#we had blini

[mostly-marvel-musings]

A must with Mr. Tony spoils-his-partner Stark: ✈️. Fluffy and/or smutty, it's all up to you. Happy holidays season, my dear!

Vacation

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: 18+

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Expensive champagne sat waiting for you at the table along with caviar and blinis as Tony impatiently tugged you away towards the bathroom of his private jet.

“Tony, what even—”

Your sentence was rudely interrupted when the man slanted his lips onto yours the second he bolted the door shut. An involuntary moan escaped you at the intensity of his kiss, the urgency he felt palpable as he bruised your lips mercilessly.

It all began with him sending a car for you at work, under the pretext of important matters; the car had pulled up right before his private jet on the runway. As you got out, Tony led you inside, his strides were purposefully quick.

His erection poked at your thigh as he pushed your legs open, rutting against your clothed core, making you whimper pathetically. He grinned against your mouth before trailing his kisses down your neck.

“Tony..”

“Mmhmm..I’m here.”

“What the hell is going on? Where are we going? You haven’t said a word since we got here, and now we’re having sex in your private jet.” You rambled on, out of breath as his fingers worked to undress you.

“Shh. Calm down, sweetheart. We’re going on a trip.” He murmured rather coolly, as if it was any other conversation you were having.

It took some effort to push him away but you did, eyes bewildered as you waited for him for explain more, catching your breath as you watched the man whine in irritation.

“Look, I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been working too hard and I wanna help my girl unwind while we enjoy a day out on the beach, sip on cocktails, all sandy hair and toes. Perhaps give you some of the best orgasms of your life? Starting now.”

His eyes twinkled with excitement as he caressed your face sweetly tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. Tony Stark was capable of surprising you at the oddest of times, not that you ever complained but the man quite literally had swept you off your feet.

“Tony…” you tried your best to form a sensible reply but failed.

“That’s my name, yes. But I’d rather you scream it while I eat you out.” He winked, pulling you close by your waist again, resuming his kisses down the column of your throat.

“What do you think baby? Would you now let your amazingly thoughtful boyfriend spoil you rotten?” You sensed his self-assured grin against your flushed skin.

This was super delayed, I know. Let’s pretend it’s still holiday season, shall we?

Surprise drabble?! I’m bored at work.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

i’m probably gonna get hate for this, but i think the argument that eddie having a mustache is a “clear sign that he is being confirmed queer” and saying that mustaches are “a clear symbol of queerness” in a show about firefighters is willfully ignorant, especially considering the fact that multiple non-queer characters on the show have had mustaches…

and when you take away the apparent “freddie mercury symbolism” (which i have yet to see from any of the photos we’ve gotten- he looks more like a corrupt cop than anything) then there is really nothing appealing about it. especially when the only other two ‘major’ characters who have had mustaches have been abusive and violent figures (not saying that this is the route they are taking eddie) but to look at the circumstances surrounding it in the context of previous characters with the same style of mustache, as well as the fact that mustaches aren’t automatically an inherent symbol of queerness as so many people for some reason choose to believe is (imo) a willfully foolish way to go into this season, as you are creating expectations around something that in every realm of possibility could be something reiterating his straightness and macho personality, just as much as it could be a symbol of his queerness.

im not saying that it won’t be a symbol of queerness, but to act like that is the only possible outcome of him having this mustache is just willfully setting yourself up for disappointment for choosing to put stock in something that has just as much chance of being an objectively awful stylistic choice (sorry not sorry to those who love it for some reason… it does not suit ryan/eddie at all and it gives me a massive ick every time i see it) especially when this show has not shown any sings of striving to infuse easter eggs like that into the narrative before, it seems rather naive to convince yourself that they are suddenly going to start doing that now.

there’s theorizing, and then there’s being willfully delusional (and i don’t mean in the lighthearted fandom sense). i know that we love to toss around the phrase “delulu” when we toss around theories of varying narrative possibility, but even then it is done with a certain level of acknowledgment that things could very well not go the direction they seem to be (as we have seen time and time and time again).

however, when you start tossing around theories and assumptions based on limited information as if it is 100% gospel truth that it means something, you are willingly setting yourself up to be disappointed by the narrative when they once again decide to back out in the 11th hour like they’ve done time and time again. it is baffling to me how often this show has gone the unconventional (to put it nicely) route over what makes sense narratively, just for everyone to then act like overnight tim has become this predictable writer who loves giving the fans what they want when in reality, he has given us mostly the exact opposite of what we have been begging for for years.

i see people saying “oh they would NEVER do ____, that wouldn’t make any sense! it’d be too crazy for them to risk that” only for the show to do exactly that, and the audience/fandom- instead of holding these writers accountable and being vocal about how we are actively being baited and dragged along- continue to ignorantly say every season“oh, well, it’s gonna happen THIS time…”

there’s a difference between optimism and bliny putting faith in something that has not earned it and unfortunately most of what i am seeing coming from the fandom right now is the latter and it makes me dread what the state of the fandom will he by the end of s8 if- in all likelihood- tim does what the show has always done and back out of committing to buddie canon at the last second

i don’t say any if this maliciously, or as a verbal attack on anyone… (hell even i am guilty of this to sole extent in certain situations) i say this to hopefully bring people down to earth for a moment, so that they can breathe and then look at things with s little more of a level head rather than setting themselves up for disappointment. i was the same in s7 and it wrecked my mental state and overall enjoyment around the show/fandom, and i don’t want to see that happen to other people when they- like i have- reach a point where enough is enough and they are too tired to deal with it anymore.

[unactive-shroom]

hello! i hope you're doing well. for your Valentine's event, may I request nikolai lantsov with prompt #4? have a great day!

Prompt #4: Proposal ♡

“It seems like someone has a very important question to ask… and what better time to do it but on Valentine’s night?”

Character: Nikolai Lantsov. See Valentine's Event: HERE

You stood at the edge of the lake, watching the purple glow of dusk slowly swallowing the last of the early February sunshine. It had been thirteen months since Alina Starkov had left the Little Palace, and despite her offering for you to join her and Mal, you had remained by Nikolai’s side in Os Alta. Recently you’ve found yourself taking the long winding path through the trees to the Little Palace, reminiscing about the days you would spend together at the lake, chatting and feasting on blini or pelmeni stolen from the kitchen. A hand snuck around your waist. “I thought I’d find you here.” You smiled and sunk into Nikolai’s warm embrace, not realising the cold that had crept up on you. “I get that the Grand Palace is ugly on the outside and all that, but really, y/n, you’ll catch a chill if you keep coming down here without warm clothes” he said as he fussed over you, pulling a heavy velvet cloak around you. Once satisfied that you were warm, he turned his attention to the lake. The silence stretched between you two until Nikolai softly said ”You know we can visit them, right? Keramzin isn’t too far away. We could stay a few nights, bring some gifts, maybe. Or maybe they could come visit us, either.” You chuckled at that part. “I think Alina’s had enough of the palaces by now. Besides, isn’t it too risky for them to come here? They are supposedly dead, you know. And I think that people might start to get suspicious if the King of Ravka and his entourage start to regularly visit an orphange.” he hummed in agreement, tilting his head. “It’s okay, Nikolai. We did just see them, what, two months ago? I’m just being nostalgic, that’s all. Let’s head back to the Palace, It’s cold.” He took your arm in his, a look of feigned pain on his face. “Funny how you always seem to want to go back whenever I join you. Unrequited love is a terrible, terrible thing. Am’st I doomed to be alone forever-?” You let go of his arm and strode ahead of him, in no mood to put up with his antics. “Y/n, wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, let’s go warm up, please?”

