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#homesickness
definegodliness · 2 months ago
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We, (s)old souls
We are born With an innate yearning For a home already long Gone to the ages
Children, guiltless Products of punishment Slates tainted At every rebirth
We are doomed To wander Earth, aimless And search, and search Abiding Magic's last wrath against A wicked church
Against
The father unwilling to pay His dues for futures where All children Get to play
He sits in church every Sunday To pray To himself, self-staining Clutching another bag of guilders, saved Before ejaculating
We are abandoned Still
We remember nothing of safety's bosom We remember nothing But the ache ingrained
Lost Until we turn dust, again Again, hearing the music Play
... but only then
And a shard of soul follows the river Wesel Silver tears return the river Crystalline as if by sunlight's Shimmers
The sun sets over Hamelin
Somewhere, far away A new-born baby's first cry Fills another delivery room With a forlorn Ache
--- 2-10-2021, M.A. Tempels © “... written for @goneahead‘s Poe-tober prompt: Sins of the father.”
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ell-hs · 3 months ago
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hiraeth, do you even belong anywhere?
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// The love club, Lorde / Sasha Hartslief / original / Stoned at the nail salon / Buzzcut Season //
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fictiongirl11 · 2 months ago
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New Bullet Journal Idea
I’ve been reading a lot of “Humans are Space Orcs” stuff usually where the human can’t go back to earth. I feel like homesickness is either ignored or downplayed. Just moving to college is terrifying with the stuff I miss from home. So, I decided to make a bullet list of “What would I mourn if I got yoinked into space?” Thought it could be cool to share the idea.
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sweetprentiss · 3 months ago
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Homesick-- Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader
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Summary: You've moved ten hours from home for the first time ever and homesickness is kicking your ass. When Emily notices that you're not yourself, what will she do to help?
Words: 3.5k
Warnings: description of homesickness which could be considered depression. hurt/comfort.
A/N: This takes place in my personal, self-indulgent AU that begins when Reader *cough* me *cough* is in college. So this may be a little hyper-specific. I'm really struggling with my new move and writing this helped. I hope you all enjoy.
AO3
The city was sweltering. It was a heat unlike one you had ever felt before. Hot steam blasted up through the grates in the sidewalk as subway cars screeched past, hurrying towards their next destination. The sunshine was bouncing between buildings that stretched nearly to the clouds, trapping you in a bubble of humid, sticky heat with millions of other people also dripping sweat and rushing to make it to their next reprieve of air conditioning and ice-cold water.
As you made it to your building, you tried not to look down the block at the men sprawled on the sidewalk that always catcalled you whenever you chanced walking past. By the advice of your neighbors and some of the local workers, you steered clear of the little gang, having heard that they were up to no good. So long as you stayed out of their way and didn't interact with them, everyone assured you that you would be just fine. That didn't make wanting to come home any easier, though.
You had never been this far away from home before and certainly had never lived somewhere even a fraction of the size of New York City. But this place was your dream, this place felt like home. Well, at least the parts of it that didn't make your parents worry themselves into a tizzy. It had been less than a week since your dad and best friend dropped you off in your tiny two-bedroom apartment alone, your new roommate not moving in for at least 6 more days, to get used to the sounds and anxieties of living in the greatest city in the world.
With a little over a week until you were scheduled to start classes for grad school, no job, and no friends yet, things were getting pretty lonely in your apartment. Sometimes in the middle of the day, for no apparent reason, your sadness would hit you like a ton of bricks. It was like all of a sudden your entire body would slow to a halt, your chest would get tight, and tears would sting at your eyes. When this would happen, all you really wanted was some attention, some love, and a reminder that you were not alone.
But you had no idea how to ask for any of that.
You and Emily were no stranger to distance with her job. You met in Chicago when you were presenting research at a conference, and she was working on one of her first assignments with the FBI after graduating from Yale. You were still in undergrad just a couple of hours outside the city and she would use her free time to come visit you or to pick you up from the train station and bring you to her apartment. But between classes and her job, sometimes the most that the two of you could manage were FaceTime calls. And once the pandemic hit? It was a damn near miracle when you got to see each other. You two were regularly tested and were super cautious but sometimes the anxiety and guilt were too much and you couldn't bring yourself to sneak off to the city to see her, let alone go against the rules and sneak her onto your closed campus.
When you graduated this past spring, no one told you that Emily would be coming and you nearly cried as flung yourself into her arms upon seeing her, giving all the regulations a big fuck you to kiss her long and hard. She ended up coming home with you for a couple of weeks but eventually had to return to Chicago. Towards the end of the summer, she was offered a new position in DC, one that would allow her to go back to the academy to study profiling. Because of this move, she couldn't help you with your move and you had no clue when you would see her again. DC was closer to New York than Chicago, but she still felt an ocean away.
With these pangs of sadness and homesickness came the desire to pull away from the people you loved. All you craved was attention and care but your body was screaming at you to isolate, to shut down, to be alone. So when Emily got so busy with her training program that she hadn't reached out in a couple of days, you knew in the back of your mind that you couldn't call her. You just knew that no matter how bad you were feeling, how sad, how lonely, you wouldn't dare disrupt Emily's new normal, Emily's new life. You just could not bring yourself to even try to take up space, no matter how much you needed it.
That was how you found yourself curled up on the couch, watching reruns of Station 19, mouth slightly open as you zoned out with your eyes wide open, oblivious to the world around you. Some texts were exchanged with your best friends back home, some with your parents, but now you had no energy to do anything at all. Your first trip to campus to pick up your new ID had knocked you right out and you were exhausted.
