#you know. the book that is literally full of friendships between men. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elenaysusneuras · 2 years

Text

Filthy Little Books

A/N: Ok, so here we are. My first fic in over a decade and my first in English. Keep in mind English is not my first language (or my second) so please be kind. I really enjoyed writing this and I hope to keep improving in the future. So I hope you like it!!

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT (filthy, filthy smut without any plot). A bit of Sub!Loki, but only a little. Innocence kink if you really squint.

Words: 4k.

You've been married to Loki for almost a year. A very happy year, even though Loki wasn't always the easiest man in the nine realms. But he had a gentle heart that not everyone could see as clearly as you. He tried to conceal it with cynicism and sarcasm, but you knew better and with time he opened up to you. First in a friendship fueled by your mutual love for literature. But in time that friendship evolved pass something more intense that neither of you could deny.

You discovered a life full of pleasure with him. With no much experience with men due to your shyness, Loki took his time exploring your lips, your body and your mind showing you how much pleasure you could endure in his talented hands. He always took control, always the dominant lover and you loved every second of it. You trusted him completely and even in your timidity felt completely at ease with him, knowing he would always find a way to bring you to ecstasy.

But sometimes your mind wandered, thinking what it would be like to take control like he did with you, to have him at your mercy and bring him to his peak, have him surrender to you so fully.

And then you found that book. You found it by accident, searching for the next story to captivate your mind the nights you couldn't sleep. At first you thought it was a cheap romantic plot with no much to offer, but entertaining nonetheless. That until the two lovers had a very steamy encounter. The woman, first timid and demure brought the man to his knees (figuratively at first, but oh my, literally later) and you couldn't put that book down. A woman ordering around her partner in bed, saying so explicitly what she desired at any moment was something totally new and unexpected. After finishing it, you kept re-reading some parts, your hand sometimes wondering to your head like it had a life of its own. It gained permanent residence in your night stand, a bit hidden under other books and documents.

Tonight you arrive to your chambers after a long meeting to find your beautiful husband lying in bed, only in his pyjama pants and book in hand. A very common scene you got used to in your time together. He looks at you briefly, with the slight hint of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. You smile back, warm spreading through your chest. You will never get tired of this sight, his half naked form relaxed in the bed you both shared.

As you sit at the foot of the bed, taking off your shoes you notice Loki moving across the mattress until his chest is touching your shoulders, his head low enough for his lips to find your neck and plant a chaste kiss just below your ear. You close your eyes and find yourself relaxing, leaning back until there is no space between you two. Loki puts his arm around your waist and gives a little bite at that same spot, and your heart skips a beat.

-I just found the most interesting book today-Loki says with humor in his voice. You are almost intrigued.

-Oh Really? That's nice. -You want to show interest, you really do, but that meeting took the best of you and now you just want to fall sleep, preferably in the strong arms of your husband.

-Yes, the most invigorating reading. I can't barely put it down. - Your back is facing him as you search for your night gown in the drawers next to the bed, barely listening to him. You really need to sleep.

-You see darling, I would have never guessed you liked such filthy stories. - His voice is low, a whisper against the nape of your neck.

And with that you look back across the room to find your shameful book next to his pillow. A sudden burst of adrenaline shoots through your veins. You look to the wall in front of you, paralyzed with embarrassment.

You can't decipher his tone. Is he mad? Amused? Does he find you completely ridiculous for liking this kind of literature?

-So… how much have you read?

-I'm almost finished.

You almost jumped off the bed as if the mattress suddenly burned you. Eyes down, you turn to the side trying to gain the brave enough to look at your husband in the eye.

Your eyes finally meet him and you see a glint in his eyes that you knew too well. He is undressing you with his eyes, a small smirk crossing his lips. You find yourself warming up under his gaze. You can barely look at him as he sits on the bed, the curves of his muscles sharp in the dim light, his chest looking as perfect as sculpted marble.

-I… you see, I can explain.

-Please do.

-I, well… I needed another reading after a finished my last book and I wanted something light and I thought this book was just some corny romance, an easy read until I find something more interesting.

-I wouldn't call this a romance, love.

-This book paints a very specific dynamic my love. Is this something you are interested in?

Your mouth opens, you want to explain to him that this book, it's just an absurd fantasy, poorly written and leave it there. But nothing comes out. Your eyes looking at the carpet, wishing it could swallow you.

Loki gets up and walks towards you, and you embrace one of the bed posts as if it could guard you from him. He is so tall, he completely towers you and you hate to feel so small and helpless.

-y/n, look at me.

With all the courage you can gather you look up, meeting his eyes. They look a shade of dark blue, so intense that it almost takes you aback.

And as you try to move past him and go to bed, his hand grabs your arm and in a split of a second your back is again against his chest, both of his arms embracing you and keeping you still. One of his hands scrunches your dress until he can touch your now expose thigh while the other cups your breast.

-You should not feel embarrassed if you fancy such stories. I'm just curious as what it is you like about it.

-It's nothing, Loki. We should go to bed. I am really tired.

-Tell me love, is it something you desire? For me to submit to you? To do to me anything and surrender myself at your command?

The hand caressing your breast finds your nipple already hardening and softly pinches it. A soft moan escapes your lips and your back arches craving to feel more of him. Your behind meets with his hard length and all of a sudden the tiredness you were feeling all afternoon just evaporates.

-Tell me y/n, is that what you want?

Your mouth betrays your brain and before you can stop yourself the words escape your lips.

-What if it is?

His hands stop his ministrations and grab your shoulders, turning yourself so you are looking at him. He looks at you with so much desire, but there's something more in his eyes, something you've never seen before.

He is challenging you.

And suddenly you feel brave, brave enough to meet his challenge.

Your eyes wander over his parted lips and your hand goes up from his shoulder to his neck, bringing his face to yours and kissing him softly at first, but your lips turn hungry and start to move more urgently. You open your mouth and your tongue brushes against his lower lip before your teeth bite it lightly. Your hands move down to his chest, wanting to touch every inch of skin exposed. Loki breaks the kiss, breathing heavy trying very hard to regain a bit of composure. You on the other hand feel sharp and awake, even though kissing Loki always left you with trembling knees. You look at his chest like if it's the most breathtaking piece of art you've ever seen.

-Would you… would you surrender to me?

Loki looks at you with heavy eyelids, breathing you in. After all this time you still surprise him.

-Yes. -His voice is so hoarse, full of lust.

The possibilities were endless. You could never deny that you've thought about this, but having Loki look at you with such need, with so much desire waiting for your instructions is something you could never prepare yourself. His body is completely pressed, the proof of his arousal very present against your belly. All the tiredness of the day gone, adrenaline rushing through your veins and clouding your sight with lust. You lick your lips as the first order forms in your head.

-So if I asked you to do something, would you follow? -Your voice is a whisper, trembling with anticipation.

-Yes. - Your faces are mere inches from each other, and you closed your eyes. All that bravery that got you here is slipping away and Loki could feel it.

-Tell me what to do my queen.

-Undress me. -You are surprised at the sound of yourself. Where is this confidence coming from?

Loki smiles down at you as one of his hand unclasps the two pins in your shoulders. The fabric drops to your waist where the thick embellished belt keeps the rest of the dress in place. His eyes dart to your now exposed breasts while his hands unfastened the last barrier keeping you dressed. Once the dress drops to your feet, you are left only with the small undergarment covering your arousal. His eyes meet again with yours waiting your next instruction.

You walk backwards until your legs met the end of the bed and sit down, parting your knees slightly. Loki comes closer, entranced by this woman in front of him. This side of his wife, less demure and shy is captivating him in new ways.

-Kneel… Kneel before me.

In a blink of an eye, Loki kneels between your legs. His hands caress your knees and a new wave of arousal starts pooling your panties.

-Kiss my thighs.

His eyes never leave yours as he lowers his head, his hair tickling your sensitive skin. Once his lips are on you a low moan escapes your mouth, as if it was building all this time and finally got out. His lips feel almost cold against your skin, that suddenly feels as it's in flames. He starts peppering soft kisses, barely above your knees, but shortly replaced by open mouthed ones. You feel his breath close to the apex of your thighs and your hips instinctively buck up.

You need his mouth there. You almost feel how good his tongue will feel darting across your slit, but you feel too self-conscious to utter the words. You bite your lower lip, trying to suppress a moan, feeling frustrated as Loki mouth keeps nibbling and kissing your legs. So much pleasure yet not nearly enough.