A few hours later, whilst Nikolai was in some meeting, you found yourself in the concert hall. Empty, as always, but with a beautiful, sleek, black grand piano in the centre of the stage. Your footsteps echo, magnifying your pathway to the stage, announcing your presence as you pull out the piano stool, and as you played, you thought about how you had gotten here. Going from a high ranking army officer, experienced in intense and gruesome warfare, fighting alongside friends and seeing horrors unlike any other, to sitting here now, in a sleek and comfortable kefta, playing piano, and living in a palace. Of course, you were still a very active member of the army, and while politics held a greater position in your life than it had previously, you still had many army duties, one including tuition at the little palace. But recently, no doubt accredited to Nikolai, you had a lot of free time. “Mandatory resting periods for those involved in the war”, as he called it. And, not to mention, the whole country’s eye on you and Nikolai after a stablehand had leaked information about yours and Nikolai’s relationship. At this point, you were simply waiting for the day where acquiring a Ravkan Queen, a wife for Nikolai, was simply unavoidable, and the relationship was cut off. It made you sick to the depths of your very being, but you were determined to enjoy it while it lasted. It’s something that had always hung over the two of you, and at the beginning of your courtship you had discussed it in great detail, and you were adamant on the fact that when the time came for Nikolai to choose a wife, they would simply forget their relationship and move on with their lives. But it was getting increasingly difficult for both of you. You’d noticed that Nikolai had been closer to you recently, constantly there whenever you both had free time, or, pestering you at work, egging you on to leave work to go read with him in the library or take a walk around the palace grounds. And you had felt closer to him too, saving snippets of poetry for him in books you read, playing melodies for him on piano. These small, intimate moments meant everything to you, especially knowing that Nikolai had very little time left to spend with you before he was married off to some stranger.

Leaving the concert hall and heading back to your chambers, you heard voices in the hallway ahead of you - Nikolai and Zoya. “I just- I don’t know how to tell her, Zoya. How can I ask her-?” he sighed audibly, running a hand through his hair. He turned, and locked eyes on you. “Oh- Y/n!” The marble floor seemed to grow colder through your shoes as Zoya looked at him meaningfully. “I think you and Nikolai ought to take a quick walk around the Palace, Y/n. I’ll see you in the morning, your Majesty. Good night.”. As Zoya’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, you felt your heart fall to your stomach. This was it. Nikolai was going to tell you he had found a suitable bride and that it was no longer possible for this relationship to continue. You swallowed, and smiled at Nikolai, not wanting to draw this out any longer. “Shall we?”

You and Nikolai walked side by side through the moonlit gardens in utter silence, until finally, stopping at the glaringly white marble statue of some old king, you stopped. “Nikolai, I know what’s happening.” You whispered, turning your head away from him. “You do? Y/n, I-” You shook your head. “Don’t. I undertsand, Nikolai. You need to do what’s best for your country, I’ve always loved that about you. Just…before we part ways, I need to ask you for one last thing - and then I’ll be gone by morning, your majesty.” You turned to face him, a single tear betraying your determination to not cry, only to find Nikolai on one knee, a look of utter bewilderness on his face. You mirrored the look, not knowing what he was doing. “…why are you on the ground? Nikolai, you’ll ruin your clothes, and it’s far too cold to be-” You sniffled. “Y/n. Please let me talk. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, but you can’t leave now - and what’s this about us parting ways? I think you really misunderstood what I’m asking you.” Nikolai cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous. “I… I know that our relationship hasn’t been under the best circumstances - first as Sturmhond, when I quite litterally held you captive on a boat for the state enemy and yet you fell for me, Saints knows how, and then when I proposed marriage to Alina… and now, having to keep our relationship secret…” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s been impossibly unfair on you. But please, y/n. Allow me this selfish idea - at least consider it - because I mean it when I say that you are my everything. You thrive in politics, the people love you, you have given incredible service to Ravka, you’ve fought wars - been through hell and back for this country, your beauty is unmatched even by the primal, eldest saints of the land - the sun and moon themselves are outshone by your radiance. When I imagine the ideal Queen for this country, the only person I can see fitting the role is you. Y/n L/n, would you allow me the honour of being your husband? Will you marry me?” In a complete and utter state of shock, you took a step back, incrediously shaking your head. “Me? But- but Grisha can’t- I have no title, no links to nobility - I’m an orphan from Keramzin! What will you get from marrying me?” Nikolai remained on one knee, looking directly at you. “What would I get from marrying the love of my life? Saints, y/n, I would get happiness. I would be able to go to sleep in the arms of the person I love, be able to count on her unwavering support that she’s shown me since day one, be able to wake up every morning and know that whatever happens today, I have the most incredible person by my side. I would be able to feel safety in my role as King, with an incredibly capable Queen by my side, beloved of the people and the crown itself, and know that I will not have to spend my life yearning for the woman I sent away so that I could marry for political values, as she would be in her rightful place by my side. I would do anything for you, y/n. But I just can’t bear the thought of you leaving me.”

At this point, your vision was blurry with tears, but you felt Nikolai take your hand. “Well, my love? What do you say?” You felt the tension in his gentle hold of your hand. “If you’re sure about this… then yes. I do. I will gladly marry you, Nikolai.” He beamed at you, standing up and wrapping you in his familiar, warm embrace. As he wiped the tears from your eyes, you giggled. “So does this mean that I get to call you Nikolai even when referring to you?” “You could always do that, my love.” “Yeah, but, if I did, I’d get funny looks. Oooh, can I give you nicknames now, too? How about Niko? LaiLai? Kolai? E-Kolai?” You gasped suddenly, startling Nikolai. “Oh, I have to tell Alina and Mal!” He smiled, then hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, We’ll have to make a public address too. Then decide on the length of the engagement, do a tour, loads of boring court stuff - but it shouldn’t be too bad with you by my side. Now come along, it really is quite cold. How about we have a glass of brandy’s to celebrate? The one the Kerch ambassador sent awhile ago has been calling my name, but I simply hadn’t a good enough reason to break it out…”

A.n: Y’all the amount of Nikolai Requests I have in my inbox is INSANE. ALSO WHEN I WAS WRITING THIS I MIXED UP MAL AND MATHIAS?? so glad that I realised cause wtf. also I had to break up the last paragraph bc apparently tumblr has a limit of words u can have in one text block?? anyways. thanks for requesting, I hope you enjoyed <3

[mariacallous]

Tucker Carlson went to Moscow last week and had an absolute blast. He rode the subway and marveled at its clean cars, the fancy tilework in Kievskaya Station, and the lack of booze-drenched hobos. He went to a grocery store and was astonished by what ordinary people could apparently buy. He even managed to meet a local history buff and sit down for tea and conversation. Carlson, who had never previously visited Moscow, declared himself “radicalized” against America’s leaders by the experience. He didn’t want to live in Moscow, but he did want to know why we in America have to put up with street crime and crappy food when the supposedly bankrupt Russia provided such a nice life for its people, or at least those people not named Alexei Navalny.

My former Atlantic colleague Ralph Waldo Emerson called travel a “fool’s paradise,” but not all forms of foolishness are equal. Many commentators have guffawed at Carlson’s Russophilia and pointed out that Russia’s murder rate is roughly that of the United States, and that its citizens are dirt poor, about a fifth as wealthy per capita as the citizens of the United States overall. “I don’t care what some flagship supermarket in an imperial city looks like,” The Dispatch’s Jonah Goldberg tweeted. “Russia is far, far poorer than our poorest state, Mississippi.” Bloomberg’s Joe Weisenthal suggested that Carlson instead visit the grocery stores of the “10th or 50th” richest Russian cities, and see how they compare with America’s.

In 2019, I visited several large and small Russian cities, and I went grocery shopping at least once in each. Would you believe that Tucker Carlson is on to something? In Moscow (the largest) and St. Petersburg (No. 2), the flagship supermarkets are indeed spectacular. The Azbuka Vkusa branch next to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Moscow is more luxurious than any grocery store within 100 miles of Washington, D.C. Other branches in Moscow vary in quality, and they are usually smaller than American supermarkets. But to some extent that’s just a matter of culture: The U.S. has fewer supermarkets, but each one is big enough to feed the 82nd Airborne Division for a month; in Europe, supermarkets are more numerous but tiny.

Makhachkala (22), the capital of Dagestan, followed a similar pattern to Moscow. One supermarket downtown was amazing, the equal of an upscale supermarket in Washington or Dallas. On the outskirts the quality varied, but not drastically. Local residents were not eating soups made from grass clippings. In Murmansk (71), the cramped bodega near my rented flat had a good wine selection and enough fresh staple foods to prepare a different meal your mom would approve of every day of the week. Only in Derbent (134) did I start to wonder whether the bad old days of the Soviet Union were still in effect. But even that would be an exaggeration. In Derbent, for $15, you could get champagne and caviar with blini and velvety sour cream. If you want to flash back to Cold War communism, go to Havana. There the grocery stores stock only dust and mildew.