The familiar boops and dings of an incoming FaceTime shook you from your stupor and you picked up the phone, seeing your girlfriend's face smiling brightly at you. It was a photo she had taken as a joke on your phone but she had caught herself mid-laugh and was adorable. You sat up straighter on the couch, fussing with your hair, and putting on your best happy face before answering.
"Hi," you said with a closed-lip smile.
Emily's hair was partially thrown up into a messy bun on her head, her bangs partly awkwardly around her glasses. She was still growing it out from the short crew cut she had been sporting when you first met.
"Hi stranger, I'm sorry I haven't called in a while," Emily replied, still smiling as she searched your face.
"It's okay, I get it. You're a busy lady. Gotta save the world and stuff." Your reply was more stilted than you had intended and Emily picked up on it immediately.
"Baby, are you okay?" Her brow furrowed as she rolled over in her bed to lean on her elbows, face cradled in her palms and phone resting against her pillow.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just getting used to the new city."
Being asked if you were okay was a surefire way to get you to cry, so you did your best to push the tears down. You knew your face was probably already bright red and your eyes a little swollen in the effort to hold in the tears, the bottom of your clear-frame glasses fogging from the heat radiating off of your skin in the cold, air-conditioned room. There was no way you could hide this from Emily. But you were going to try, nonetheless.
"You don't look very fine, sweetheart," Emily responded as she pushed her black frames up her nose. The glasses were a relatively new addition to her nighttime look. She didn't need the glasses during the day but at night, when her eyes were tired, they helped. The doctor said that she would probably need more full-time glasses in the next ten years or so, but you hoped it would be sooner because she was so stinkin' cute in them.
A sob burbled in your chest, threatening to drip from your nose if you didn't open your mouth and let it out. With a sniffle and a grunt, you buried your head in your arms as you folded one across your chest, the other still holding the phone shakily in front of you. Even though you and Emily had been together for over a year, being vulnerable with each other was a struggle. You both desperately wanted the other to let you in but sometimes the walls were just too high.
"Oh, my sweet love. I'm so sorry you're sad. I love you so, so much and I wish I could help you feel better."
Because Emily had moved around so much as a kid, she had never experienced homesickness before. When you told her about how in your first year of undergrad you cried every day from August until November, she almost couldn't believe that people could experience such a feeling of home that it made them physically ill to be away. But you, you were no stranger to the horrible, awful feeling of pouring yourself a glass of milk and crying because your dad likes to drink milk before bed with cookies or being frozen on the couch as you watch a comfort show because you realized that you won't have watch parties with your best friend anymore with her right by your side. Your home life certainly hadn't been ideal, that's why you fled to the other side of the country, but that place and those people were all you had ever really known and loved and every bone in your body ached when you let yourself slow down long enough to realize you're alone.
Emily repeated her affirmations sporadically as she let you cry. She felt helpless, like there was nothing she could do to make you feel better even though she wanted nothing more than to make all of your pain go away. As your cries slowed, you looked up at the screen to see a tear of Emily's track down her cheek. She was a softie when it came to you.
"I cried the other day because the pots and pans in my cupboards are the ones from home and it made me miss home," you said with a laugh, trying to break the tension.
"Oh, did you?" Emily asked, cracking a smile at the absurdity of your emotional triggers.
"Oh yeah, it was full waterworks like when I realized last year my cat snuck her favorite toy into my stuff for college."
You gave Emily a watery smile, signaling to her that you had cried yourself out and were feeling slightly better.
"Oh, I remember that day. How long had we been dating? Just a few months, right? And you had snuck me into your dorm to help unpack your things before all of your residents moved in."
You cackled, remembering hiding Emily in your walk-in closet when one of the resident assistants came knocking down your door with a problem and ended up sitting on your floor for over half an hour. When you finally opened the door for Emily to come out, she said, "you know, the least you could do is congratulate me for coming out of the closet, babe." You both laughed and you had kissed her soundly on the mouth before pulling her to the couch to sit and snuggle as you watched reruns of your favorite show.
"Yeah, and I was so convinced I would scare you away, crying over some silly cat toy."
Emily smiled softly at you. "It's not silly. She's been your cat since you were in kindergarten, you're allowed to be emotionally attached to her acts of kindness."
You blushed and readjusted on the couch. "Thanks, Em."
Emily sat and chatted with you for a while until she said that she had to hop off the phone because her mother had tried calling in three separate times and would probably riot if Emily ignored her call a fourth time that day. With a heavy heart, you let her go, bundling yourself up in a sweater, unwilling to turn the AC down knowing that tomorrow would be super-hot once again and your apartment would need all the help it could get to stay cool.
Around dinnertime, you made yourself get up from your spot on the couch and make some food. You hadn't been super good about making sure that you were making food for yourself on a regular basis because you had been so sad but tonight you were craving one of your favorite comfort foods and were determined to make it for yourself. Your roommate had just left for the evening, trekking back to Brooklyn because her bed still hadn't come in the mail yet. You were alone once more, but not feeling quite as bad as you did before Emily called. Being a grad student meant that you were poor, so you were definitely frugal with your meal choices. But, that also meant they were easy to make so within 15 minutes you were sitting back on the couch, content as can be with your meal and your show.