Loki feels your frustration and moves aside, his face now so close to yours that you feel his warm breath, heavy with anticipation and need. He is waiting for you, so patient, and you realize that he is looking at you with so much adoration, like you are the most precious woman he has ever seen.

Grabbing the back of your knees, your legs end on his shoulders and his breath is against the moist skin of your core. You are barely keeping your thoughts together, struggling to say out loud what you want, need him to do next.

-Take them off. -You whimper, and for a second you doubt Loki could hear you.

-Take this off my love? - He asks, his forehead almost touching yours, as his index finger brushes the hem of your underwear, barely touching the skin beneath. That small touch electrifies your skin and you feel like you could melt right there, only with the touch of his finger.

-Yes- you answer as you arch your back and lift your hips enough to allow Loki's hands grab the sides of your panties and slowly, too slowly, drag them until they're discarded somewhere on the floor. Both of his hands part your legs, so close to your center that you feel them almost brushing your labia. You whine, you need his mouth there and he knows it, but he'll never concede. He is enjoying seeing you trying to be in control but completely undone in his hands.

Oh, he is enjoying this way too much.

-What's next my queen?

You open your eyes, not realizing they were strongly shut in an attempt to regain some control. You lower your head to find his eyes looking at you, his mouth hovering your cunt and licking his lips. The tip of his tongue brushes almost undetectably your folds and you shiver again, closing your eyes. Too shy, too ashamed or too aroused to even form the words you need to say, that you both are craving.

His hand finds yours, his thumb sweetly brushing your knuckles and you notice the tip of his nose brushing against your thigh. This gesture, so sweet amongst all the lust and wantonness, melts your heart.

Please.

-Come on, my love… You are doing so well. Just say what you need. - He sounds gentle, too gentle in contrast to his vulnerable position.

-I want you to, your mouth to… -Your nervousness showing his ugly head at the worst moment.

-Say it y/n. Please.

His voice is something between a whisper and a prayer, submitting at your will and just that word, please, coming from him, almost makes you come in an instant.

-Lick my cunt Loki.

And with an animalistic groan, his mouth is finally on you, his tongue lapping as he was a man in the dessert and you a lake of pristine water. His tongue lays flat at first, trying to devour every inch of you but shortly after he starts doing lazy circles around your clit, flicking over it and glidding the tip expertly. You feel your head spinning and you feel almost ashamed to feel so soon the recognizable pull in your lower belly announcing your impending release.

His fingers part your folds, teasing your entrance and spreading your wetness. He inserts two inside reaching your G spot immediately (God you love his long fingers). The pacing is fast and erratic, far from the calculated ministrations you are used to. Loki is completely lost in you, your soft skin, your dripping center, your smell. Right now his world starts and ends with you.

-Please Loki, don't stop. Just Like that I… please… I need more…

-I'm here love. - And his tongue is on you again, more frantic. He knows you are close and he just really wants to give you everything.

-I need your fingers Loki, please use your fingers.

One last swirl of his tongue and you come in a flash of white light, warmth spreading everywhere as you feel every end of every nerve explode in the most glorious sensation. Loki doesn't seem to mind because he keeps going, prolonging your orgasm to an impossible degree. His other hand grabs your waist, keeping you in place, his grip so strong that you are sure he is bruising you. But you don't care because another wave of pleasure hits you and your back finds the mattress, your body almost shutting down from overload.

Loki slowly stops, caressing both sides of your legs as he hears your breathing start to stabilize. You open your eyes to find the ceiling of your chambers, and for a minute you are lost in the aftershock of what just happened. Loki starts to pepper kisses to your belly and the middle of your chest, until the tip his nose brushes your chin and you look at him. His smile brings you back to reality and your hand touches his cheek.

Loki smiles fondly at you, pressing his hips against yours. You feel his erection pressed against your groin and you start to move your hips ever so slightly. A low growl falls from Loki's lips and he closes his eyes, his eyebrows close together as if he is really trying to concentrate. When he opens them, he looks at you with amusement, the same challenging glare as before.

-How did you like that dear wife?

-Your wife will never recover from this I'm afraid. -You can't stop the chuckle that forms in your throat. You are definitely the luckiest woman in the nine realms.

Licking his lips, he gets up and in a swift movement takes his pants off leaving him completely exposed. His member is impossibly hard and almost touching his abs. Your husband looks at you pleased as you shamelessly look at his hard length, mesmerized by how big he already is. Drops of precum are already leaking and your thumb brushes it smearing it all over the tip, making Loki hiss.

-Haven't I satisfied you enough darling?

-Let's just say there's a part of you that is inspiring me to continue. -You bite your lips and feel yourself blush. After what you've done, you still blushed and Loki found it adorable. He found your innocence so seductive, because oh how he liked corrupting you every chance he got.

-Then… what would be your next command my sweet wife? -And the way he says sweet really makes you blush harder.

-You could… take off your pants.

You can't stop staring at him, he is so beautiful. Fair skin, strong but lean muscle carved to perfection, his tall frame barely fits stretched on the bed. His member is painfully hard, pulsating against his abdomen and your mouth waters at the sight. And a plan starts to form in your mind.

-Like what you see?

-You are very easy on the eye my love. -And with that you start to stroke his silky cock in a slow, steady pace, looking at his features change to ones of absolute rapture, his mouth falling open.

-Lie on the bed, now.- This time your voice is more firm and you like how Loki almost jumps to the task.

-As you wish. - And with that you had Loki stretched out on your bed, his hair fanning between your pillows as he looks at you with eagerness.

You climb the bed and on top of him, straddling his hips. Your heat finds his hard member twitching against you. You reach down to grab a hold of his cock and Loki hisses. You line the tip with your folds stroking your clit slightly, teasing him, feeling how you are dripping all over him.. This position isn't alien to you, but he always took charge griping your hips and guiding every one of your movements. That gives you your next idea.

He nods entusiastically and without blinking, almost comically. Loki, your always cool, calm and collected husband is now just puty in your hands.

-Hands to the headboard.-Loki obeys without a word, grabbing the headbord, transfixed at the sight of you.

-You are not allowed to touch me until I say so. ¿Understood?

You descend your hips so only half of his cock enters you. You bite your lip, trying really hard to suppress the need to sink yourself until you feel Loki stretching you, making you feel full. Loki's holding the headboard with so much force you hear the wood cracking, his fingers almost turning white. His eyes are shut and he is gasping for air. You start moving your hips in circles, always keeping your thrust as shallow as possible. You know that this might be driving him insane and that gives you such a rush. Loki's hips start jerking, trying to thrust deeper and you stop your moves all together.

-Please y/n…please let me be inside you.

-Oh, I like hearing you beg. -His tip is now entering you and you had to surpress a moan. He filled you so good.

-Stop teasing please…G-God you are so wet.

You know he is close because you feel him harder and bigger with every thrust, hitting you in that place that makes your head spin. The need to come starts to overcome the plan to control Loki's pleasure, the knot on the lower part of your abdomen tighter and tighter.

-Please darling, please keep moving.

-Who is in charge? -You lick your lips and descend to give him a chaste kiss. You nibble tenderly his lower lip and he looks at you aching, like he is about to snap at any moment.

-You… you are my love.

-Then be a good boy and let me be in charge. -And as you say that your hips start moving again, painfully slow. The only thought in your mind is that you want to drive your husband crazy with desire and controlling his pleasure is becoming a new drug, the power you feel in every shallow thrust, controlling every movement as much as you can because let's be real, you are not seeing very straight at this point, is addictive. But your need to feel more of him it's starting to be more urgent every passing moment and you cave, lowering your hips little by little seeing Loki pant desperate for oxygen and being a moaning mess. You roll your hips more vigorously while watching Loki beneath you, arching his back, struggling really hard to keep his hands above his head.

And in what seems less than a second Loki snaps, sitting up so he is kissing you hard, hands everywhere. They eventually land in your hips trying to amp up the peace, making you bounce on his cock in an unforgiving pace. His grasp in your waist is painful and you are sure his fingers are marking you, something he's never done. He's always been so careful with you, treating you like the most precious, delicate flower and now he is fucking you hard. And that sensation of abandon from him, carelessness, makes you come undone harder than ever before.

-Loki… Loki please…

-Say it y/n…I'm yours. Just Say it.