With apologies to Emerson, travel can disabuse you of foolish notions just as often as it plants them in your head. An idea ripe for dispelling among Americans at this particular moment is that life in Russia must suck because the frigid depression of the Cold War never ended. In those days ordinary citizens were spied upon and tortured and killed, and the shops were empty, save for substandard goods at prices few could afford. Now Russia is different. The state repression is much more limited, though no less brutal toward those who attract its attention. Until the Ukraine war added a huge category of forbidden topics, the main ones that you could get locked up for discussing were war in the Caucasus and the personal life and finances of President Vladimir Putin and his inner circle. Most other topics were broachable, and you could whine all you liked about them.

Equally in need of updating are American expectations about Russian economic misery. Those whose visits to Russia stopped 20 years ago tend to have outdated views of the best the country has to offer. My visits started 24 years ago. Back then, I spent days at a time on the Trans-Siberian, crammed into railway cabins with little to do but talk with Russians and see how they lived. Life was not beautiful. The men busied themselves with crosswords and sullenly browsed pornography. When not in motion, I stayed with Russian friends in single-room flats that looked straight out of a New York tenement building 100 years ago. No one I met was starving, but women sometimes approached me in train stations hoping to rent out their homes or bodies, or to sell me family heirlooms. That type of desperation seems to have subsided, although I would be shocked if any of those people are able to buy the jamón ibérico at the Smolenskaya branch of Azbuka Vkusa yet. On the roads between the big cities, there are still villages so ramshackle that they look like sets from The Little Rascals. Evidence suggests that the Russian military’s frontline troops tend to come from these depressed and benighted lands, the places that really are stuck in the 20th century.

Certain aspects of life remain dismal even in the cities. My flat in Murmansk had surly drunks tottering outside its entrance, and its stairwell smelled like every cat, dog, and human resident had marked its territory there regularly since the Brezhnev era. But the playgrounds were decent, and you could get a delicious smoked-reindeer pizza at a cozy restaurant for $7. Remember, this is in a small, depressed Russian city—not somewhere stocked with goodies just in case an American wanders out of the lobby of the Radisson and needs to be impressed. The “useful idiots” of yesteryear were treated to fake Moscows, which evanesced as soon as the next Aeroflot flights took off. The luxuries of Moscow that Carlson sees, and that I saw, are not evanescent, and they are not (as they are in North Korea, say) a curated experience available only to those on controlled visits.

The stubborn belief that all good things in Russia must be illusory can in turn warp one’s analysis of the country, and in particular of Putin’s durability in power. After all, why would anyone remain loyal to an autocrat who delivered only hunger, penury, and the reek of cat piss? Putin rules by fear but not only by fear. Most Russians will tell you that Russia today is better than it was before Putin. They compare it not with the Soviet era but with the anarchy and decline of the 1990s. Life expectancy has risen, public parks are better maintained, and certain fruits of capitalism can be tasted by Russians of all classes. Who would risk these gains? Like every autocrat, Putin has ensured that his downfall just might destroy every good thing Russia has experienced in the past two decades. This risk is, from the perspective of regime continuity, a positive feature, because it keeps all but the most principled and brave opposition quiet, and content to shut up and enjoy their cheap caviar. Those like Navalny who object do not object for long.

Carlson’s videos never quite say what precisely he thinks Russia gets right. Moscow is in many ways superior to New York. But Paris has a good subway system too. Japan and Thailand have fine grocery stores, and I wonder, when I enter them, why entering my neighborhood Stop & Shop in America is such a depressing experience by comparison. Carlson’s stated preference for Putin’s leadership over Joe Biden’s suggests that the affection is not for fine food or working public transit but for firm autocratic rule—which, as French, Thais, and Japanese will attest, is not a precondition for high-quality goods and services. And in an authoritarian state, those goods and services can serve to prolong the regime.

I confess I still enjoy watching Carlson post videos of Moscow, wide-eyed and credulous as he slowly learns to love a country that I love too. I hope he posts more of them. One goes through stages of love for Russia, often starting with the literature and music, then moving to its dark humor and the personalities of its people, which are always cycling between thaw and frost. Inevitably one reflects on the irony that this civilization, whose achievement is almost without equal in some respects, is utterly cursed in others—consigned to literally centuries of misgovernment, incompetence, and tyranny. The final stage is realizing that the greatness of Russia is part of the curse, a heightening of the irony, as if no matter how much goes right, something is deeply wrong. Maybe when things go right, the more deeply wrong it is. Carlson seems to still be in one of the early stages of this journey.

[trucklust]

@sovietpostcards it's not maslenitsa any more but my gf @milkmaidmilf and i followed your blini recipe! we were able to find kefir in the supermarket in dresden and we had them with sugar and lemon juice, which is traditional in the uk (where we're from). we will certainly be having them again!

[softquietsteadylove]

Here to say I’m missing Thenamesh Rus AU and this is in fact a prompt 😅 (sorry I have two brain cells and neither of them are working to formulate a real prompt but I appreciate anything u give us!!!)

Gil strolled through the crowd. He was coming off watch duty, although now that winter was over and spring was approaching, it wasn't quite so agonising. Even so, he was still volunteering to cover Thena's watch when at all possible for her.

He only relented when Thena herself insisted on him staying inside and resting in the warmth of his room.

The humans called it Maslenitsa, or some form of it. They were celebrating, and the sizzling of hot cakes could be heard all over the place. People had cast iron out over the fires, flipping the fluffy, sugary confections.

"Hot cake, Strong One?"

He tilted his head at the offer. There were plenty of other fires making hot cakes, and he had to admit he was curious to ask about how the technique and recipes varied between them all. But this one was already being held out to him; it seemed rude to ignore it. "Oh, uh, thanks."

The woman smiled, leaning on her knees and resting her chin in her palm. "You and your merry band should enjoy Maslenitsa. The nights will become shorter and the sun will be strong."

"That's good," Gil murmured, even looking up at the sky to admire the colour of it. Thena could do with a little more sun, after all. He chewed the hot cake. He thought it could do with a finer grind on the wheat they used, but it was tasty (hot butter and melted sugar would, of course, do that for anything). "This is good."

"It's a newer technique, the old ones don't always add the sugar," the woman smiled, flicking a long train of dark hair over her shoulder. "But I quite like to try new things."

Gil took another bite; the sugar did a lot to add to the light texture, he thought. Surely adding only butter would just be eating a flat biscuit, or soft hardtack.

"Where is the Warrior?"

Gil blinked, surprised she was asking. But he supposed he was rarely without Thena. Many of the people in this country had light yellow hair--more here than anywhere else they had stayed. But Thena's hair was the envy of many of them. It was great hair. "We all shift the responsibility of looking out for trouble. I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

"I see."

Gil licked his fingers finishing off the cake. "Thanks--it's-"

"Have another."

He was going to refuse politely. There were more he could try if he wanted to. But she was already extending another one. His insides squirmed. "Well, okay then."

"The attacks on our walls are lessening," the woman continued to make light conversation as he ate. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips pursed faintly. "Will you and your ilk disappear again?"

Gil thought about his words. They had been here long enough that most had accepted that they were part of the royal party, as it were. It was a sign they were assimilating effectively if people didn't think of them as temporary presences. The more they could muddy the waters around their connection to Deviant attacks the better.

Greece was all but convinced for three whole generations that Thena had fallen from the sky like an angel from the moment Athens was built. Most had forgotten that they had simply showed up one day.

"Your presence would be sorely missed."

Well, that was nice of her to say. Gil mulled on things with his mouth full of hot cake. What to say? They would, in fact, disappear sooner than later. "Uh, I guess we'll see what the Queen decides."

"Of course," the woman lowered her eyes. Sankta Olga's rule was beyond question, after all. She peeked at him coquettishly. "Would you like to know how to make the bliny?"

Apparently that was the hot cake sizzling in butter. He was curious. "Hm, I-"

"There you are."

Gil's face broke into a grin, "there you are--been looking for you."

"Is that so," Thena purred in a funny tone. She let him pull her closer to him, but her eyes were on the stranger. That was common for the Warrior Eternal though.

"Warrior," the woman curtsied to her.

"Have you had these?" Gil asked, gesturing with the half-finished hot cake in his hand. In truth, he had eaten this one slowly, wondering if he might find her and let her have the rest of it. "They're pretty good."

Thena observed the cake briefly before eyeing the woman again. "Tempting, are they?"

The woman shrank back some, letting more than just the fire separate them. Gil wasn't sure what had spooked her, but he held up the cake for Thena to try. "I think you'll like them. Try it."

