, his deep voice swept softly into your mind, his low whisper lighter than a swift summer breeze, grappling onto your heart mercilessly. He was a cruel man but that only made you love him harder. “I’d like us to engage in a little game. You need not fret over the details. However, I assure you, it’ll certainly make our trysts even more stimulating.” More stimulating? Was that even possible?

With him, everything was possible. Nobody in the palace had discovered that you and Mitsuhide were lovers and you knew there was a reason for that. But that was the least of your concerns. His words and his voice held such deep promise that you knew would leave you breathless and wanton. Warmth crept up your cheeks as your mouth went completely dry, the thrums of your beating heart almost making your chest ache. Your lover had dared to deprive you of his warmth as he sat up from your bedding and cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to him and away from your wicked thoughts. “When have I ever done anything that wasn’t for your pleasure?” The corner of his thin lips tilted upwards, drawing an impishly tantalizing half-smile on his visage as his fingers laced through your own, bringing them to his lips so he could place a soft kiss on each bone of your knuckles. Something about the scene before you played on your heartstrings. The song it played was slow and heavy, from a smooth lento and a precise andante, building into a chaotic crescendo that had not occurred...yet. There was so much more to come, the foretold eruption of the music within you was still simmering. You couldn’t decipher what the feeling… or the feelings that roused within you. The tingling sensation that vibrated through your body was but a prelude initiated by the simple touch of his lips that would earn him your accord to his challenge, whether you wanted to or not. “Your pleasure is my own, even if you may find my methods disagreeable at times...” His shoulder shook lightly, a deep chuckle resounding in his chest when he noticed the slight arch in your brow. You couldn’t help but marvel at the beautiful sound, reflecting in his expression. This side that he didn’t show to anyone but you. It would take absolutely everything in your power and will to resist this man’s charms and you wouldn’t even bother.“I’m a man of my word and I’ll reward you appropriately, little mouse.” Again, with that infuriating mouse analogy. Before you could even respond with a quip of your own, Mitsuhide’s slender fingers slipped away from your own and he pushed himself gracefully off your futon before he towered over your lying form in all his blissful glory. Teeth sinking into your swollen lips, a welcomed memento of what had transpired between you on that fateful evening, your eyes could never defy the power that his gaze held on you, keeping them locked in place until he willed otherwise. His demeanor, sly by nature, was even more so as he nonchalantly slipped his arms into his kimono, covering the skin and you ached to touch, the teasing smile on his lips not leaving his face. Unable to hold the silence, you almost growled in frustration. “Mitsuhide. What is this little game that you’re dragging me into? It’s not like you haven’t been using me as a plaything since the day we’ve met. I’ve always kept you entertained. At least, that’s what you always say.” An exasperated sigh escaped your lips as your eyes glazed over his lithe yet muscular form, your mind wandering to far and shameless horizons. As if he read your mind, his tongue lazily swept over his lower lip, golden eyes almost glowing from his sudden radiating heat. “Catch me if you can, little mouse… And good things are bound to happen.” Your eyes widened and followed him as he slipped out of your room, leaving you all alone with your burning heart. Deep inside, you knew that Mitsuhide would never get caught unless he wanted to be found. That wouldn’t stop you from trying. --- And… it’s already been two weeks since then. You attempted to devise a plan, searching for him as methodically as you could, aware that it would almost be impossible to outwit the kitsune of the Oda forces. Nonetheless, you were not one to turn down a challenge and definitely not miss out on the excitement and thrill of a hunt. Your love for him chasing through your veins, driving you senselessly and purposely toward any hint or trace of him. Hope bloomed in you as the remnants of spiced sandalwood, a fragrance that was characteristically his, only to wilt to dust when you found a blue bellflower laid carefully on the veranda near the Oda force’s council room. A blue bellflower…Your hand unconsciously reached out to touch the hairpin adorning your bundled tresses. You never cared to ask if it had any meaning but now, curiosity gnawed your mind. It was peculiar and definitely not a coincidence that you had seen bellflowers in so many places yet, the realization just came crashing down on you. The day you were stuck trying to decipher war strategy from Mitsunari’s thorough explanation of tactics that Mitsuhide had previously endeavoured in the past. You could still taste the bitterness of that sweet clueless angel on the tip of your tongue and shuddered while you giggled softly. That one time you happened to pass by Hideyoshi’s castle, hearing his usual effervescent chastisement. It couldn’t be directed to any other person but him. You were absolutely sure as your feet fell assuredly on the ground as you flew through the halls of Nobunaga’s right man’s palace, only to find him leering over a parchment with exquisite handwriting on it, signed with a delicate drawn sketch of a bellflower. Your hunt had turned out to be more intriguing than you thought. Mitsuhide had devised plot after plot: kidnapped Uri for the sake of a mission that only she could do and had created a crown