-Touch me.

Loki is too sensitive after so much teasing, after feeling completely at your mercy. Being able to finally feel your skin under his hands, screaming his name against his mouth while feeling you crumble all over him, your cunt tightening and gripping him so much sends him over the edge hard and fast, coating your walls until his release overflows and drips to your thighs.

You come from your highs, all trembling limbs entwined and covered in sweat. Your hair is stuck to your face and your breathing is elaborate. Loki looks at you, still on his lap all flushed, lips swollen and eyelids barely open and can't resist smiling in adoration. When he pecks your lips softly you feel like he is just awakening you from a feverish dream.

-¿Is that how you always feel when you boss me around in bed? -You ask Loki, finally opening your eyes, arms around his neck and resting your forehead against his. You hear him laugh, hands now caressing your back with his fingertips.

-I don't know If it's the same y/n but let me say this… You can order me around again any time you want. -You chuckle looking at him. He is all relaxed and his smile is wide and beautiful. Like everything he does. Like everything he is. Your heart swells, as if you are falling in love with him all over again.

-I love you so much Loki.

-I love you too y/n.

822 notes · View notes

vxlkyrieee · 3 years

Text

anemoia

Ororo Munroe x mutant!female!reader

anemoia (noun): nostalgia for a time one has never known.

request: can I request a Storm x mutant! female reader (can hide in shadows and use shadows as portals. she can also become invisible by manipulation of shadows) reader is very closed off and keeps her walls up. she gets hurt one time and storm brings her to safety and helps her heal and they get to know each other. they share their first kiss and go on a date or something. the reader would be very shy but intimidating, closed off, scared of getting hurt, actually really sweet and loves pet naming people she's close to

word count: 2,479

warnings: little bit of angst, social anxiety

The world is full of people who are scared of the dark. It seemed almost like a mockery that the one person who could control it, was afraid of the dark too.

Well, perhaps not literally.

But (y/n) had always known a dark past, one that cut her optimism into minute little pieces. It was hard to open up, even if she wanted to. She was torn really, caught between the mutant and non-mutant world, and she doesn’t know where she fits in. All the mutants she knew seemed to be omnipotent, confident, unwavering. (Y/n) didn’t know if she could be like that. She wanted to fit in, be invisible, normal. And that was one of the many insecurities she lugged along with her, even in the company of her fellow x-men.

Especially Storm.

Storm was always pretty, poised and powerful. When they first met at Xavier’s school, (y/n) didn’t know whether she envied her, or wanted to pluck up enough courage to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her.

Now, the woman the world knows as Storm, is known to (y/n) as simply just “Ori”, the girl that stole her affection. Ororo was easy to be around, with a tranquil aura in spite of her tempestuous repute as a hero.

Barefoot, and holding her combat boots in one hand, Ororo knocks on the door to (y/n)’s room. When there was no answer for a good minute, she gently turned the handle, sliding her body between the door and its frame.

“(Y/n)?”

(Y/n) appears from the shadows in the corner of the room, with a book in hand. She gives Ororo a shy wave and a close-lipped smile.

“There you are! It’s almost time for sparring, last session before the mission,” she informs, placing her boots down to caress (y/n)’s shoulders. (Y/n) hoped to any god out there that Ororo couldn’t feel how flushed her skin was underneath her touch.

“Ready for our breathing exercises?”

(Y/n) nods, moving her hair out of her face.

It had become a sort of ritual for Ororo to stop by and help (y/n) with breathing and stretching before training. Training was not something anyone else would consider a great feat to overcome, however the idea of all eyes on her, made (y/n) uneasy and self-conscious. Being in Ororo’s company almost always guaranteed placidity for (y/n), she was a soft flurry of brisk air on a clear day.

When the two were ready to meet up with the other x-men, they started to leave the room. Until she noticed Ororo’s boots, still sitting by the door.

“Don’t forget your boots, Ori,” (y/n) reminded her, holding the door open.

“No one’s ever called me Ori before you, you know that?” Ororo laughs, taking her boots and pulling them onto her feet. (Y/n) shrugs, lowering her head when her face starts to grow warmer.

“It’s cute. Like you.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widen as she realises what she said. It had just slipped out. If she could go back a few seconds, she’d slap her palm across her mouth to stop Ororo from hearing that comment. It just made her vulnerable. And now Ororo had the upper hand. What’s she gonna say now?

(Y/n)’s state of mind had been that way for a long time. She knew the only way to grow her friendships and truly be a part of the team, was to trust her team mates and disclose her secrets; be an open book, just like they had, but she feared that the most.

With an appreciative smile, Ororo quelled the bubbling anxiety in (y/n)’s belly. “I’m not cute. You’re cute. Let’s go before we’re late,” she cajoled.

***

(Y/n) had never sparred Quicksilver before, and now that she was, she never wanted to do it again. His short bursts of speedy jabs were already bruising her entire body. She had to think of a tactic. And quickly.

Seeing an opportunity, (Y/n) stepped to the side, swooping underneath Peter’s attempted kick. Then taking advantage of how the sun casted a silhouette behind him, she used the shadow as a portal, shoving him to the ground with her foot on his neck.

The Professor claps, then wheels towards the group from where he had been quietly watching.

“Great work, (y/n)! Everyone could learn a bit from her.”

In truth, all the students at Xavier’s school had been trying to learn from (y/n) by any means possible, including attempting to befriend her. She could be intimidating to approach, despite her shy demeanour. Nobody really knew what was going on in her head, (except for Jean, sometimes she couldn’t help but pry) but her abilities as a mutant were fascinating. They always made sure to involve (y/n) in everything, including the casual dinner they had just two nights ago. Storm and Jean encouraged them that (y/n) would eventually open up, she just needed time and care.

As the group of mutants mingle with the Professor, (y/n) hovered outside their circle, lingering around inconspicuously. She usually stuck to the corners of rooms or behind someone’s silhouette, where she could dissolve into lurking shadows if need be.

She imagined stepping through an umbral portal, into a pastel-coloured haze, where she could sit beside Ororo and hold her hand without shaking, without hesitating for minutes on end.

She could see herself like it was a familiar memory; she was dressed in the same clothes, looking up at the same sky, the same blood traveling through her veins. Yet, that version of herself was in a completely different dimension, one where she didn’t let her inhibitions get the best of her. Where Ori would laugh at her jokes and call (y/n) hers. Oh, how she wished it were real. She longed for it with an unutterable pain in her chest, like a heart made of glass, shattering, shards broken by the same heat of lightning that tempered it. Non-existent memories of her fingers nestled between platinum strands, and her lips planting kisses upon melanin-rich skin.

(Y/n) feels a strange aura wash over her, like someone was watching, and catches Jean smirking in her direction from a little further away. After all, Jean too was used to being an outcast and she had a habit of sneaking around in people’s heads. Jean offers her a knowing smile and (y/n) tries desperately to choke back a giggle, as to not look like she’s going crazy.

‘You gotta stop reading my mind, Red.’

Jean nods in Ororo’s direction, and her voice echoes in (y/n)’s head in gentle, hushed tones, ‘she likes you too, y’know’.

***

The mission was covert. An evening stealth operation, meant to expose and disband a gradually forming anti-mutant faction, and therefore, the perfect format for (y/n), Storm, Jean and Mystique’s range of abilities.

Nonetheless, (y/n) still doubted herself. The mission sounded complex and she had no idea why her team picked her for the job.

On the other hand, it made sense that they should pick the other girls. They were strong and experienced. Ororo was literally a Storm, Jean was a Phoenix with telepathic-telekinesis and Raven could take on any face she wanted. The thought of ‘maybe they made a mistake,’ floated sinisterly in the air, circling (y/n)’s head, and now her limbs felt weaker, her DNA seemingly transforming, ridding the mutation from her body.

The four of them snuck inside the building, passing the guards unnoticed. Ororo held her hand on (y/n)’s lower back, gently guiding her down the dark hallway.

“Alright, Raven starts. “We have to split up. Jean, set up a telepathic link, so we’re as silent as possible.”

‘Done.’

(Y/n) was trying hard to suppress the nervousness from rising in her throat, trying in vain to even out her heavy breathing. Ororo knows, so she places her forehead on (y/n)’s forcing her to look into her eyes, before assuring, “Hey, you’ve got this. Stealth is your thing, right?”