Thena dragged her eyes away from the woman. She looked at the cake, but ultimately moved his hand out of her way, albeit gently. Her hand remained clasped around his larger one as she smiled, "I shall."

His eyes slid closed as she raised her lips to his. It was a simple peck at first, but she lingered, waiting for further access. Her tongue slithered past his, tracing around his mouth for the hot butter and syrup lingering there. His other arm came up to wrap around her waist completely.

"Hm," Thena moaned pleasantly. She leaned back, licking those perfect lips of hers. Her eyes had a mischievous sparkle in them, "delicious."

Gil blushed, although the woman had needed to look away from such a display.

"I quite like it," Thena added, continuing on as if the kiss had not occurred. She looked at the woman who was now too embarrassed to look at either of them. "I would like one as well."

"O-Of course, Warrior," the woman stuttered, her earlier smoothness and charisma leaving her. She handed over a fresh one from off the iron.

Gil swept it up into his free hand. Thena looked at him, pouting cutely. But he grinned, "it's hot. I'll hold it for you."

Thena rolled her eyes at his chivalry; it was not as though she were human, she could hold something as hot as that. It was no raw, molten iron straight from the fire, like he could. But she allowed it, bending her head to take a delicate bite of her fresh bliny.

He took a bite of his remaining one to finish it off. He raised his brows at her, curious if she wanted the last of this one straight from his mouth, but she shook her head, taking his arm and leading him away from the mortified human.

"You must get better at perceiving when women are hinting at you."

"Hinting what?" he asked. He thought he was pretty good at reading people, actually. He could read a room, he was quite sure. Maybe sometimes a few things might go over his head, but that was what he had her for--to watch his blind spots.

Thena just smiled, dusting some crumbs out of the fur on his shoulders. Soon, they wouldn't need to be draped in furs all the time. "Had I not arrived when I did, I do believe she would have asked you to sample more--the way I did with you?"

He furrowed his brows; that seemed impractical. But oh!--she meant the woman was trying to flirt her way into his arms! She was right, he was terrible at picking up those kinds of signals. He pouted right back at her, "you know I don't pay attention to how mortal women communicate that...stuff."

Thena must have been feeling the good weather. Rather than glare at him, her energy crackling and sparking in her palms, she let her amusement show. She ran her hand down his chest again, tilting her head to peck right at the corner of his lips. She pulled back, licking her lips again; he must have had crumbs there. "Indeed."

He chuckled; if she was happy, then he was too. He nuzzled the tips of their noses together, "sorry, Solnyshkuh."

She sighed cutely, feigning some maidenly distress. "I suppose it is not your fault you are so desired."

"Hey, speak for yourself," he grinned, continuing to lead her through the festivities with their arms wound together. "I witnessed several proposal attempts at that last ball we went to."

She laughed. "Those entertain you as much as they do, me."

That was true; they always had a good chuckle about it later. "And will you laugh about this with me later?"

Thena eyed his lips for a moment. "Later."

Fine with him, she could stake her territory all she liked with him. He would resign himself to it happily.

"I would like to know how they make them," he murmured, looking around at the various other offerings of bliny and flatbreads and cheese.

"I'm certain you need only ask," Thena also looked around them. Several women waved at them; she scowled again. "Perhaps the royal cook--the old one with the moustache."

He chuckled again. He tilted her chin back to him, using her good mood to sneak yet another kiss. "Whose am I?"

She lit, like the sun itself. "Mine."

"Whose?" he repeated, kissing her cheek as reverently as a goddess deserved.

"Gil," she laughed, chiding him lightly, although it came out airy as he tickling below her jaw with his teeth. "Mine."

"All yours," he swore, even canoodling in the middle of an open market. "Besides-"

Thena drew her brows together at his significant pause. Although they shot up as he snuck his hands under her heavy cloak to give the behind of her dress a pat.

"Your hotcakes are still the best."

"Gilgamesh!"

[late-to-the-party-81]

The best laid plans...

AN: This silly little fic was written for @buckybarnesbingo Square C5: A picture of Bucky waiting against a wall, holding a gun. I hope you enjoy the sass and crack. Thanks to @drabbles-mc for cheerleading and beta-ing

Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard by me, with robot image by Rafael Amarante 

Master list| BBB Master list

Summary: Bucky and Nat had a date night planned, but you know what’s said about best laid plans?

Relationships: Established Bucky x Nat, Established Sam x Steve, Cap Quartet friendship.

Word Count: 2.4k

CW: Crack, Sass, Snark, Flirting, Innuendo, Swearing, Robots being smashed, a bad-guy getting his come-uppance, Sam and Steve are like a pair of horny teenagers, Bucky is done, Nat is always right.

Bucky came to a halt a few feet from the bunker entrance, his back pressed to the smooth, grey concrete with his assault rifle held in his right hand. Snowflakes swirled around him.  

This was not how he’d intended spending his Friday, but here he was. The bad-guys never had any respect for his plans, the bastards. Or rather his and Nat’s plans. Not that they’d had anything major organised, just a quiet night in, the pair of them, the cat’s, a box set, some wine and some blini’s. Maybe a little ‘something-something’ later on, if he played his cards right.

But, here he was, in the freezing cold - and god-knows he hated the cold for many legitimate reasons - waiting for the signal from Nat, before the pair of them stormed in to save Sam and Steve from whatever-the-fuck mess the pair of them had managed to get themselves in to. If Bucky recalled the briefing notes he’d skimmed over on the way here, it was robots of some sort. Which was better than aliens, and a one hundred percent improvement on wizards. That Strange guy gave him the willies, despite Tony’s assurance that his cough friend was on their side. He still wasn’t sold on Howard’s son’s judgement, despite the years that had passed since the ‘Siberia Incident’.

Robots, though - he could handle those. To steal a line from Bruce, with robots he could “smash”, and not feel bad. Not that he felt bad when he punched aliens. Or wizards. But robots were like Nazi’s. Not sentient in Bucky’s humble opinion.

He did briefly wonder how Steve and Sam had managed to get themselves captured, but that knowledge would wait for later. They’d probably got distracted from the mission because they were making out or something equally as stupid. They could at least keep the PDAs to a minimum in the field, like he and Nat did. Although he did get it - Steve could let himself be seen now, in a way he hadn’t been able to back in the day.  And Bucky wasn’t blind, Sam was an attractive man, even if he did act like a cocky dickhead about it ninety nine percent of the time.

“Stupid Steve and stupid Sam.” He hadn’t even realised he’d muttered under his breath until a slightly tinny voice sounded in his ear.

“Be nice, Yasha. They are our friends after all. Even if they did ruin our date night.”

Bucky’s lips twitched upwards at Nat’s admonishment. “Can you blame me, malyshka? I was looking forward to a night-in with my best girls. All cuddled up together, all cosy. Maybe a bit of kissing, a bit of…”

“Okay, cool it lover-boy. I don’t think Al and Liho would be appreciative of your kisses.”

Bucky’s smile broadened and he let a bit of ‘40’s’ into his voice. “Is that your way of saying that you would be?”

“I plead the fifth.” He could hear the smile in Nat’s voice. “Now, get ready. I’ve almost reached the East Entrance. We need to breach together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, glad that Nat wouldn’t be able to see.

“Not my first time out, Natalia. Just because Steve likes to go in without a plan and Sam seems to have adopted his technique, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my sense of strategy. I’m ready on your mark. As always.”

“The way it should be. But James, don’t roll your eyes at me. You know how it annoys me when you’re passive aggressive. Now…breach!”

Bucky pushed away from the wall and kicked in the door. He rolled through the opening, coming to a halt on his knees, gun raised. 

There wasn’t anyone or anything there.

“No bogies here, Nat. You?”

“Nothing. It’s suspiciously quiet.”

Bucky rose to his feet and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’ll work myself toward the centre and meet you there. First to find our disaster gays buys pizza.”

He heard Nat laugh over the comms, clear and unaffected. “You always make it so easy for me, kotenok.”

“Only because you’re easy for me.” Bucky couldn’t help but tease her. He could imagine the faint pink blush dusting her cheekbones about now. She was probably doing that cute nose wrinkle too.

“Bucky!” Nat hissed, but her tone didn’t hold any real censure.

“Okay, okay. I’m all business now. I promise. See you soon.”