of bellflowers for Wasabi that the shy deer wore with such childish joy, earning Ieyasu’s wrath and jealousy. The more time passed, the more you realized that Mitsuhide was truly enjoying this game. As he left you small tokens of his presence, he was finally doing something for himself. Little pieces that he shared for his sake. Not for his Lord, not for his country. It was ironic and almost… almost funny and completely ridiculous how Mitsuhide was capable of disappearing from the face of the Earth, if he wanted to. That’s how expertly skilled he was, and didn’t that just excited you even more. The only bit of hope you could hold on to was his scent, which was unmistakable and rather intoxicating. Not that you would admit it to anyone, unless they coaxed it out of you. They being Mitsuhide, of course. If only you were immune to his wiles… Desperate times called for desperate measures and the time had finally come to put an end to this wicked game of his. As much as you loved seeing his humorous charades follow through, enough was enough. Your patience was running thin and you missed him terribly. You even started to wonder if he would hide in the ceiling of the Palace in a very Sasuke-like ninja way. You wanted your daydreams to finally become a reality and catch the fox by its tail and let him bestow his malicious benevolence on you. That was how you found yourself hidden in his closet, waiting for him to come back from his meeting with Nobunaga. He had spent hours in his Lord’s tenshu, the anticipation of laying your hands on him was too much to bear. Time and time again, he breezed past you, a ghost of a sly smile on his face and the murmur of his sweet nothings falling on your eager ears while he reminded you that the hunter was supposed to catch the prey, and not the other way around. As long as he found you first, that counted as your loss. During this entire time, he never thought of claiming a win by passing by your bedroom, like on your usual nightly escapades. Breathing out ruefully, you continued to wait in the confined space that you creeped into. Luckily for you, Kyubei and his retainers were as secretive as he was and would let this one pass. You promised them all a special feast from the one and only masterchef Lord Masamune if they kept her presence a secret from their Lord. The brusque slide of the door knocked the wind out of you, clasping your mouth frantically before the sound of your rapid breathing could be heard from your love. In poised strides, he lit two candles and burned a stick of his sandalwood incense before seating himself on his desk. His movements seemed almost systematic as he opened one letter after another, attending to his business and oblivious to your presence. Now was your chance. The door was gingerly pushed open, only the rustle of paper filling the room. Thump. Thump. Thump. Your heart beat so deafeningly in your ears, you were afraid he could hear it. “You found me.” a full-bodied melody strum from his throat. You blinked your ears. Once. Twice. He knew you were there. He knew you would be there. He planned for this to happen. Everything went according to his plan. You lunged forward and kneeled behind him, your hand twisting in tresses of brightened mercury, strenuously pulling his head back and crashing your lips on his, nipping and sucking on him almost violently. An inaudible grunt escaped him, joined by a pleasant sigh as he willingly allowed you to subdue him with your fervent assault, welcoming it with his innate and haughty slyness. You could feel the mirthful twist of his lips pressed against yours. It made you want to scream, your body shaking from the release of all the anticipation that you had of finally being near him. Your hesitant fingers clenched his soft hair to reluctantly pull him away from your grasp, the air in Mitsuhide’s room sucked out from the heavy gasps emanating from both of you. “Why do you look at me so, love?” Did he just call you… love? You could already feel your resolve shattering and dissipating into nothingness as he so easily roused your deepest desires. “Your face is twisted in an expression that doesn’t suit you, adorable little creature that you are.” Reaching for your face, he smoothed the furrowed skin between your brows, mimicking the caress of a master to his clingy kitten, beseeching his attention and affection. The flush adorning your cheeks became darker, your sensations heightened as you locked your seething gaze on the peaceful expression of your prey. “What is the purpose of all of this, Mitsuhide?!” you pleaded gravely. “You knew that I was here all along yet you came here… walking in here, fully aware that the moment you walked in, you would lose. I know you. You’re not one to forfeit any victory and miss the chance to bask in triumph.” Your slender shoulders shook and chest heaved with your sharp inhales filling the silence in the room, your frustration and anticipation becoming one, rendering you incapable of any other thoughts but him. You were a sore winner but you didn’t even care. Opportunistic plots and schemes defined this man’s motives yet his eyes of weathered gold laid upon you, emanating an unholy tenderness that made your hand shake and loosen from his silver tendrils, allowing him to sit back up. “You enjoyed it as much as I did. The hunt. The chase. The blood rushing through your veins as I surrounded you. Tauntingly so, if I may add.” you could hear him lick his lips matter-of-factly before he continued. “Your welcome was more than stimulating, my little mouse. It appears that our little game has been fruitful. I believe it’s time I reap what I’ve sown.” -----  I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far! To be continued here.  If you enjoy my work,  Please feel free to like/reblog and leave comments/feedback!  💜  Masterlist