Only a few bites in, however, the intercom in your kitchen began to ring. You weren't expecting anyone, so it startled you before you slowly crept to the video screen, as if the person waiting outside could see if you were spying on them. What the feed showed, however, made your heart race and your hands start to flail around happily, a giddy squeal waiting in your chest to be released. Without a word, you unlocked the door and quickly picked up some stray things laying around. It felt like only moments when you heard the knock you were expecting.
Without even looking through the peephole, you flung open the door and threw yourself at the woman waiting anxiously outside with a big bag hanging off of her shoulder. Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't make them stop as you smelled the familiar, comforting smell of Emily's lavender shampoo and warm perfume. Her toned arms wrapped around your torso, one long hand reaching to stroke your hair. Your excitement was bubbling from your chest as you clutched at Emily's shirt, a little damp from the sweat that accumulated walking from the subway stop and up three flights of stairs in the dog days of summer.
You didn't know how long you stood there, wrapped in Emily's embrace, before she gently pushed you back into the cool apartment, letting the door shut behind her.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, incredulous and in awe of your girlfriend.
Emily cracked a smile, dropping her bag on the floor before reaching behind her to lock the door—she knew you were always on edge about your door being secured.
"I was worried about you. I knew you were more upset than you were letting on and that you weren't going to tell me."
You went to argue but Emily put her hand up.
"No, babe. I know you weren't going to tell me you needed me and I know it's partially my fault."
A frown pulled at the corners of your mouth.
"No, Em. The way I act is my fault, and mine alone."
Emily stepped forward once more, pulling you in an embrace with one hand around your waist and the other tucking some hair behind your ear.
"That doesn't change the fact that you needed me and I have been MIA for what have probably been a very hard few days."
You looked down at your feet, knowing Emily was right that you had taken her radio silence as an invitation to isolate yourself.
"I'm not your keeper, Em. You don't need to be in constant contact with me. That's toxic, red flag behavior. You were busy and that was fine."
The words coming from your mouth were the truth, what you should be saying. But that didn't make the fact that you weren't fine with Emily leaving you all alone any less poignant.
"Baby, please," Emily said, cupping your jaw. "You're allowed to need me and you're allowed to tell me when I let you down. It's not toxic for you to be upset that I knew you were going to be homesick and not being thoughtful enough to at least tell you that I was getting your messages and too busy to answer because of work and training. I remember at the beginning of our relationship that we promised to always communicate our needs and a plan for when we can't meet them right at that moment. And I think this week you and I both haven't been doing a very good job at keeping up our ends of that bargain."
You stayed silent, worried Emily was upset with you. You knew you should have let Emily know you were struggling instead of just sending innocent messages about asinine things to get her attention.
"Hey, don't do that," Emily said as she pinched your chin between her forefinger and thumb, guiding your face to look at her once more.
"Don't do what?" you responded, confused. Emily had always been good at reading you but her profiling classes were making her even better.
"You're taking all the blame on yourself. Don't do that."
You smiled a little, snorting. "How do you do that?"
Emily pulled you in a little closer, kissing your nose. "You make this face when your emotions are overwhelming you. It's like you're a deer caught in headlights who just had a really bad day. And when you start to think bad about yourself or start to take the responsibility for something just to make the confrontation go away, you hunch your shoulders around your ears like you're trying to protect yourself or like you're trying to carry the weight of the world all by yourself. I knew when the muscles in your chest started to clench that you were shutting down."
Wide-eyed, you stared at your girlfriend. How she knew you so well, could read you so well was astounding.
"Those classes really seem to be working," you said as you laid your head on her shoulder.
Emily snorted. "I would hope so, they're eating up all my precious free time." Her hands trailed up and down your back as she rocked your bodies gently.
The two of you stood together in silence for a while before Emily spoke up again. Her voice had a bit of a waver to it like she was uncomfortable with what she was saying. It was almost as if she had been practicing it in her head for the entire four-hour trip from DC and still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, the safe thing to do.
"I—I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you. I knew that you were going to take this move really hard and I know that it's not necessarily my job to be in constant contact with you or to be in charge of making sure you're okay. But I knew you were going to be hurting and I didn't take the time to reassure you that I am here and that I love you and that I want to support you, even if my schedule isn't allowing me to be there for you the way I want to be. I knew you would need me and you've told me how hard it is for you to ask for what you need when you feel like a burden and I should have done better for you. I had the means to do better and I didn't. And I'm sorry."
Tears sprung at your eyes, so grateful that Emily knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, you make you feel seen, heard, and cared for.
"And I'm sorry I shut down and locked myself away. You can't help me if I don't communicate what I need. I should know better by now that I'm not a burden on you and that I hold a valuable space in your life." Your voice was equally as stilted and uncomfortable as you spoke. Neither you nor Emily were good with emotions, vulnerability, or communicating when you were hurting. But you made a promise to each other to try after an argument nearly ruined your relationship not too long ago. And it was uncomfortable, hard, and felt nearly unnatural to be so honest with each other and to work through these issues. But you knew it would be worth it. (And so did your therapist who helped coach you on how to say what's on your mind)
Emily pulled you towards the small couch in the living room and sat down, maneuvering you to be on her lap. You relaxed in her embrace, slouching against her and letting the tall woman support your body. She felt like home and was exactly what you needed to help make this new place feel just a little bit better. Knowing that her presence has been in the apartment, that her aura has touched this place that feels so foreign was what it needed to finally start feeling familiar.
"I love you, Emily. Thank you for being my knight in shining armor."
Emily smiled a brilliant smile and kissed your lips softly before tucking your head back into her neck
"I love you, too, sweet girl. More than you will ever know."