Bucky pulled one of his knives from its sheath, gave it a cursory flip to check the balance, and then made his way toward the next door. If there was anything behind it, it would know Bucky was there - he hadn’t exactly been quiet when he’d come through the first door. He placed himself on the hinge side of the door, noting that this one opened towards him, and with a steadying breath, he pulled it open.

Immediately, laser blasts peppered the space Bucky would have been standing in if he’d opened the door like a normal person. He observed the rhythm of the shots for a few seconds, then rounded the door, his knife flying forward from his hand. There was a satisfying thunk, followed by a crash as the robot landed on the floor. Bucky walked towards the pile of metal, taking in its form as he pulled his knife from its ocular sensor. Why mad scientists had to mimic human biology by putting the CPU in the most obvious place constantly baffled him, but at least it made it easy.

He didn’t have long to ponder though. He heard a whirring noise and looked up to see four more robots bearing down on him. Sheathing his knife, Bucky unslung his rifle, holding it in his right hand. With his left he picked up the late robot to use as a shield. He felt the impact of the laser blasts, and peaked around the metal shell to aim his weapon. He squeezed the trigger, letting off three bullets at a time, and kept moving forward. One of the robots wouldn’t go down, so as Bucky approached it, he decided to use the one he was holding as a bludgeon. There was the screech of metal on metal, and the fizzing of wires as they broke, still sparking, then there was a pile of twisted steel on the floor. He opened his comms.

“Everything okay, sweetheart? I’ve had a few tin cans to deal with over here.”

“Doing fine, baby. Hang on…” Nat went silent for a moment, but Bucky knew it was just because she was concentrating. He heard the high-pitch whine of her Widow’s Bite deploying, followed by a hollow clang sound and then she was back. “How many have you taken out?”

Bucky looked around him.

“Five.”

“Ha! Six. I’m winning.”

“Malyshka, our competition isn’t about numbers, remember?” Bucky drawled, letting a small amount of condescension into his voice.

“Yours might not be, but mine is.” God, he loved this woman. She challenged him everyday and he couldn’t get enough.

“Always gotta be the winner, huh?”

“No ‘gotta’ about it. Just ‘am’, kitten.” He could see her smirk in his head. She was probably coyly twisting a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke as well. “Now, I gotta get into that next room.”

The comm line went quiet again and Bucky smiled to himself as he thought about all the ways he was gonna worship her when they got home. After he’d torn a strip off Steve and Sam for being idiots. However, he had to find them first.

He wasn’t surprised to discover more robots as he entered the next area of the bunker. They weren’t too difficult to deal with, especially considering how frustrated Bucky was feeling. A couple of laser shots grazed his jacket, the burning leather smell filling his nose unpleasantly. A replacement jacket was definitely coming out of Steve’s pocket.

Six more robots lay in a sparking, dented mess on the floor, but he just walked around them, moving forward. It was only a minute until he came upon a bulkhead door, the mechanism for opening it on his side. Bucky could also see that the door was dented, hit from the inside in what he assumed was an attempt to open it from the other side by someone exceedingly strong. It would take a lot to deform it like that.

“If you’re not behind this door, Steve”, Bucky muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna kill you.” He reshouldered his rifle and grabbed hold of the bulkhead wheel. It was tightly closed and the metal groaned under Bucky’s hands as he turned it. “Fuck Sam and fuck Steve, idiotic, stupid idiots.” He didn't know exactly what he was going to find when he got in there, but he wasn’t too worried. They might have some scrapes and bruises, at the worst be unconscious, but they were tough and no two-bit robot maker was going to get the best of them. Not for long anyway. 

The catch on the door fully opened and Bucky pulled it ajar. He slipped through but came to a dead halt at what he saw. This was definitely not what he expected to find. In fact, he was so taken aback that he didn’t notice the door swinging shut behind him, until he heard the clunk.

Sam and Steve leapt apart. Steve’s short blond hair was sticking up all over the place, evidence of Sam’s fingers having been threaded through it. Both their lips were kiss swollen, and their chests were heaving. Steve pulled the shield across his lap. Sam just used his hands to cover his crotch.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. “Really, guys? You get stuck in the lair of a mad robot inventor, so you just end up making out like teenagers?” Steve flushed, his ears going bright pink, but Sam just gave Bucky a grin.

“What can I say, man. Stevie boy can’t keep his hands off me, even when we’re in mortal danger.”

Steve shot Sam a glare. “It wasn’t like that. We tried to get out, but the doors were too thick, and glass didn’t want to break either.” Steve waved over to the far wall, which was half glass, and appeared to have some kind of observation room on the other side. There was a door in that wall too, as equally as dented as the one Bucky had come through, giving credence to Steve’s story that they’d at least attempted to get out before getting bored and starting to get handsy with each other. “We knew you’d come when we didn’t check in, so we were just waiting. But you’re here now.”

“Unfortunately, though,” Sam drawled, “Because you let that door shut behind you, we’re now all stuck.”

“As long as you two don’t start sucking face again.” Bucky made a gagging noise.

“No chance of that, Bucko. Don’t you know that cyborgs kill the mood,” Sam fired back.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and cocked his hip. “Nat doesn’t seem to think so.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, the vibranium plates clinking and servos whirring. “In fact she…”

“...Would most likely kill you for having this conversation.” Steve cut him off. “And speaking of Nat…”

Steve pointed into the observation room, where the door into it had burst open and a man in a white lab coat and goggles was staggering through it, a very angry Russian redhead sat atop his shoulders. Nat rained blows down onto the man's face before doing her patented twisty thing where she spun herself down and hurled the guy across the room by his neck. He crashed into a table which had various electronics and tools across it, and didn’t get up. Nat, of course, landed on her feet and tossed her hair back. At that moment, Bucky didn’t think he could love her more.

Nat walked over to the control panel, a swagger in her steps. She peered down at it for a few moments and then pressed a button. The door to the side of the glass opened with a creak and Nat sauntered over and pushed it further open.

“I win, kotenok.” 

Bucky reached in a few long strides and, in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close.

“How do you figure that, sweetheart? I was obviously here first, and we haven’t done the final count of robots dispatched.” He smiled down at her and brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face.

“But I took out him,” she jerked her head in the direction of the felled robot creator, “and you got yourself trapped in with Dumb and Dumber over there. I think that means I can rightly claim the win.”

Somewhere behind them, Sam shouted out “Hey!” but both Bucky and Nat ignored him.

“You think, do you? I’m not sure I agree.” Bucky’s lips twisted up into an amused smile and Nat reached up and bopped her finger against the tip of his nose.

“Of course you don’t agree. You’re always wrong, Yasha. Now, let’s get home and you and I can try and salvage the rest of date night. You owe me a pizza.” She slipped effortlessly from his hold and spun away. Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve and Sam and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say ‘what are you gonna do?’ and followed in her wake, picking up their unconscious captive and throwing him over his shoulder on the way.

They got outside and as they neared the two jets Bucky looked over at Nat, silent communication passing between them. She jogged towards the jet they’d arrived in for their rescue mission and Bucky peeled off toward the one that Sam and Steve had used. He jogged up the ramp ahead of his friends, and as he reached the top he pressed the ramp close button and dumped the robot maker on the floor.

“Um, Buck… What are you doing?” Steve called out to him through the narrowing gap. Bucky grinned back. “It’s only a two hour flight back to the compound. Surely you can wrap your legs around your boyfriend for that long.” He shot a wink at their outraged faces as the ramp closed and then whistled to himself as he made his way to the cockpit. 

Childish? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

Bucky sat down in the pilot’s seat, put the headphones on and switched to his and Nat’s private comms channel as he started the jet up.

“So, malyshka, what do you want on your pizza?”

Tag list: @km-ffluv @christywrites @alexakeyloveloki @doasyoudesireandlive

[wickedlittlecritta]

BLINI TIME

i’m using @sovietpostcards recipe, found here, and i DEFINITELY fucked it up and used too much flour (i’m used to much thicker pancakes lol)

i've seen some folks in the notes say that they have a hard time finding plain kefir in the usa, i found some at trader joe's! i didn't want to wait for it to go sour on it's own, so i added a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar to sour it. (lemon juice works for this as well)

they're GOOD! definitely would be better if they were thinner, but still very good. we had them with butter and maple syrup, but i think next time i'll bust out the condensed milk.

[jackwolfes]

30 for wesper <3

a kiss for comfort

This is an ACOTLD-verse ficlet set between ch17 and ch18!