She nods, taking a deep breath.

“So, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re not alone. We’re all here with you,” Ororo promises.

Ororo carried herself with such ease, an illustrious illumined vision. But here (y/n) was, feeling weak again like glass again, persistently being shattered over and over, forged by sand and the lightning that strikes it. And then she’s broken but held together at the same time, all by the girl who is a storm. She’s too bright, glowing almost like an angel, and it makes (y/n) feel overwhelmed with a light she isn’t used to.

Composing herself, she sucks in a breath, then lets herself dissolve into the darkness, rendering herself invisible.

Before long, she comes across three armed guards linger in the direction she’s going, she panics, becoming visible again like someone grabbed ahold of her powers, and ripped and ripped and ripped it all apart.

“Ori!?”

“(Y/n), what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

No answer.

“I’ve lost her, she’s panicking too much, she’s blocked out. But I can feel her energy,” Jean presses, almost panting, empathising with (y/n).

The three women become alerted to the now blaring alarm, and the gunshot that rang out not too far from Storm. Storm rushes, cape billowing behind her, sleet encrusting her surroundings. She finally spots (y/n), but it doesn’t give her the relief she had hoped.

“I found her.”

***

Hank peeks his head out of the room, eyes scanning for the x-men. All of them stand up immediately, the legs of their chairs screeching against the floor. Jean appeared much calmer than her team-mates, but looked to Hank expectedly anyway.

“She’s okay. Stable.”

Ororo exhaled sharply, and Scott tenderly nudged her forward toward Hank, who was making his way back to the med bay.

“She’s very lucky. The bullet lodged itself in her rib, so it’s fractured. But just a smidge upwards, and she’d have a punctured lung,” Hank explains. He fixes his glasses before continuing. “She’s on pain killers, but icing the area will also help while she heals.” Lucky for (y/n), Ororo could make as much ice as she needed without leaving her side.

Ororo takes a seat beside (y/n)’s bed, shuffling it closer and taking her hand, careful of the IV drip. She figured that wasn’t close enough, and sits beside (y/n) on the bed, listening to the clock tick. She was still unconscious, but Ororo was just glad her mind was at peace in this state.

Soon after, (y/n)’s eyes open, and she flickers in and out of Ororo’s visibility for a few seconds while she awakens.

“Hey,” Ororo says so quietly, it was almost a whisper. Immediately after she looks at Ori, (y/n)’s lip begins to quiver, and she bursts into tears.

“I fucked up. It’s all my fault.” Then the thoughts were back, flooding her head with ‘you don’t belong here, you don’t belong here, you don’t belong here’. How mad would everyone be because she sabotaged their mission? How mad was Ori? Now she can’t stop sobbing because the guilt clouds everything and it’s so inordinate that she forgets just how much her friends would truly worry about her.

Ororo squeezes (y/n)’s hand and shakes her head. “No it isn’t, (y/n). Everyone gets scared sometimes, and that’s okay.”

“But the mission, I-“

“Forget the mission. We can fix that later. It was just lucky that we were able to fix you.”

The apprehension in Ororo’s eyes broke (y/n)’s doubt, cracked it, so that (y/n) herself could push down the blockage like bars of an enclosure bending and breaking under pressure. (Y/n) sniffs, looking in the other direction shamefully. How could she have doubted how much Ororo cared about her? How could she not realise she’s been under the aegis of Storm and the x-men this entire time? She can feel Ororo’s stare, like icicles freezing into the side of her face, but she refuses to look at her still. Ororo takes (y/n)’s tear-stained jaw in her fingertips, coaxing her to meet her eyes.

“It isn’t always dark times, sweetheart,” Ororo says with a sad smile. “Even shadows need light to exist. You’ll get there. You just have to let the light in.”

“I’m scared, Ori,” she sputtered.

“I know. But I’m right here. I’ve got you,” Ororo urged, pulling her closer.

She wipes the tears off her face, and tells her to watch her hands, as to distract her. Ororo lets sparks of electricity fly from her fingertips and (y/n) stares in amazement. She had seen Storm in action many times, but she had been given such a beautiful, evergreen gift. The tiny sparks slowly turn into jagged bolts of lightning, flickering bright and pure white. They suddenly cease, and a perfect snowflake takes their place, falling and melting on the tip of (y/n)’s nose.

She smiles, watching Ororo’s irises turn from white, back to chocolate brown. That was the first time (y/n) noticed that if she was close enough, she could make out the smallest of freckles arranged just below her eyes, trailing to the bridge of her nose. Before she knew it, she was instinctively gravitating towards Ororo. Or was Ororo leaning into her?

All she knew was that the clock on the wall stopped ticking when her lips met hers, but the beating of her heart only escalated, fluttering, dancing. And try as she might to fight it, (y/n)’s walls tumbled down, crashing like thunder and hail as it met the earth. Ororo had accomplished what no one else could, breaking through (y/n)’s defences. She could only focus on how soft Ororo’s lips felt against her mouth, claiming all her senses.

She still wasn’t sure if this was another figment of her imagination, a false memory, but the way Ori’s hands cupped her face felt amply real. For the first time in a long time, (y/n) didn’t feel all that shy.

They smiled at each other, grins getting so big it turned to laughter. Although (y/n) winced at the pain in her rib, she was convinced this is the best she’s ever felt.

“What do you say we go out for lunch when you’re all healed? Picnic in the garden?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Ororo kisses (y/n)’s forehead and sighs in relief. Now (y/n)’s habit of yearning was no more. What she had so desperately wanted was right here in front of her. And although the shadows and darkness will always be there, so will Ori.

#marvel #storm x reader #storm x female reader #ororo munroe #ororo munroe x reader #x-men #val’s fics #val’s requests

105 notes · View notes

thesiriusmoon · 3 years

Text

Harry Potter ships I truly hate

Disclaimer: I’m not telling you who to ship and whatnot, I’m just expressing how awful these ships are to me and then explaining why.

1. Harry X Draco

Now this is coming from a former drarry stan who before, hadn’t read the books. I thought Draco ‘had no choice’ and ‘just wanted love’ until I opened my eyes and saw the character for who he really was. That is a spoiled blood supremacist who hates muggleborns, and is loved by both of his parents. Draco bullied Harry. Although Harry fought back, it was because he was the victim and had to defend himself. Harry never went out of his way to hurt Draco, but Draco did it constantly. Draco and Harry would never work because Harry hated Draco just as much as Draco did him. You could ship Harry with so many others that wouldn’t be toxic such as, Ginny, Cho, maybe Hermoine (but I prefer Romoine), maybe even Ron if you want to. (I don’t ship Harry and Cedric because the ages are too weird). It’s so obvious throughout the entire book that Harry didn’t have romantic feelings for Draco, he only ever thought he was doing bad things, seeing as he was a bad person. Harry found love in Ginny in like the fifth book? Which is when the crush started, and no one else was in the picture for him once he began dating Ginny. In conclusion, Ginny is the one he married and had children with, not Draco, because he hated him and wanted nothing to do with him as he was nothing but a bully who hated muggles and muggleborns. Seeing as Harry is a half blood, and his mother was muggleborn, why do you think Harry would turn around and be like “oh he’s just broken I’ll fix him.” And ignore everything Draco ever said about his family???? That’s such a toxic thing to think... because believe it or not, in a relationship you’re supposed to be with someone you like as a person. Just because you may find Draco attractive, that doesn’t make him a good person!! Harry would never choose Draco over anyone for that matter. If it were between Ginny or Draco to be saved, you better bet on Harry saving Ginny.

2. Hermoine X Draco

I genuinely hate this ship with my entire being. It disgusts me. This isn’t an enemies to lovers, this is literally bully X victim. Hermoine didn’t fight back, meaning Draco was the full oppressor and she was the oppressed. Draco is a blood supremacist who called Hermoine a mudblood constantly and hated her, and the feeling was mutual from Hermoine because why would anyone like their bully? Falling in love with your bully is a book trope, that doesn’t happen in real life. When Hermoine was being tortured in Malfoy Manor, Draco stood and watched because he didn’t care, meanwhile Ron, the boy Hermoine was attracted to and loved, was screaming and crying begging for him to take her place so she would be protected. That’s true love, something Hermoine and Draco will never have. I really will never understand why so many people love shipping victims with their oppressors... like do you get a sick kick out of it by babying the oppressor? Saying things like “oh he’s just unloved” or “he can change!” When none of that is true. Draco chose to be who he is, which is a blood supremacist and was loved by his family, and Hermoine chose not to ever engage with him because of his personality and attitude. Draco hated her, and everyone else like her because of their status, and overall, Hermoine just isn’t attracted to him. Hermoine is attracted to Ron and he’s the only person I can see dating Hermoine because everyone else would be a bit strange. Dramoine is unbelievably toxic, and all it does is romanticise abuse. “Oh Draco only bullied her for 7 years because he was afraid to love her.” Stfu. You’d never hurt someone you love. Draco bullied her because he thought he was ABOVE her, and she was nothing but dirt on his shoe.