For the rest of the night and the weekend, Emily snuggled with you and accompanied you as you ran errands and got more familiar with your new city. You couldn't have possibly asked for a better girlfriend. One day you were going to marry that girl.
taglist: @morcias // @storiesofsvu // @ssa-sapphic // @demisicle // @prentisspoppet // @ssajemilyprentiss // @alexbllake // @prentissology // @agcntemily // @sapphicalexblake // @temilyrights // @maxinish // @the-fallen-left-stars // @shorttstackk // @none2434 // @illbeyourgg // @5raysofsunshine // @hippiemuppet // @sapphic-stress // @imaslutforemilyprentiss // @emilyprentisslittlewhore
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grufflepuff-writes-stuff · 6 months ago
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Hiraeth (Loki/Reader Lullabies #187)
Fandom: Marvel/Avengers
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Category: Angst, then Fluff
Rating: G
Summary: Loki tries not to spend much time thinking about what the word “home” means to him, but sometimes he can’t help it.
Warnings/Notes: The title, of course, is one of those words that don’t really have direct translations to English. It’s Welsh, and people say it’s similar to a homesickness tinged with grief and sadness over the lost or departed.
Hiraeth
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Home.
A meaningless word, really. At least functionally meaningless for Loki.
What was it to him? The infant son of a rival king, abandoned in a temple in the cold while war raged outside. Left to die. Born only to freeze to death. Taken by a warmonger and raised a foundling. His childhood was filled with lies, and beset on all sides by the disdain of others. He was brought up in a palace that was said to be his just as much as the rightful heir’s, but everyone—except himself—knew that it was not the truth. On the rare occasions that he allowed himself to dwell on things as useless as the past, he cringed at the way he’d believed all the lies.
That was not his home. That was not his family. His brother, his father, his mother—they were all as good as strangers to him, and yet he accepted them all without question. And all the while, they taught him to revile his true home, his true people. He echoed their hatred with his childish tongue, effectively  destroying the possibility of ever getting to return home. After all, when a child is brought up to despise another land, how could he ever allow himself to feel at home there?
Did Frigga cringe, he sometimes wondered, to hear her Jötunn son trail along behind his brother and mimic his childish threats of war? Would it surprise him to discover that she did not bat an eye?
Those places—Jotunheim and Asgard alike—they were long gone, or at least beyond his reach now. No, Loki was to live out the rest of his days here in Midgard, the furthest possible place from anything familiar. Midgard was not home. Even if he were the type to ached for a place to call home—he wasn’t—Midgard would never be home.
Midgard was the realm of suspicion and petty arguments. It felt worse than Asgard most days because lives were so much shorter here and still this was how they chose to spend them? In the streets, people looked at him with big, frightened eyes or narrowed suspicious ones and all too often they crossed the street to avoid him. Loki stood out from the Midgardians in a way that even he found uncomfortable. By now, of course, he was an expert at appearing outwardly unruffled. He wore his nobility draped around his shoulders like a cloak, regardless of the fact that that nobility meant nothing here. When he went out into the world, he drew it in close around his throat and peered out at the world—the tiny, frightened world—from above it all.
Sometimes you joined him. Sometimes you walked with him. He liked that more than he was truly comfortable with. The world felt different when you were there. The cowards on the streets didn’t give him quite so wide a berth. Or maybe they did, but he paid them less attention. You chattered on almost every time you joined him: a running commentary about the scenery or a discussion about the book you were reading. It should have annoyed him to no end, but...it didn’t. Listening to you gave him a way to ignore his own mind for a while. It allowed him to step outside of himself.
He’d never tell you this, but he liked it when you took his hand. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence your face would go hard and you’d square your shoulders a little and slip your hand in his. You’d step even closer to him, once even pulling his arm around your shoulders, and always you would keep on nattering as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening. It wasn’t hard to know what you were doing. You’d caught sight of some coward skittering away, or you’d met someone’s narrowed eyes, and then you’d just started clinging to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He couldn’t ignore how it changed the reactions he got. He wasn’t sure he liked how differently people looked at him once you sought to defend him with your very presence, but he liked how it felt when you folded your hand in his.
You didn’t just hold his hand in the streets, either. It was somewhat rarer for you to do it back in the Tower, but you did it. Of course it felt like something More when you did it there in private, but still he refused to breathe a word about it. If he spoke to you about it, his mind assured him, you’d certainly be embarrassed and stop it altogether. He held his tongue. You held his hand.
You weren’t here now, though. No one was. He was back in the familiar corridors of the palace that he’d once foolishly called home. It took everything in him not to scoff at that. Perhaps when he was small, and content with his ignorance, it might have been something close, but he would not forget that Odin and Frigga had always known the truth. What did they see when they looked at him, he wondered. He had so many fond memories of lessons with Frigga and her magic and her unyielding patience with him, but what had those memories been for her? Was she merely entertaining a stray creature her husband brought back from war? Worse yet, was she looking after a stolen relic? On the worst nights, his mind tore into those memories and made him certain that she’d worn a brittle, cold expression. Perhaps she had? At this point, no one could know.
Strains of childish voices echoed through the corridor. Without looking he knew that it was Thor and himself, roughhousing somewhere ahead. He kept walking past doors that were shut and locked. They were always locked to him in dreams. But no matter how far he walked, the sounds were always around the next corner. Frustration mounted as he began to move faster. He would be caught in this maze until he finally came across the scene, he knew. The palace was never a home, but a labyrinth. A prison. His heart pounded in his chest.