Jesper wakes up to an empty bed. It is small and creaks whenever any of its occupants so much as squirms, but it's a bed indoors and that's enough for right now.

He sits up (and predictably, the bed groans) and drags a blanket around his shoulders. This apartment is freezing (but it's safe, and that's enough for right now).

Wylan isn't in the bedroom, which means he's in the tiny second room. There are only two, after all, and the cramped water closet downstairs. The winter morning outside is pitch black. Jesper wanders up to his husband where he's sitting on the kitchen counter staring out the window, knowing he hears him coming because these worn floors creak.

"How long did you sleep for?" Jesper asks. In a silence this heavy, his voice feels too loud. Wylan turns around to look at him. There are tears in his eyes.

Jesper sighs, knowing not to press for an answer. He squeezes himself into the tiny space they have as a kitchen in this cheap flat and opens his arms, guiding Wylan into a hug and wrapping the blanket tight around his shoulders. Wylan tucks his head into the crook of Jesper's throat like he wants to hide and cannot think of a place more comforting.

"Homesick?" Jesper asks him.

"It's been three months," is Wylan's half-heartbroken response. He laughs, but it's a weak sound. "I hardly loved living with my father but…"

Jesper kisses his temple. "But you weren't stuck in a tiny Fjerdan apartment with a man you rushed to marry while on the run from hitmen."

He feels Wylan laugh, light and easy — which is enough to make Jesper worry a tiny bit less. "You aren't the problem, Jesper."

If he's honest Jesper doesn't need to even ask what the problem is. The problem, plain and simple, is that they have been thrust into a new life with no one they know and no idea when — or if — they will ever be able to go back to the lives they had. Wylan was right; they weren't perfect lives. But they were familiar, and they don't have the choice to go back.

Jesler pulls back just enough to cup Wylan's cheek, tipping it upwards so he can look his husband in the eye. "I love you," he whispers softly. Wylan smiles.

Instead of responding immediately Wylan leans in for a kiss, but stops himself before their lips brush. He always stops himself. There is no anxiety for Jesper with a kiss like this, though, so he closes the gap between them easily. This kiss is pure comfort, and he hopes that's what Wylan takes from it. He hopes that his husband feels it like evidence against his lips that yes, life sucks, but they're still sticking together through it. Jesper cups Wylan's face in both his hands, trusting him to cling onto the blanket that keeps them both warm as their lips press against each other's.

Already Jesper feels Wylan settle, kiss slowing gently as he's soothed. The thought makes Jesper smile, warmed to his core even in this dreadful cold night.

There won't be time for Wylan to sleep any more before he has to go to work. While Jesper has found work in the metalworking studios in the craft working quarter of the city, Wylan has taken early morning shifts in the sweaty tanneries on the south side. He ends each shift tired and worn out, but they always come home to each other and that seems to make the drudgery worth it for both of them. He starts before dawn, and will have to leave soon, but for now the two of them can hold a moment together.

"I'll make you breakfast before work," Jesper offers. "And after I get home we can pester Nina into making us blini for dinner."

It makes Wylan smile. "Okay," he murmurs.

Before Jesper can pull away Wylan draws him down into one final kiss, not hesitating this time. The thought makes Jesper happy. The idea that one day they won't even have to think about how to love each other. They'll be in a home that makes them happy, and they'll be with each other. One day.

For now he simply steps away with a smile, giving Wylan his blanket so he can wrap up tight. There is no music, but they start to chatter about work and life and what happy things they have, pleased to be together and pleased to be alive.

It might not be perfect, but it is theirs — and they love it.

[laserbobcat]

Remember when I talked about this adorable french ttrpg game with kitten? We played it! My friend made a dumb farmer kid, I made a dumb rich kid, no brain cells between the two. My character Blini basically spent the whole thing crying in various ways and expecting to be eaten. My friend's character Tofu spent the whole time completely careless it was a delight. The game has two types of combat. Actual combat is pretty rare and extreme, the most common form of fight is called "Tooth battle" where basically anything is considered fighting and does "damage" if the rolls are good. For example we won the first fight by being cute and convincing the bad guys to be nice. I had all my points in the "cute" stat so i crused that. Very cool game. Idk if and when it will be translated to english.

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 114 - Don't Quit Your Day Job, Gemma

I don't know how Gemma made such a colorful mess with cheese and meat blinis but at least she ate it all!

Gemma and Lulu are getting babysat by their cousin Jace tonight because Ophelia and The Main Squeeze are debuting a new song, but there's plenty of time to play with Mommy!

Before Ophelia can ask what Gemma wants to play, the little one eyes her makeup kit and a question pops into her head.

Gemma: Why did Jaden's daddy get all mad about my makeup?

Oh boy. How to explain toxic masculinity and gender roles to a toddler…

Ophelia: Well, some people have… different ideas about what boys should do and girls should do, and some people think boys shouldn't wear makeup.

Gemma: Why?

Ophelia: Honestly, I don't know, muffin. Some people get ideas in their heads and it makes them act a little silly.

Gemma might not know all there is to know about society's expectations of certain genders, but she does know that sounds silly.

Gemma: Jaden likes playin' makeup! He maked himself so pretty! His daddy needs to be nice or he gets timeout!

Ophelia: Trust me, I'd love to see that.

Ophelia: Don't worry, Gem, your daddy and I think as long as no one's hurting themselves or anyone else, people should be allowed to do or play what they want. What do you think?

Gemma: Yeah!

Ophelia's happy to assure her daughter that they'll support her no matter who she is.

Gemma: Can we play makeup, Mommy?

Ophelia: Sure! Do you want me to give you a makeover?

Gemma: No, I wanna do YOUR makeup!

Well, Ophelia has makeup on already, but she's going to take a shower before the debut tonight anyways…

Ophelia: I'd love that, baby doll.

Gemma giddily giggles, which almost makes up for the discomfort of having this cheap play makeup smeared all over Ophelia's face.

Ophelia: Oooh, sweetie, don't press so hard with the lipstick.

Gemma: Hehehehe ☺️

Ophelia holds in a sneeze and reminds herself of how happy this is making Gemma. Jane would have sooner died than let tiny Ophelia mess up her makeup. She can stomach any potential breakouts if it means creating happy memories with her little girl.

Ophelia: Be careful, these are Joliebean nails.

That means absolutely nothing to Gemma, but she's about as careful as someone her age can be… so not very careful at all. She manages to get the polish anywhere BUT the nails.

Ophelia looks at herself in the little mirror Gemma showed her reflection with, then directly looks into the camera to show us she's screaming internally.

Ophelia: You did such a good job! Thank you so much!

She gives Gemma a biiiig hug. She had fun, that's all that matters.

Ophelia: I think you could use some lipstick too!

She smothers her little girl's face with kisses. Gemma squeals and tries to wriggle away.

Gemma: Mommy, it's sticky!

Yeah, how do you think she feels, Gem?

Gemma: Mommy, 'Tato gave us a box!

Ophelia: Huh. Don't know who wrapped an energy drink up in this tiny little box, but that's nice, I guess. Thanks, buddy.

Before Ophelia can bring Gemma inside so Xander can watch her while she washes that goofy makeup off, she spots a familiar face walking along the trails outside her house.

What's Libby doing in Tartosa so early? The single debut isn't for another few hours.

Ophelia: Libby? Hey, Lib, over here!

The sullen look on her friend's face is alarming.

Ophelia: Whoa, hey, what's wrong?

Libby: Oh, hey Feefs. Sorry, I needed a scenic world to walk around and clear my head so I popped in early. I wasn't going to bother you before tonight…

Ophelia: No, it's okay, what's up?

Libby: I broke things off with the girl I've been seeing. I really liked her… but she proposed on our second date.

Ophelia sighs. Libby has not had much luck in the ladies department, Ophelia included.

Ophelia: I'm sorry, hon. Come here.

Libby: Why is it so hard? Everyone I meet either wants to get married and have kids or wants to be non-monogamous. I don't want to get married but I also want someone that's just mine. Am I asking for too much?

Ophelia: No, no. There's plenty of people out there who want that.

Libby: It doesn't feel like it.

Ophelia: I know it's true. My bandmate Drew, that's what they're looking for.

Libby: Drew? Oh, I didn't know that. I figured a party animal wouldn't be into any commitment.

Ophelia: It's easier to party with two people.

Ophelia: Drew told me you guys have been texting a lot.