3. Hermoine X Pansy

When it comes to fanon, I still don’t understand why it gets shipped because in order to do that, you have to change Pany’s entire personality to the point where it’s not even Pansy anymore. It’s just some nice girl with the same name. Because the real Pansy bullied Hermoine and made it known how much she didn’t like her. Not only that, but Pansy was head over heels for Draco. This isn’t an enemies to lovers, this is shipping the bully with the victim for some weird reason... because Hermoine didn’t fight back just like Hermoine X Draco. If they were both at each other’s throats I could see your enemies to lovers, but that’s just not what this is. If you ship them because you’re looking for a wlw ship, why not take a look at Ginny X Luna, Lavender X Parvati, or even Tonks X Fleur, rather than picking the toxic ship that would never ever work and would only hurt Hermoine. Ron Weasley exists for a reason. Again, shipping someone with their oppressor is a very weird thing to do. For example, Ron is a pureblood, but Ron wasn’t prejudice towards muggles or muggleborns, because he’s a decent and normal person. Pansy and Draco aren’t decent people, and they bullied people. Really there isn’t much else to say as all canon stuff about Pansy is about her bullying people, and encouraging people to capture Harry because SHE’S A BLOOD SUPREMACIST THAT’S ALL SHE IS. Hermoine is a strong and independent woman and would NEVER date someone prejudice like that, she has standards.

4. Lily X Snape

We have to stop with this “she can fix him” mentality, because women don’t exist to fix men. Either Snape was a good person, or a bad person. He should be able to choose that himself. Which he was actually, and he was very clearly a bad person. You can’t force someone to be attracted to another. Attraction forms on its own, and it’s something Lily never had for Snape, they were only friends. To say that Lily owed Snape something because he liked her... is so wrong and disgusting. If she doesn’t like him, she doesn’t like him and Snape should fucking move on instead of obsessing over her. But, Snape overall was a creep so you can’t say “oh he made a mistake” when that man knew EXACTLY what he was doing. Ripping Lily’s happy photograph of her with her husband and baby, and taking the letter she wrote for Sirius who Snape could pretend she did that for him. Literally disgusting. Even the friendship was toxic. When reading I realised that Snape played the victims card a lot when talking about the marauders as if he wasn’t doing WORSE thing to them. Lily knew that Snape wanted to join Voldemort, as seen in the books. ‘You and your previous little death eater friends — you see, you don’t even deny it. You don’t even deny that’s what you’re aiming to be! You can’t wait to join you-know-who, can you?” Then she says “I can’t pretend anymore, you’ve chosen your way, and I’ve chosen mine.” Lily PRETENDED that Snape wasn’t going to be a death eater because she didn’t want to believe that her own friend would hate her kind so much. Though once reality hit her she was gone and was never coming back. To ship someone who was oppressed with the oppressor is so weird and wrong, and I genuinely think you’re strange if you do that 😐. Snape already didn’t like Lily having other friends... so what does that tell you about what kind of relationship they would have? A manipulative one and an emotionally abusive one. James Potter was a pureblood, and not once did he ever bully someone for their blood status. He did things to Snape because Snape was a prejudice piece of shit and deserved it quite frankly. I would have done the exact same thing. Remember, the Potter’s were ‘blood traitors’ and Snape was a blood supremacist, of course the two aren’t going to like one another. But the difference is, Snape bullied innocent people (laughing at the fact Mary MacDonald was subdued to dark magic) and James fought back for those without voices. Getting revenge for people who couldn’t do it themselves. That’s the difference between a bully and a hero tbh. There’s no way Lily would ever date a death eater, she’s a strong woman who can make up her mind for herself rather than having people on the internet say things like “she was brainwashed!” And things like that. She became attracted and fell in love with a respectful man who would never cause her any type of emotional or physical harm.

In conclusion, I will judge you if you think shipping abusers/oppressors with their victims is ok in any way.

If you made it this far, feel free to comment or reblog with your own opinion. Just know that my opinion on these ships will never change because they’re all extremely toxic whether you like it or not. That’s just common sense. It’s canon that Draco, Pansy, and Snape were horrible people who liked to make fun of others. Fanon doesn’t mean a single thing in this because fanon isn’t real. If you have to change the entire personality of someone so they aren’t abusive... what does that tell you about their character? A lot of people do this because they like how a character looks, which is so tone deaf. If you think a victim should date their oppressor because of looks... I’m judging you heavily. If a character is wrote to be abusive, I don’t understand people do fan art of them with the people they hurt in a romantic way.

You might say I’m being over dramatic, but really it’s not that hard to understand that you shouldn’t romanticise abuse or say that oppressor X victim would make the perfect couple just because of their looks.

Would you ever ship Neville with Draco? No you wouldn’t. And it’s not for the reasons you would think. I bet if Neville was conveniently attractive (in the books, I love Matthew.) people would have shipped him with Draco despite Draco mercilessly bullying Neville for 7 years. A lot of people would have made excuses like “Draco was broken!” In order to be able to ship two attractive men together. (Which also plays into fetishisation of lgbt+ couples I think...) This fandom is rather toxic when it comes to this, and they’d rather ship a very abusive relationship with two conventionally attractive people rather than a loving one with two people that aren’t.

209 notes · View notes

haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years

Text

Ch. Seventeen

⚠WARNING: Swearing

• ────── ✾ ────── •

For five days Osamu ignores you. Your texts go unanswered, calls are sent to voicemails, meet ups at the café are now solo trips.

You’re beyond upset at this point. If this is his way of needing space, that’s fine. You’d be okay with giving him space - you just need to know if he wants space. Having this awful radio silence between you is driving you mad. What if he’s sick? What if he needs to go to the hospital? He lives alone and his family isn’t close, and he hasn’t mentioned other friends to you before. You’ve talked plenty about Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki - surely he would’ve offered up stories about his friends if he had them, no?

But you also worry that you’ve done something to really offend him. He’s a pretty laid back guy (all things considered) so you must have really pissed him off if he’s resorting to ignoring all forms of communication.

You just need to know. Even if it will be the end of your friendship (something your brain isn’t ready to comprehend, thank you very much) you have to know why Osamu doesn’t want to talk to you.

So you’ve changed plans. You decide to skip afternoon classes and set up camp at the cafe. You knew he visited the cafe at least once a day, and you thought that maybe he was coming at different times to avoid you but you weren’t gonna let that happen so you would change your schedule and ambush him.

It was literally the only idea you could think of and at this point you were desperate.

“Jasmine tea, right?” The barista greets you when you step up to the register.

“Yes please,” you answer, reaching to grab your wallet from your bag.

“Hey, I haven’t seen that one guy who you’d been studying with in awhile. He used to come all the time.” The barista sets down your tea and types at the register. “What was his name, Osamu?”

You nod, trying to swallow your disappointment and pass over money to pay. If the employees here haven’t noticed Osamu coming in then maybe he is sick. And the odds of you coming across him here are slim to none.

You thank the barista and grab a table in a different spot of the cafe. The whole point of this is to change up your routine and try to see if Osamu will stop by. The last thing you want is for him to walk in, see you sitting at the table, and leave. You sit at your table, pull out your notebooks and get settled. Hopefully you can get some studying done while waiting.