Nothing changed. He began to feel rather like a creature on a treadmill—ever moving, but never getting anywhere. Though he did his best to ignore it, dread began to creep in around the edges of his awareness. The corridor was something static. The walls, doors, tiles, nothing ever changed. The brothers’ laughter grew louder and more deranged, but never closer. Was someone watching him? Everyone was, and no one. The supposed second prince of Asgard was a novelty to behold, a celebrity to devour, but he held no true power. With every step, Loki could feel the attention beginning to turn sour. They knew. They knew where he came from and that he did not belong here, and they all hated him for it. He could not turn around because he knew that, if he did, there would be a mob behind him with weapons and pitchforks and a pair of impetuous young men setting out to stir up war.
The sounds before him began to shift as well. One voice began to drown out the other. His laugh grew sharp, and then took on a mocking edge. The other boy fell silent as the first emerged victorious. Suddenly Loki knew what he’d see if he ever actually came upon the scene. Or maybe not exactly. Certainly one brother had done away with the other, successfully wiping him out of existence, but who? Was it Thor who grew into his birthright and defeated the Jötunn foundling? Or had Loki been the one to strike first, stepping into his own role as monster and slaughtering the heir of Asgard? Loki turned one last corner and found himself frozen in place by a very familiar pair of eyes.
He awakened in darkness—and a cold sweat. He rubbed his forehead and bit back a growl. It was a dream. A stupid dream. That's all.
The sheets were wound too tightly around his legs. It took far too long to wrench himself free. He wanted to leave. Leave this room, leave this Tower, leave this hellish backwards realm. For now, he stalked silently into the empty hallway and did his best to ignore the doors that taunted him from the walls on either side of him. He made it to one of the sitting rooms and was several moments too slow to realize that it was already occupied.
You were there, sitting on the sofa. You held no book, no mobile devices. Your arms were crossed tightly in front of you while you stared into the middle distance. You didn’t even turn your head towards him. He could leave, if he wanted to. Perhaps you hadn’t even heard him approach. But he raked his eyes along your pyjamas and stepped further into the room. What harm was there in staying?
Only when he sat down beside you did you come to life. Rather than flinching away when the dip in the cushions tipped you slightly closer to him, you merely turned to look at him. He didn’t like the look in your eyes. They were dull. Half-dead. An unsettling thought crept in—that his eyes most certainly looked the same right now—but he crushed it back without hesitation.
The silence felt strange. Normally, you were the first to speak. You always greeted him with a bright smile and an effortless compliment. Granted, he wasn’t special in that regard. You tended to greet most of the others in a similar manner. But he found that he appreciated it nonetheless. He’d never seen you like this, looking at a newcomer with nothing to say.
“What is it?” he asked, immediately hating the uncertainty in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Something flashed across your face, there and gone in an instant. It was hard to say exactly what it was. Reluctance? The desire to lie? He wouldn’t have been surprised. He could count on one hand—possibly on one finger—the number of times he’d heard you speak of your own discomfort. Most of the Avengers were the suffer-in-silence types and, while normally Loki could almost respect that sort of thing, when it came to you, it bothered him for reasons he couldn’t quite suss out.
You shrugged and pressed yourself into the back of the couch as though you could hide from him. “Can’t sleep. You?”
There was so much that you were not saying. A part of him wanted to push for more. What was keeping you awake tonight? Was it the same thing that was casting that haunted shadow in your eyes? Could he help, somehow? He wanted to make you keep speaking. It was unnatural for you to be this quiet. He longed to drag the story out of you, perhaps so he could make it better. Had he ever wanted so badly to hear you laugh?
Tonight, he reached out to take your hand in his, and then tucked it close to his body. He did not tell you what was keeping him awake, but he did find himself weaving another kind of story: a fairy tale. Here and there, he’d squeeze your hand, and soon you started to squeeze his in response. When your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, you allowed him to guide you into his lap, and he wore your deep and even breaths as a badge of honor. What’s more: the sound of them lulled him to sleep as well, and, that night, there were no more nightmares.
There was a warmth in you that most of Midgard lacked. Most of Asgard lacked it too, if he was to be very honest with himself. What was it? It was hard to put his finger on what, exactly, made you seem so warm to him. Was it the look in your eyes when you spoke to him, or when you laughed? Was it the edge in your voice when you fought with the others and told them they were being stupid or petty? Was it simply the way your hand felt in his when it was just the two of you in the streets or on a sofa? Worse yet: was it something beyond who you were, having more to do with the way Loki’s body reacted to you? Perhaps it was all of these, or none of them, or...who knows what, exactly, but he liked to be near you.
He’d never liked the cold. Maybe that was a holdover from his early days, when he was left alone and wailing there in Jotunheim. Maybe his skin remembered the frigid iciness in Odin’s hands when he held him. Surely when Odin had first gazed upon him, his eye had held nothing more than chill formality, the way anyone else would look at any other stranger. For whatever reason, internal or external, Loki had always shied away from the cold.
As biting and bitter as Midgardians could be, Midgard itself never felt anywhere near as cold as Jotunheim. It was hard to forget the way the winds there had seemed desperate to chew off his face. Sometimes the wind could howl, here, but it never felt quite as bleak or animalistic as it did there. On Midgard, it was easy enough to ward off the cold with a few extra layers of warm clothing and a hot drink.
And you.