Libby: Yeah, they're fun to talk to.

Ophelia: They're also looking for what you're looking for. A partner, but not a spouse. Someone who was in a wedding band being against the concept of marriage. Ironic, huh?

Libby: Huh… You think they'd be interested in me?

Ophelia: Seemed like it when I brought it up.

Libby: Ophelia the matchmaker! Setting your ex up with your bandmate is crazy, you know that, right?

Ophelia: Matches my makeup then.

Libby: I didn't want to say anything but…

Libby's train of thought is interrupted when she spots Gemma.

Libby: Man, she's getting so big. I'm gonna assume she was your makeup artist today.

Ophelia: How could you tell?

Libby: Lucky guess. How's Lucia?

Ophelia: I gave up on getting people to call her that. Lulu's fine.

Gemma stumbles over when she realizes who's here.

Gemma: Auntie Libby!

Libby: Hey, kiddo, come here. Oh, wow, your hands are so sticky.

Ophelia remembers when she thought their breakup would ruin their friendship, and now her kid sees her as an aunt. She's thankful for that.

Ophelia: Trust me, I think Drew will be very happy to see you tonight.

Gemma perks up at hearing Drew's name.

Gemma: Pibs!

Libby: Pibs?

Ophelia: Ugh, ask Drew. I'm not getting into that.

[the-starless-reader]

Extended Shadow and Bone Timeline [Part 1]

It's autumn when the first trip to the Fold occurs.

At the beginning of Shadow and Bone, Alina's regiment marches from the military encampment at Poliznaya to Kribirsk. It takes them two weeks to get there. Alina gets her first glimpse of the Fold standing on the Vy, the wide road that had once led from Os Alta to the port cities on Ravka's western coast.

It is explicitly stated that the autumn sun was warm overhead. Alina takes notice of both the green and gold smells of autumn and the soft breeze at her back.

Alina almost gets trampled by the Darkling's coach before entering Kribirsk, and she spends the rest of the day at the Documents Tent. At dusk, she gets her first glimpse of the Grisha pavilion. The air is noticeably cooler.

Later at night, Alina sneaks out to meet Mal, and the plumes of their breath are visible in the cold air. In fact, it's cold enough for her to wish she had taken the time to grab her scarf and gloves.

The next morning, Mal and Alina are boarding the sandskiff and entering the Fold for the first time. Barely thirty minutes later, the volcra attack happens, and Alina's power is revealed. The skiff returns, and the survivors are taken to the Grisha tent. The bright autumn sun is clearly visible in the sky, and the flags above the tent are fluttering in the breeze.

Alina meets the Darkling, and her power is confirmed. She doesn't even get to speak to Mal before she departs for the Little Palace.

Additional information:

Establishing the date of the winter fete:

The first Malina reunion takes place in Chapter 14, on the night of the winter fete. In Chapter 13, it's stated that the King and the Queen are hosting the final winter fete at the end of the season. We're not given any specific date, but in Chapter 14, when she's arriving at the fete, Alina takes notice that the spring has barely begun to show itself. She runs away later that night, and in Chapter 16, when the second Malina reunion takes place outside of Ryevost, Alina explicitly states that she'd escaped from the palace well over a week ago. In Chapter 17, she wonders about Mal's life in the past five months.

Over the next few days, they keep a brutal pace, until they reach a village on the northwestern side of the Petrazoi. The festivities of the butter week are taking place. In Chapter 17, it's stated that the holiday takes place in the week before the spring fast. Alina's description of the customs, especially the mention of blini (a form of Eastern European pancake) corresponds with the Eastern Slavic holiday known as Maslenitsa. This suggests that we should probably stick to the Old (Julian) Calendar, rather than the New (Gregorian) Calendar.

Based on the information above, Alina's timeline at the Little Palace spans over five months and two seasons. And if we could calculate the possible date of the winter fete, we could also determine the approximate timeline of the whole story.

Establishing the date of the butter week:

Maslenitsa (also known as Butter Lady, Butter Week, Crepe Week or Cheesefare Week) is celebrated during the last week before the Great Fast. It's the eighth week before Eastern Orthodox Pascha [i.e. Easter].

Since Easter and its holidays are moveable feasts, the date of the celebration has to be computed to the first Sunday after the ecclesiastical full moon that occurs on or soonest after March 21.

In the Northern Hemisphere, the March equinox equals the spring equinox, and while some of the churches have adopted the revised New Calendar, the Russian Orthodox Church still uses the Old Calendar, which sets the date of Orthodox Easter anywhere between April 4 and May 8.

It's explicitly stated that Malina's second reunion takes place 'well over a week' after the winter fete, and the choice of words suggests that we should read 'well over' like 'less than a week, but still more than a half'. However, this is where our timeline starts to blur: all we know is that 'over the next few days' they are keeping a brutal pace, until they reach a village where the festivities of the butter week are taking place. Initially, Alina thinks it might be Sunday.

The approximate calculation says that at least 18 days have passed between the winter fete and the butter week festival. Fixing the date of the fete to the spring equinox sets the festival on the second week of April. This doesn't seem to fit with the Old Calendar, because our Butter Week is the eighth week before Easter, and in this case, Ravkan Easter falls outside the specified frame.

However, given that there is no mention of Easter in this world, we can only assume that the Ravkan butter week actually corresponds more with the pre-Christian celebrations of the upcoming spring, which were later adopted by the Orthodox church. It's worth mentioning that in pre-Christian times, blini were considered to be a symbol of the sun due to their round form. Traditionally, they were prepared at the end of winter to honor the rebirth of the new sun.

To confirm that the Ravkans are indeed using the Old Calendar, and that fixing the date of the winter fete on the spring equinox makes sense, we should take a closer look into the feast of Sankt Nikolai, the only other explicitly mentioned holiday in Ravka.

Establishing the date of the feast of Sankt Nikolai:

In Chapter 13, there's a mention of the feast of Sankt Nikolai, which takes place in winter. It seems to mirror the Christian celebration of the feast of Saint Nicholas, which falls on December 19, according to the Old Calendar.

According to The Lives of Saints, a table should be set for Sankt Nikolai on the darkest night of the year. In our world, this would mirror the December solstice, the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year. On the Old Calendar, the winter solstice occurs around December 25. It's also known as midwinter.

In Chapter 13 of Shadow and Bone, it's mentioned that the feast of Sankt Nikolai is celebrated with huge bowls of dumpling soup and kutya made with honey and poppy seeds. In Orthodox tradition, predominantly Eastern Slavic, kutya is a ceremonial grain dish served during the Christmas season or as part of a funeral feast.

On the Old Calendar, Christmas takes place on January 7, which could potentially explain why it is explicitly stated that the 'final' winter fete takes place at the end of the season. The festivities have probably started with midwinter.

Canonically fixing the date of the feast of Sankt Nikolai on the date of the winter solstice, we are creating a headcanon in which every change of season comes with a big holiday.

Final thoughts:

If the final winter fete happens five months after the events on the Fold, and the date is set to March 21, then Shadow and Bone starts somewhere between late October and early November.

[dorkydorkbwon]

For the ask game: 3, 5, 7, 9!

Hello

3. what do you put on pancakes? In the place I come from we dont make those thick pancakes ppl usually think about. We make them bigger and thinner. They are called bliny. I usually eat them with sour cream or butter + sugar.

5. do you wear jewelry? Nope, I don't wear anything. I never really liked it because it always gets in the way and later I just started to do sports, so you have to take it off anyways.

7. when was the last time you lost something? Oof, when I started to work at school I had to make a credit card to get my salary on it. So I went to the bank and got a card. When I came back home I found out that I had lost it on the way back. Well that was sad.

9. do you want hot chocolate, right now, this very instant? YES, gimme that (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

Thanks 🖤

[foreverinthepagesofhistory]

I read you mentioned about Alexei eating a lot of his favorite Russian blini, may I ask what about the girls favorite food ?

Hmmm this is a hard one because i don’t know if OTMA’s favorite foods were ever mentioned anywhere. I will do my best to answer!

I think i heard one time that when Maria was little she snuck some cookies and Nicholas said that he was glad that he knew that she wasn’t an angel. I also have heard that Maria loved food so i think that she had a pretty wide variety of favorites.

I also find this photo funny because look how Maria is eating!