A faint bell to indicate a new person coming in rings, and you nearly snap your neck to look in the direction of the front door. But it’s a young woman talking on her cell phone who walks in, not Osamu. You sigh to yourself and open your books.

~~~

The front door bell rings again, and like before you quickly look up. To your dismay, a group of three guys probably close to your age walk into the café and make their way to the register.

You’ve been at the café for 45 minutes and this time it’s the 10th time you’ve been tricked by someone walking in. You feel yourself wilt and look back down at your books, ignoring the stinging in your eyes. This is pointless.

“We’ve checked the campus all morning, and Shin combed the library top to bottom.”

The group of guys waiting in line are standing close enough to your new table that you can just hear what they’re saying. You don’t really eavesdrop on people, but it’s hard when they’re not really trying to keep quiet. And you had given up on your homework ages ago, so you just sit staring at the table while listening to the three friends talk.

“We know that he’s studying here. We should just go up to the registrar’s office and find out where he’s taking classes.” A second voice speaks up.

“Yeah, and how is that going to work?” The first guy was speaking again. “We’re going to waltz onto a campus of a school we don’t go to and what, ask nicely if they can tell us where our friend is? We’ll get the cops called on us for sure.”

“Enough.” The third friend spoke, and you didn’t have to look to know that his voice commanded an air of respect. “We’re here for a few more days, we cannot argue amongst ourselves.”

“Kita, it’s a big campus in a big city. It’s gonna take more than a miracle to find him.”

You look up and around the café, and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the three guys who’s conversation you had overheard. The shorter friend takes his coffee from the barista with a nod and moves towards the sugar and creamer station. “Him ignoring our phone calls is making things difficult.” The guy paused again to pour sugar into his coffee. “But it’s his mother’s birthday soon, and I know she would like him to be home for it.” You look away to gaze outside but continue to listen (eavesdrop) to them. You can’t help but think that the shortest guy’s accent sounds very familiar to you.

“To hell with the birthday.” The second guy speaks again, sounding agitated. “Osamu should be home with us, not holed up in this city alone.”

Your head snaps in their direction again. The shorter man with black and white hair is nearly dwarfed by two other men, one dark-skinned and the other with dark hair parted down the center. The shorter man and dark-skinned man are busy making their coffees but the one with dark, parted hair catches your movement. You stare at each other, him having no problem holding your gaze. You watch him pull his phone out of his pocket, tap at the screen (without looking away) and bring the phone up. A quick flash and you realize that this stranger has taken your photograph.

What the hell?!

You start, not expecting the action and look back down abashed. This is what you get for eavesdropping, you dummy. You chance a quick glance and see the shorter man giving the photog a stern look. You look away again but you can’t shut your ears off as you hear them speak again.

“Delete that photo right now Suna.”

“But she was looking right at me!”

“Delete it.”

Footsteps approaching your table make you look up again and your pulse quickens when you realize the shorter man is approaching you. Behind him the dark-skinned man is scolding the other friend, both looking cross with each other. But you can’t focus on them as the short man has finally arrived at your table. To your massive surprise he bows in front of you.

“I sincerely apologize for my friend. I assure you that he deleted the photo he took and he will not be doing anything like that again.”

Hearing his voice you can definitely pick up the same accent Osamu has. His eyes are gentle and kind and he does look remorseful for his friend’s actions. “Uhhh, no worries.” You stammer out, still dazed by everything that is happening.

Before you can think to voice your confusion out loud the man bows again and takes his leave. He doesn’t get a few feet from your table before you're blurting out.

“I heard you talking about Osamu.”

The two friends hear you (as did everyone in the cafe) but they immediately make their way to your table. The dark-skinned man is looking at you with surprise but it’s the other friend’s face who catches you by surprise. He stomps over and leans down to your eye level.

“Where is he?” You’re taken aback by the ferociousness in his voice, and the frantic frazzled look in his eyes. The shorter man steps back to the table and rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“We’re friends of Osamu from back home, and we’re having trouble finding him. Are you a friend of his?”

“Uh, yes. Well, I think so.” You weren’t sure of your status now after he’s been ignoring your calls and messages.

“Well which is it?” The other man asks aggressively. You don’t get a chance to answer as you all hear the café door open and you turn to look at the newcomer.

Your heart flutters when you see Osamu walk through the door. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since realizing that you like him more than a friend, and besides relief at seeing him in person after he’s been ignoring you, you feel comfort at seeing him.

You meet his gaze and watch him stop in his steps when he sees you. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the look on his face when he takes in the full scene. Your heart twists when he pales, and before you can call out to him he takes off.

“Shit!” The man who took your photo takes off, expertly weaving through the small crowd in the café and following Osamu out the door. The second tall man chases after them a second later, having a bit more trouble getting through the other patrons.

The third, shortest friend remains, and you hear him heave a sigh. After a beat he speaks up. “May I join you?”

You start but not immediately. He doesn’t waste time in sitting down in the chair next to yours. Only when he gets situated do you realize what you’ve done - you’re letting someone who supposedly knows Osamu sit with you, someone that makes Osamu look like he’s seen a ghost and run away as fast as he can.

What if this man is dangerous? Did you just endanger Osamu’s life?

“We’re not here to hurt Osamu.” Your companion at your table speaks up. You have no idea how he was able to read your mind, and you feel even more suspicious. “My name is Kita Shinsuke - the one who took your photo is Suna Rintarou, and our other friend is Aran Ojiro. We’re friends of Osamu’s from Hyogo.”

You nod at his introduction, but you’re not buying it. Saying outright that you’re not going to hurt someone is exactly what someone who wants to hurt someone else would say.

Kita must sense your hesitation again and he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen and sets it on the table facing you. He nudges it in your direction, and you cautiously pick it up. What you see on the screen nearly makes you drop the phone in surprise.

It’s a group of guys - you immediately recognize this Kita person with his black and white hair, as well as Suna and Aran. You also see Osamu, giving the camera a lazy smile.

And his exact replica, standing next to him with a wider, cockier smile.

His twin.

Besides the initial shock of seeing a picture of Osamu’s twin, you see Osamu looking happy. He’s got his small smirk you’ve only seen a few times, and even then it pales in comparison to the smile he’s wearing in the photo. It’s such a stark difference to the cold, apathetic Osamu you know now that your heart can’t help but twist.

You hand the phone back to Kita silently. He takes it and puts it away.

“How long have you been friends with Osamu?” He asks.

You swallow. “A few weeks.”

Kita nods. “And do you know about Atsumu?”

“Is that his twin?” Kita nods at your question. “Then yes, that’s how we became friends, kind of.”

Kita gives you a confused look (his expression barely changes but you can just detect it.) You clear your throat. “I lost my best friend a few months ago. We realized we both had something in common and we’ve been able to talk about it with each other.”

Surprise flickers across his face before a serious, somber look takes its place. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you reply automatically. You appreciate his gesture, and you’ve been handling these kinds of interactions with general strangers for months. If, for some godforsaken reason, the passing of Hajime comes up in conversation everyone immediately offers their condolences, you thank them, and then the conversation continues. You’ve long been able to push aside the wave of grief that comes with the briefest of mentions of his passing. You understand that sometimes the stranger you were talking with doesn’t really mean the words they’re saying.

But with this Kita Shinsuke, you feel the sincerity behind it. It only comes from someone who can understand what you’re going through because they’ve gone through it themselves.

“Can I ask how much you know about Osamu and Atsumu?” Kita asks.

You struggle to find an adequate answer, embarrassed by your lack of knowledge about Osamu’s past. He always seemed uncomfortable talking about Atsumu, and you never wanted to push him. Gosh, can you really say you have deep feelings for him when you don’t even know how to answer this simple question?

“I know he came to Sendai for school.” You answer carefully, putting your insecurities away for now. “I think he wanted to get out of Hyogo.”

Kita’s response is a hum. It’s thoughtful, and you can see gears turning behind his head. You wait for him to reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Osamu definitely wanted to get out of Hyogo, and he did come here to attend Sendai University.” Kita confirms. “But what you may not know is that he vanished from Hyogo, without a trace save for the letter he left for his parents to never call him again.”

Kita’s brief explanation feels anything but that. It shocks you to your core, freezing your lungs. Any reply you would have had to it was wiped clean, and you really can’t do anything but sit and stare.

Kita nods. His features soften, and you now see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I understand his actions. I cannot imagine living in a place with constant painful reminders of his loss.

“But he didn’t give any hint of wanting to leave. He never told anyone his plan. One day we woke up and he was just gone. His parents are heartbroken. They had already lost one son, and now another that leaves no open channel of communication, no desire for any of us to reach him. To them, it feels like they’ve lost both sons.

Your heart clenches painfully. You know Kita isn’t accusing Osamu of anything - you can’t hear any blame in his voice. But you can’t help but feel the need to defend your friend for his actions that are, frankly, self-serving.

Kita goes on. “Aran, Suna and myself have an old schoolmate, one of Osamu’s old friends as well. He recently reached out to tell us that his cousin thought he recognized Osamu here at this campus when he came to play Sendai University’s mens’ basketball team. It was pure dumb luck, and honestly not even a hint of a confirmed lead, but we got a chance to find Osamu. We arrived two days ago and have spent all of our time searching every corner of the campus looking for him.”

You still can’t get over the new information you’ve learned about Osamu. Leaving his small town and the only people he knows with no plans on returning. You can’t help but remember little bits of information gleaned from your conversations with Osamu.

He moved to a new city and got a new phone and new phone number. He doesn’t have any friends or family here in Sendai. How unwilling he was to find a therapist and seek help for unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Now with the added information of knowing Osamu left home without a trace, you’re left with a revelation that sends you reeling.

He’s running away.

Osamu is trying to run away from the trauma of losing his brother. He’s doing his very best to shake off any trace of his past and reinvent himself in a new city. Zero contact with friends or family and no support to help him work through a disturbing life event that shouldn’t happen to anyone. And he’s shoving it all down.

Why? Why in the world would anyone want to do that to themselves? And is this what he’s been doing to you now? Running away from you?

A ringing disrupts your disturbing thoughts and you watch Kita bring his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” Whoever is on the other line must tell him some disappointing news because Kita’s face falls again. “Ok, I’ll meet you at the hotel.” He hands up the phone and sighs.

“Aran and Suna lost Osamu. Not surprisingly, since Osamu was always quick, and he knows the area better than we do.” He stands. “I will leave you to your studying. May I borrow a slip of paper and a pen?”

You wordlessly hand over a scrap piece of paper and pen, letting Kita bend down to write on the table. He hands the items back to you and straightens up. You look at the paper and see his full name and phone number written down.

“You have no obligation to, but if Osamu reaches out to you will you please let me know?”

You think of the messages you’ve sent him and the calls you’ve made - all unanswered. But you can’t bring yourself to tell that to Kita now. “I’ll try my best.”

“I greatly appreciate it.” Kita bows and makes to leave. But he hesitates and looks back at you. “We’re not here to drag him back to Hyogo against his will. If he wants to stay here in Sendai he can, he’s an adult. I just want him to know that he has people that care about him, people that miss him.”

You watch Kita pause, standing still. He swallows hard and you see his hands ball into fists. Watching Kita compose himself somehow hurts you the most in this entire interaction you’ve had with him.