Norns, he tried to fight it, but it was like something in him was drawn to something in you. And you certainly didn’t help things, not with the way you always smiled at him and spoke to him so easily and did kind things for him. If he didn’t know any better, he might wonder if you even knew how to make a single cup of tea. It seemed like, the colder the days grew, the more often you were bringing him tea. Of course, he’d die before he brought it up to you, but he treasured those small gestures as much as anything he’d ever known. Even on his worst days, when he was bitter and rude to anyone who so much as looked at him, you were there.
He’d had entirely too many nightmares in a row. He was running low on sleep, so of course he was getting nasty. What’s more: only this morning, Thor had roped him into an asinine argument about whether Loki was truly trying to make this place his home. If he’d been feeling more like himself, Loki might have been able to summon the strength to roll his eyes and walk away from him, but...things had progressed to blows, until finally both of the super-soldiers and entirely too many of Stark’s suits had finally had to drag the two of them apart.
He didn’t care to look at any of the others, but he didn’t need to, to know that you were there too. He wiped at the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and held back a wince when he saw the blood. Stupid. They were both far too old for this kind of thing, for fist-fights over nothing at all. He turned to stalk out of the room, and was gratified to see that most of the others stepped aside to let him pass. Not you, though. Even as he felt his face twist into a nasty glare, he hated himself for it. He didn’t want to watch you shrink away from him, but his pride wouldn’t allow for any other result. And you did step aside, but there was something stronger in your face as you did.
You followed him to his room. He noticed you just as he was closing the door behind him. As cruel as he was feeling, he didn’t have it in him to slam the door in your face. Instead, he held it open and rolled his eyes—not quite at you, but certainly in your direction. Nonplussed, you joined him, and then tugged him towards his washroom. You made him sit on the edge of his bath tub and then set about caring for him.
A lifetime of childish fights with Thor had prepared him for the scolding you were sure to give. How many times had Frigga patched him up after Thor ground him into the dirt, her magic knitting his skin back together even as her disappointed words made his heart freeze in his chest? But you didn’t speak at all, except for the occasional whispered apology as you cleaned his wounds. You touched him so gently. More gently, surely, than he deserved. Your hands were warmer, and more tender, than they should have been even as you smoothed the bandages against his skin.
He thanked all the gods he’d ever known that he didn’t have the strength to remind you that he could heal himself with less than the snap of his fingers.
Just as you were finishing up, taking the tiniest of steps away from him so you could have one last look at your work, he did something which probably surprised himself more than you: He rested his hands on your hips and pulled you back in so he could hide his face against you. And you let him. Greedily, he soaked in your softness and your warmth and sweet smell of you, and all you did was wrap your arms around him to hold him even closer.
There was nothing for either of you to say. For once, his mind went still. It let him focus on you and the way you felt in his arms, and nothing more than that. You still weren’t speaking. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you did, if you allowed him that moment of peace but then demanded that he tell you what was going on. You worked gentle fingers through his hair, and he had to choke back the mortifying sob that tried to escape, and still you didn’t say a word.
It was hard to know exactly how long you let him stay like that. He owed you so much, but somehow he knew that you would never hold it against him. He drew in one last bracing breath and then tilted his head backwards just enough to look up at you. When he did, his chest tightened painfully because he knew.
He knew.
There in your arms, with his body aching from his brother’s fury and his spirit aching from his own, with you looking down at him with the softest expression he’d ever seen on anyone, he knew that he was home. Home.
He wanted to tell you so, but the words wouldn’t come. You cupped his cheeks in your palms and brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones even as your lips curled gently into a knowing smile.
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moon-lit-stars · 3 months ago
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Hiraeth
( Heer-eye-th )
noun
: a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past
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m-m-m-myysurana · 4 months ago
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ZevWarden Week 2021  Day 1: Homesickness
When in Antiva 
Kicking off ZevWarden week with a sketchy painting for the first prompt, inspired by that one da4 concept art :3
Zevran is excited to show Neria the sights in his glittering gem of a city. When they arrive there together for the first time, he plans a whole day of adventuring, finishing with drinks on a roof as they watch the sunset over the bay. Neria, however, is quickly exhausted by the heat, having lived in frozen Ferelden all her life. She never thought she’d miss the cold, but she’d like the sun to go away now, thank you. 
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ohwanderslut · a month ago
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“hiraeth — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, or possibly a home that never was; the longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness or an earnest desire for a home that possibly does not exist.”
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nonsenseispoetry · 21 days ago
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a love letter to a place that breathes
I know it, deep down There's a place I need to go back to Where the stars are unbridled Not trapped in someone's eyes Where the days feel round And the nights feel glassy smooth like the mirror of the lake A long walk I need to take I need to breathe with the trees For my own sake
The gravel will feel steady As it crunches soft beneath me Tracing paths laid down by others Those who built that ageless town Where the woodstove's always ready And the fire burns affection like the warmth of an embrace Where there's kindness in each face I need to be where I am wanted Find my place
I know it's a long time coming There's a home I need to reclaim Where love is plain and simple Love is a caringly cooked hot meal Where the world's too slow for running And each evening strolls beside me with the children of our street Their youthful laughs are sweet I need to lead them, hand in hand, back home And be complete
The thunderstorms sing welcome Softly, over a plucked guitar The cards will be waiting on our table With a slice of freshly baked pie And though I visit seldom Those gentle days are approaching, where the only worry is whether we'll win Or meet defeat with a grin I need to laugh with my family once again Erase what I've been
I know it, deep down There's a place I need to go back to Where games are simple and lighthearted And hearts aren't on the line When I leave this town I'll leave the socialite's tapestry with it, let them weave and weave and weave In the dead of night, I'll leave I need the road to take me where there's rhythm in the treetops And flowers in the breeze A love letter from everything that breathes
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redrosewritingsstuff · 16 days ago
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I look at you and I'm Home.