Also i should mention that OTMA loved drinking tea! If you read any of their diary entries, they always say that they “drank tea with papa” or “drank tea with mama”. Drinking tea was not uncommon so i don’t think i can count it as a favorite food.

Also here is a letter from Anastasia to Maria (from Tobolsk to Yekaterinburg, 1918)

We just had tea. Aleksei is with us and we just devoured so many Paskas that I plan to burst.

Paskas are special cakes that you eat on Easter.

other than that, i don’t have any knowledge of OTMA’s specific favorite food. I hope that my answer could be of some use but i know it’s not much.

Thank you for asking me questions!

[viranlly]

7 Hours in Etihad’s First Class Suite

Let me just say right off the bat, it's not long enough.

And also, by no mean this is a review — because honestly, this flight is spectacular and I’m really not gonna get into the nitty-gritty, technical stuff (you can totally google that at your leisure).

After a whirlwind of a 10-hour, martini-filled, water-deprived stopover in London (more on that later), it’s finally time to hop into the flight that I’ve been watching over-and-over-and-over again on YouTube: the Etihad first class suite, with service to Abu Dhabi, on a Boeing 787-9.

I knew this flight was gonna be great. It’s so great it totally ruins flying (any other way) for me. 

The second I stepped on the plane and the flight attendant got a glance of my seat number, *ahem* 1A, you could see almost a mini panic as she was trying to find the first class FA to take me to my personal suite. Yes, not a pod, not a seat — a suite. Bed, dining table for two and closet space included. 

Trying not to lose my mind next to the couple who’s clearly done this before, I calmly sat down to make sure everything was okay (as if anything would go wrong). Noise cancelling earphones, check. Entertainment centre. check. Mini bar, stocked. Acqua di Parma amenity kit and faux fur throw, check, check, check. I took a decent amount of content yet I forgot to take a photo of the actual suite without me in it — amateur. I guess I’ll have to remind myself, for next time.

"This smells, tastes, and feels rich" I said to myself as I sipped the 2006 Charles Heidsieck Brut (bless pre-departure champagne) that's served alongside Arabic coffee, dates, and cold towel. I was fully living the Sex and The City 2 Movie fantasy, with less marital issues and no sheikh paying for the trip. As they're boarding the rest of the plebs plane, my assigned flight attendant went through a laundry list of preferences for the rest of the flight: dinner service, wine pairing, water (still or sparkling), level of privacy, and more importantly what champagne would I like for right after take-off — The answer, was rosé, by the way. 

She then dropped off a bag of loungewear for me to change to if I prefer, which, I absolutely needed to, since I was wearing a very London-specific Thom Browne tartan suit to dress the part with not enough room to handle every menu items we're about to devour. 

I was utterly torn, between drinking as much 2002 vintage champagne until I’m unconscious in this suite or catching up on sleep as we had a 17 hour layover in Abu Dhabi awaited us. 

As I continued to ponder, the plane took off. Never in my life I witnessed a  take off this smooth, this quite— it’s almost like the engines just whisper “let’s go girls” oh so subtly. And not three minutes after, a glistening, freshly popped, frosty bottle of Champagne Duval-Leroy Rosé Prestige showed up at my door. And this, marked the beginning of the most incredible three-hour dining experience in the sky.

A change of clothes, fresh towel, and a switch to Duval-Leroy Femme de Champagne 2002 later, the caviar service begins — A proper caviar service. With blinis en accompagnement, and of course, the mother of pearl spoon that I almost smuggled into my amenity kit. 

“Would you like some more champagne”, she asked, fully knowing we finished half a bottle within the first 15 mins of dinner. I mean, what kind of monster would say no? By the time the lobster course arrived, we’re one bottle in, and flying has never felt better. We managed to go through most to the wine list (pictured below) and honestly, this list slaps. Hard. Hard enough to piss off some somm friends. 

The Jacques Prieur was stunning, oh-so-fragrant and crisp, with balanced salinity to finish. The Pascal Jolivet was delightfully expressive with lovely, lingering mouthfeel. By the time we wanted to taste the riesling, the palate cleanser arrived, followed by the main course shortly. Yes, there’s a palate cleanser course.

Cooking tenderloin to a perfect medium rare is as hard as it is for some restaurants with fully equipped kitchen. Somehow, Etihad nails it, 30,000ft in the air — now that’s impressive. Whatever magic compartment they have in their galley, it works. For the wine, I managed to tasted all the reds and well, big surprise (not really), the Cabernet plays so elegantly with this perfectly cooked piece of meat. 

The stretchy pyjama pants were barely holding it anymore but I still had to save some room for dessert — creme brûlée with a side of Haagen Dasz ice cream, which I washed down with another glass of the ’02 Femme de Champagne. 

*Knock knock* “Would you like me to make the bed for you?” - a sentence I don’t hear enough on the ground, let alone in the sky. Honestly, It’s even more special when it’s asked on an Acqua di Parma-scented cabin. As she’s getting my bed ready, we took a little stroll around the plane to see where the rest of the people lived, and you know, stretched… I returned to a fully made bed with a side of crippling anxiety, knowing that for the rest of our journey, there’s no first class cabin on the planes — scary, I know (Kidding, Etihad’s business cabins aren’t so bad). Nothing another glass of champagne couldn’t fix at this point. So I ordered bed-side champagne to calm me down. *closed doors*

I went to bed, half-drunk, fully stuffed and extremely exhausted. The 3-hr nap I had was clearly not enough to prepare me for what’s waiting for us on the other side. But frankly, that was a very comfortable nap. The flight attendant gently nudge me to notify that it’s time for breakfast. I woke up still drunk, still full, with 90-something minute left on this flight. I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. What was supposed to be an omelette and caviar breakfast, turned into a coffee and champagne kind.

Never thought hearing “thirty minutes to landing” could make someone feel so sad, but there I was, back in my suit, sipping the last of the ’02 Femme de Champagne, not ready to leave the flight.

Thank you Etihad for the most incredible 7 hours in the sky, Michelin-star-worthy (I said what I said) dinner experience, and if you’re reading this, I’m ready for another trip on the first class suite, and hopefully on the A380 next time. 

See you in Abu Dhabi!

[rcsplendent]

🎵 + feelin a lil feral <3 sasha & wolf

1) a song that makes me think of them :

new person, same old mistakes by tame impala ( first of all !!!!! i was jammin to this shit while driving down the highway at like 3am the other night & that felt very appropriate for these two. this song is all about hedonism & causing chaos for the sake of doing it. your conscience trying to tell you that you're doing it all wrong, but you willfully ignore it because you can't be bothered to stop:   '   feel like a brand new person ( but you'll make all the same mistakes ) ... i don't care, i'm in love  ( stop before it's too late ).  ' also, the bassline is just so good. whenever i listen to this song i feel like disturbing the peace, which is just so them isn't it ???? ) " feel like a brand new person so, how will i know that it's right ? in a new direction so, how will i know i've gone too far ? stop thinking that the only option was … "

2) a song i think would play in the background of a love scene :

give it to me by homeshake ( the soundtrack to a dream sasha had once that had him waking up sweaty & shaken. inspo: one, two. ) " give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me, baby, show me some love ... "

3) a song that would make my muse think of yours :

love it if we made it by the 1975 ( the vibes of this song are very ' i'm not sure if life has any real meaning and i can't cope so i'm going to wreak absolute fucking havoc in a desperate attempt to be known & remembered by a world that's left me behind '. which is how sasha feels and he thinks wolf might be the only person who gets it. honorary mention to the lyric ' saying controversial things just for the hell of it ' which is so them thanks bye )  " fuck your feelings ! truth is only hearsay we're just left to decay modernity has failed us and i'd love it if we made it "

4) a song i think would play during an action sequence :

REPTILIA by the strokes ( this song is so good first of all ,,,, but also i'm just picturing a cinematic lil montage of them causing absolute chaos with this in the background. breaking into places they're not supposed to be in. nearly getting caught. maybe a lil thievery competition if u will. ) " the room is on FIRE and she's fixing her hair, you sound so angry, just calm down, you found me ! "

5) a song our muses would dance to :

J'OUVERT by brockhampton ( them just screaming joba's verse at the top of some hill in the middle of the night, 10 miles from home bc just they started walking in a random direction 3 hrs ago and never thought to turn around —blini & hund wrestling in the grass at their feet — ) " MISUNDERSTOOD SINCE BIRTH !          FUCK what you THINK !    and FUCK what you HEARD ! "