When he speaks, his voice is strained. “I don’t think he knows that. I think he believes that he’s truly alone.”

Kita nods and takes his leave, leaving you sitting alone at your table in the café.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: Enter the Hyogo friends! But Osamu doesn't seem too happy to see them....are we gonna find out why? Also a sad Kita is literally the worst thing in the world and it makes me not okay! :')

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito @babucrow @beidouluvr @kozuken-ma @imarriedachef @badkarma-a

60 notes · View notes

therenlover · 3 years

Text

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)

(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...)

Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn

Rating: M (+16)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere

Word Count: 10,200~

“What’s with the mask?”

The question was innocent enough.

Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation.

Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.

Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,”

“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?”

“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket.

Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”

That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?”

“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly.

“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded.

Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him.

As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?”

Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,”

“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”

“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”

A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,”

“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?”

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,”

Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,”

“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.

He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence.

“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips.

Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian…

Y/N.

“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…”

------------

“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,”

The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.

He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,”

A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,”

Now that was enough to make him pause.

“How did you-”

“How could I not?”

It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him.

Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”

Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already.

“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”

Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?”

That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily.

Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it.

He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!”

Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it.

“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,”

Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause.

“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,”

The jab didn’t land, though.

Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense.

Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name.

Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” They replied.

“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”

“Don’t call me that,”

Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,”

“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking.

Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature.

What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers

Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…

He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it.

“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much.

Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach.

He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,”

Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,”

“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed.

Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,”

Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia.

Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch.

Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?”

Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be.

He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games.

------------

Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up.

They did quite the opposite.

Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.

It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.

As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw.

In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.

Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,”

The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right.

Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…

Not that Helmut cared for them.

No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all.

It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.

Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.

By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike.

He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning.

Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.

Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th.

“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”

Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.

“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?”

The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for.

Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up.

It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves.

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.

“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though.

So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.

Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”

“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed.

Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey.

“A drink, dear leader?”

“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?”

“Too many,”

“For once, I agree with you,”

A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,”

Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”

“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”

“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan.

Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?”

That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.

“And who says that has to be true?”

“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”

“I never said there would be no casualties-”

“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?”

“You know that’s not what this is about,”

“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked.

Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing?

No.

He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.

“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with.

They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,”

“I shudder to think what it might be,”

“How are you going to hide your face?”

The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?”

Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?”

Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all.

“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that.

Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too.

“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan.

Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible.

“Is this-”

“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,”

For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible.

At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,”

“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,”

“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips.

He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,”

“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Why would that be wonderful?”

“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own.

Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first.

With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one.

------------

In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.

They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.

After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine.

On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him.

By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained.

Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself.

Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.

I never said there’d be no casualties.

His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?

The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group.

As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached.

They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch.

“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.

Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too.

Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this?

“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end.

So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,”

Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,”

It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?”

A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over.

“I never thought I’d see the day,”

Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back.

“I’ll try not to,”

“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,”

Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours.

There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed.

“What?”

“You weren’t invited,”

They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,”

“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?”

He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,”

“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,”

“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”

They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”

Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been.

Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,”

“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it.

They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky.

“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,”

He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,”

“Yeah, he would have…”

Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick.

How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again.

“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?”

Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?”

Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,”

“Why can’t you sleep out here?”

“I don’t want to be woken up,”

“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-”

“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,”

Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,”

The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,”

Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip.

“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,”

“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,”

“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.

He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it.

“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea.

It fell on deaf ears.

“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave.

They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live.

Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.

“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before.

Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again.

------------

As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.

Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better.

Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued.

Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck.

Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.

Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded.

Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth.

Hans…

Helmut didn’t know how Hans died.

He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life.

What remained now?

A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?

Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it.

The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-

“Wait!”

The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.

“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”

There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N.

They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen.

It was only right that they go together.

Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”

“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,”

“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun.

“Quiet,”

Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”

Who was he to deny them?

Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles.

“Oh, fearless leader… I win,”

The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time.

When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet.

------------

It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end.

In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.

All the same, he hated them for it.

Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that.

Ghosts haunted him often.

Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be.

Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him.

They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there.

Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…

It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side.

When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it.

Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.

“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment.

Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly.