(Donny Donowitz x Female!Reader)
For the lovely @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 really hope you enjoy 💛❤️
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The headache seemed to only be getting worse and worse.
With every step or movement (Y/n) took, her head would split into unbearable pain. Sometimes, it even felt like her nose was bleeding. (Y/n) laid on her makeshift bed cover, hand over her eyes. Even standing was an exhausting duty.
Aldo, with what he called "his fatherly senses", sent the young soldier off to her tent to rest. At first, (Y/n) refused, saying it was probably nothing and that it would pass. That was two days ago. Her head had been hurting for two days straight. The cause was no stranger to (Y/n). In the beginning, you might think it was the cold air, or that (Y/n) slept with soaked hair, but that wasn't the case.
And it never was.
These recent days, the young soldier had one thought on her mind.
Home.
Everything just screamed home now. Her mind filled with memories of her younger sister, her smile and her voice beconing her big sister home. Eleanor is married now. She got married last summer, to a nice man called Harry. (Y/n) wished to meet Harry, so that she could give her own thoughts of him. If she made it out of France alive, her first stop would be New York.
(Y/n) turned to her side, sniffling the tears away. It would only make her head hurt worse. (Y/n) wondered what her poor parents were doing now. All their children, out of the house. One for reasons of starting a new life...and the other in a cold forest, and possibly dead.
Oh she could imagine her mother, her soft cries, as old fingers sorted through photos. She could imagine her father, sitting on his porch chair with his fingers wrapped around a glass. Looking onto the horizon for his daughter to return home. It hurt everyday. The way (Y/n) left. As she began to gently massage her temple, the epicenter of her pain. She was so occupied, she didn't even notice Donny entering the tent.
"Hey, loser. How ya doin'?" He asked, a small smile on his face. Donny wasn't his usual cocky self when he was with (Y/n). He went through a complete metamorphosis and actually became a big bear. Figuratively, of course. (Y/n) groaned, clutching her head. "You're too loud." She complained. Donny snorted and drew closer to his girl.
"That noggin of yours still hurtin', huh?" He asked and (Y/n) shot him a quick look, before recoiling from the pain. It even hurt to keep her eyes open. Go figure. Donny sat down by her head , gently taking said head onto his lap. "What in God's name are you doing, Donny?" (Y/n) groaned. Donny shushed her gently, before placing his hands on her forehead and gently starting to move them in almost rhythmic motions.
The pain began to subside. "My ma' used to do this to me all the time when my head was hurtin'. Works like a goddamned charm." Donny explained, his words coming hurriedly. His eyes showed a concentrated state, one that (Y/n) had the pleasure of seeing many, many times. (Y/n) let out a sigh of relief, her body slowly easing on the pain. "Don't think I haven't heard ya' cry either." He said suddenly. The girl on his lap grumbled words of annoyance. Crying was something that she wanted none of them to see.
It would make her appear weak and less competent. After all, who needs a soldier who let's their feelings get in the way. She wouldn't even let Donny see her like that."Your ears must be deceiving you." (Y/n) responded curtly. Donny kissed her forehead gently, before resuming his movements. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm your man." Donny said. "I know...but its nothing, Donny, really." She retorted, hoping that he would back down. But Donny was never a man to back down. The man leaned down, placing his forehead to hers. "Listen to me...you can talk….I want to help you." He said, sincerity dripping from every word. At that moment, the girl didn't know what to think. She wanted to air it all out, she really did...but her mind kept stopping her.
She took a deep breath.
"You'll think me stupid."
"You don't know that."
"I...I miss home." (Y/n) said finally and the weight on her chest vanished. It felt like she could breath freely now. "I miss my parents, I miss my sister. She got married last summer and I couldn't be there. I couldn't be there on the most important day of her life." (Y/n) continued, that familiar lump forming in her throat. It must have been more apparent than she thought, because Donny immediately began to comfort her.
"Oh doll...I know. I miss home too…hell, Micheal graduated last month and I couldn't be there either." Donny confessed. In a way, Donny felt the same way as (Y/n) did. They thought themselves failures as older siblings. "I know we're far away...and that you missed out on something big. But...I don't think they hate us for it. You came here to help people...and I came here to help people too." He said.
The silence that followed was comfortable. "We are gonna go home doll. You're gonna see your folks again. I can promise you that." He said finally. For the first time that day, (Y/n) opened her eyes fully.
She got up from his lap, and kissed Donny gently. "You know...oddly enough, when I look at you, I feel at home." She whispered. Donny grinned that goofy grin of his. "Me too doll, me too." He responded, taking (Y/n) into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder. " I love you Donny...so much."
"I love you too. Now sleep, or your head will start again." Donny responded, lying both of them down.
The girl hummed, before soft snores took over the small tent.
@fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @empress-writes @struggling-bee @sergeant-donny-donowitz @aurelie34-43 @jokersqueenofchaos
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20012001 · 8 months ago
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You call your mom when youre homesick, I google pictures of the Mojave. We are not the same.
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april-is · 8 months ago
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April 2, 2021: For My Friends, in Reply to a Question, Safia Elhillo
For My Friends, in Reply to a Question Safia Elhillo
after David Ignatow
I’m okay. And, of course, I’m not, but I go through the motions. I wake up to the alarm’s howl, even when the word in my body is no. I dress in livid colors. I blacken the hairs of each eyebrow. I bake & braise & pickle. I write & read & lose hours to the blur of the television. I sit for hours in the bath, my skin puckering. I don’t know if I’ll ever go home again. I don’t know who I’ve seen for the last time. The Arabic comes back to me in streaks of paint, verb forms & vocabularies I may never again have occasion to use. My days smudge into one another & it’s not that I am afraid. It’s as if I am watching it all happen below, & I am somewhere above the room, wondering if the rice is burning. I am somewhere above the room, watching my new aches, watching the news as if I am reading it in a novel. I look up the names of people I knew in childhood, learn their new & angular faces, their faraway lives. My grandfather pixelates into a smile & I work my creaking muscles to replicate it, I do not ask if we will ever meet again, I do not ask him to read to me, or for anything that will make me long. I dull it with sugar & oil, with cooking shows, with sleep. I sleep twelve hours each night & in my dreams I am fleeing a war, in my dreams I am touching the faces of my friends, we are each one of us touching, & even in the dream we are afraid.
==
Today in... 
2020: The Conditional, Ada Limón 2019: Dorothy Wordsworth, Jennifer Chang 2018: A Small Needful Fact, Ross Gay 2017: What We Need, David Budbill 2016: Husky Boys’ Dickies, Jill McDonough 2015: Why Some Girls Love Horses, Paisley Rekdal 2014: The Fox, Faith Shearin 2013: You Can’t Have It All, Barbara Ras 2012: Road Trip, Kurt Brown 2011: Onset, Kim Addonizio 2010: February, Margaret Atwood 2009: Domestic, Carl Phillips 2008: A Birthday, W.S. Merwin 2007: Words for Love, Ted Berrigan 2006: At the Trial of Hamlet, Chicago, 1994, Sherman Alexie 2005: The Waking, Theodore Roethke
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birinboom · 4 months ago
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Can you write the new male student treating the 1a girls like his little sisters (probably cause he lost or misses his)?
I sure can! :D I’m sorry it took so long to get out.
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Male!Reader who treats the girls of 1A like his little sisters Fluff, missing family ✦ 675 words
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Missing your younger sister was the last thing you’d thought would happen when you moved into the UA dorms. The two of you seemed to do nothing but fight over even the smallest things. Homesickness was something you had expected. Even missing your parents, but your bratty little sister? That had been unfathomable to you.
And yet that’s what happened. Suddenly the petty squabbles seemed less important, and you started focusing on the times when you had been close, instead. The times when you were younger and she used to come into your room during a thunderstorm, too scared to sleep. When you built a pillow fort in the living room and both of you slept on the floor inside the fort that night. Or even the little things like just watching TV together - when you could agree on something to watch, that is. And the few times where you had let her pick what to watch, usually because she was sick or upset about something or other and you wanted to make her feel better.
That’s how you ended up sitting on the couch with the girls of 1A every Saturday night, as you watched a romantic, tear-inducing TV drama together.
Most of the other boys stayed far away while it was on - no one could forget the wrath that had befallen Denki when he had accidentally short-circuited the power during the big confession scene of the two lovers. But when you heard the familiar opening tune, you thought back to your little sister glued to the TV screen, enamored with the same show, and you joined the girls on the couch without a second thought.
That was the beginning of a special bond between you and the girls. You slowly started treating them like you would your little sister, though you never felt it necessary to squabble with them in the same way.
Mina, Tooru, and Momo loved it from the get-go. They appreciated the extra attention you gave them, they enjoyed your praise when they excelled at something. Tooru would even go as far as asking for pats on the head and squeal when you indulged her.
Tsuyu, Ochaco, and Kyouka were a little more hesitant at first. They were all used to being self-sufficient - and Tsuyu was more used to taking care of others, being the oldest sibling in her family - but they all quickly warmed up to it. Ochaco nearly broke down in tears once, when you patted her on the head. She mumbled something about how she always used to be the ‘big girl’ so her parents didn’t have to worry about her, and how nice it was to have someone dote on her for once. Tsuyu wiped at her own face and agreed with a soft ribbit.
You would often join the girls when they went out, whether it was going to the local candy store with Mina and Tooru, shopping at thrift stores with Ochaco and Momo, going on a stroll in the rain with Tsuyu, or joining Kyouka on her trip to the music store downtown. You didn’t know much about playing music, but you enjoyed listening to Kyouka while she told you about all the differences between two guitars.
When there was something to celebrate, whether it was a birthday or the end of an exam period, you were the first to suggest going out to an all-you-can-eat café, always offering to pay for the birthday girl. The girls were always ready to go. You would usually end up sitting next to Momo, listening to her talk about the cakes and teas she would get, and brainstorming ideas to take back to her family’s baker, who could then improve on the recipes. Or you would sit next to Mina who would usually start a few rounds of good-natured teasing. You once blew a raspberry at her in response to something she said. She pretended to get really angry, blowing out her cheeks, before she dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. It was always a lot of fun.
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Thank you so much for reading! Please check out my other works. Love, Birin 🧡
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bluearchie · 2 months ago
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This is probably going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm so close to my family and being this far away from them and my hometown is killing me. I want to do well and succeed in life and I can't do that at home. Plus it is only temporary. I will go back to find everything the same as I left it. But I'm heart broken. I feel so lost and alone. I know I will stick it out because I've never given up on anything. Right now though it feels like I'm in for a couple of years of stress and heartache and pain.
I'm just really not doing good at the moment lmao
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