“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back.

Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning.

“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,”

Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.

Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead?

“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,”

It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you’re married,”

Married.

The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?”

Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,”

“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,”

His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”

In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips.

“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”

“So it had a name!”

That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.

------------

The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it.

Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all.

“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,”

Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them.

“Ciczheni,”

“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket.

“We buried them in Ciczheni,”

He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand.

Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,”

Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”

He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word.

Ciczheni.

As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks.

They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two.

Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home.

Making a family.

His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been.

For Y/N, though...

He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling.

Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives.

Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare.

Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace.

Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer.

Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them.

Either way, when they were together again, he’d know.

They both would.

--------

a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying.

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace , @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade , @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @wondermia69 , @booklover2929 , @lol-im-done , @rorodendra , @spookycereal-s , @viviace , @wxrmh0le , @whatawildone , @mush-room-princess , @aliyahsfantasticlife , @gredvb , @chipster-21 , @whatawildone , @cloud-of-roses , @bry-97 , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #barricade day #zemo fanfic

119 notes · View notes

butwhatifidothis · 3 years

Note

r/Edelgard seems to have completely turned against Claude now. But the weirdest part is that they keep calling him an imperialist, while at the same time denying Edelgard is one.

It was only a matter of time before they did honestly. While Dimitri and Edelgard more directly oppose each other ideologically, even if it’s merely stated as so by the game Claude and Edelgard are presented as being “closer aligned” in terms of ideals, and any character shown to be a potential ally to Edelgard is seen in a good light in their eyes and any character that is shown to be unable to be an ally is a villain/bad person, so he was given some leeway until recently.

Look at how they bend themselves trying to make AM the villain route, how they sometimes completely discard Rhea’s words in favor of Edelgard’s despite the former literally being present when history was happening and the latter having Imperial Telephone tell her the totes fer reel correct version that happens to paint humanity as pure good, at how Edelgard’s treatment of Seteth and Flayn is excused and sometimes justified, at how Dimitri defending his land against an invading force that has the explicit goal of conquering them is painted in the worst possible light. It’s a consistent tendency to put down every character that could even potentially make Edelgard look bad... so Claude was never going to escape this treatment forever, since he arguably makes Edelgard look the worst. Not because of what she did to him - that trophy is being valiantly fought by Dimitri and Rhea - but because of his actions and goals and accomplishments compared to hers.

Remember Edelgard’s supposed goals, according to her stans? Claude does them, with far more peaceful results.

“Reform the Church” - Edelgard gets rid of it entirely in the majority of her endings and has it state-sanctioned if she does allow it to stay all the while actively persecuting the faithful in the Empire during the war, Claude always has the Church around and it is stated to be going through more natural reforms under Byleth and Seteth’s guidance and like the rest of the non-CF routes gives refuge to the said persecuted faithful.

“Unify Fodlan” - Edelgard forcefully unites Leicester and Faerghus back under Adrestia’s banner and erases their cultures while doing so, Claude unites Leicester, Faerghus, and Adrestia under a new banner (the United Kingdom of Fodlan) with no explicit mention of the erasure of the former nations (unlike “the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Church of Seiros both vanished from the people’s memories” like in CF’s ending narration).

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan’s history” - Edelgard only tells a “truth” that goes directly against everything established by the game’s foreshadowing and never looks farther into what she assumes to be true, Claude finds the actual truth and does so by asking Rhea, someone who would for sure know the truth of what happened (all while risking the chance of her blowing away his previous assumptions of what’s been happening)

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan part 2″ - Edelgard/CF has multiple instances that reveal that portions of history are being deliberately covered up (Dorothea/Edelgard endings revealing censorship, Ferdinand/Byleth endings revealing certain battles not being recorded “ History books extol Ferdinand's success as a lord of his territories, but they do not make mention of the hard-fought battles he endured alongside his wife. Thus, half of his life's work is lost to time”), no mention of such things happening in Claude/VW’s endings

“Better relations with Almyra” - this is a throwaway line in Edelgard’s story that is completely optional and easy to miss as well as never appearing in any of her endings whatsoever (as well as any mention of bettering foreign relations), this is Claude’s entire goal which he is stated and even somewhat shown to have accomplished in the course of his story

“Looking out for the weak” - Edelgard intentionally strips the weak of support by taking away most any semblance of a church and explicitly states that the weak will inevitably learn how to grow strong by themselves, Claude acknowledges the Church’s importance to the people even if he personally doesn’t like religion and explicitly believes that strength is found by relying on, opening up to, and believing in friends and close ones

“Looking out for the weak, part 2″ - Edelgard explicitly states that she is completely willing to sacrifice her men as well as the people of Fodlan as a whole in order to achieve a greater good and then goes on to endanger her people, Claude explicitly states that such methods are too bloody and goes on to go out of his way to protect the people through evacuation or by placing himself in front of them or keeping them out of the fighting entirely

“Achieving a peaceful Fodlan” - The majority of Hubert’s endings reveal the need to constantly spy on the populace and/or put down rebellions/assassination attempts, the only mention of something similar occurring in VW is putting down Imperial loyalists + TWS’ attempts to disrupt the peace

“Wanting help from others” - Edelgard never attempts to reach out a hand in friendship to anyone at any point of the game, Claude tries multiple times to do so with Dimitri and actually succeeds in doing so in AM (not to mention him giving his help to and asking for help from the Church in non-CF routes)

This is just what I can readily think of off the top of my head, but we see that Claude manages to accomplish much of what Edelstans say Edelgard wants to do with better results, and that’s not even getting into how Claude needs no “softening” from Byleth in order to be a more approachable person, how he never initiates fighting towards Faerghus (as in, not the Kingdom army but the nation itself, unlike Edelgard) and never tries to conquer it whatsoever (again, unlike Edelgard), how he keeps his word and assists in helping Rhea despite not liking or trusting her unlike how Edelgard claims to want to make peace with Rhea despite thinking that her and her kind need destruction, how Claude mourns the deaths of his friends and allies while Edelgard says nothing if any of her friends and allies die (even Hubert, someone she’s known for close to 20 years, one of the longest relationships of the academy students’ circle. she says nothing of his passing) save for Bernadetta whom she can set on fire, and, again, other things that aren’t coming to my right off the cuff. He makes her look horrible

And, well, ya know what that means. Claude’s actions can’t be actually good, because they make Edelgard, the hero of 3H, look bad, so there has to be some kind of catch everywhere.

Claude bringing in Almyran reinforcements, with the approval of the Alliance’s most renown general, to help secure Fort Merceus in a more secure way (and is actually shown to have possibly actually helped in pulling off the ruse, seeing how SS tried the same thing without them and failed)? Him doing the same in some of his endings, where he sends Almyran forces to help settle the Imperial revolts that are happening? This is actually him trying to invade Fodlan, sending Almyran forces as a show of force and establish Almyra’s superiority over Fodlan, not him showing that Almyra wishes to help Fodlan reform so that their centuries long feud can finally begin to be properly set aside and allow for positive change to occur between the two countries.

Claude keeping the Alliance out of the war? This is actually him biding his time to strike back against both countries so that he can win the war and he only succeeds if he manages to trick Byleth and the Church (and Dimitri, in AM) into helping him, not him recognizing that the Alliance is weak even if fully united (let alone in the divided state they’re in) and wanting to keep his people as far away from the war as possible.

Claude giving the leadership of Fodlan to Byleth? This is actually him giving an ambitionless puppet rulership so that he can control Fodlan through them (even though even pre ts he doesn’t believe Byleth has no ambitions and will full on deny the belief that they don’t) and not him putting his faith in Byleth that they will be able to rule Fodlan justly

Claude showing concern over his friends’ wellbeing? This is actually him only trying to make sure his “tools” are kept up nicely, not him genuinely caring about those around him.

Claude coming across as insensitive in his Jeralt’s diary scene? This is actually proof/a hint of Claude’s true persona as a manipulative sociopath, not a genuine fuck up on his end (or, if you want to be nicer, a look into how he himself deals with traumatic events, though that’s up for interpretation so not the main point)

Claude saying that he wants to be supreme ruler of the world to Edelgard? This is actually him outright revealing his plans and showing regret that Edelgard managed to thwart him.

Oh, and we can’t forget how Claude actually wanted to wage war himself and was only stopped by Edelgard, and how he stole all of the progress Edelgard was making in changing Fodlan’s society, and how he never would have been able to do anything without Edelgard, and how him not siding with Edelgard is proof that he never wanted the best for Fodlan, and how the warmongering Almyrans would never want to make peace with Fodlan with that being more proof of Claude’s “true” ill intentions since he’d totally know that’d be the case

The second to last point being, of course, the only time you should take Claude at face value. And again, these are just the points that readily come to my mind as of right now.

Like I said, there was no chance in hell Claude was going to stay in r/Edelgard’s good graces, given how so much of his character directly shits on Edelgard’s. Friendship ended with r/Edelgard, now Dimitri and Rhea are Claude’s best friends.

#ask #anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard discourse #edelgard critical #just to be safe #like yeah I'm surprised Claude went this long without being shat on

34 notes · View notes

seasidetownlibrary · 2 years

Text

a little life by hanya yanagihara

a devastating book that shows you about the life and friendship of four men in New York; and everything in between.

first, I know this book from #booktok. I guessed this book was published a year or two years ago but this book actually published first in 2015. let me be honest, a little life is my cup of tea. despite all of the trigger warnings (very much), I personally enjoyed being disturbed, crushed, confused, and damaged by this book (I’m an “tags: angst/major character death” reader). second, I would admit that although this is my first time reading a novel full in english, somehow I managed to read it from the first line to the last (perhaps because this book is written in american english). this book is well-written. third, at the top of all my experiences of this book, I cherish how yanagihara narrates the friendship of the four men (literally male friendship); willem, jude, malcolm, and jb. and one thing that pushed me to read this book was what Yanagihara said in her interview: “one of the things I wanted to do with this book is create a character who never gets better.” (once again, I’m an “tags: angst/major character death” reader).

last, I want to share some of quotes of this book that I love the most (without context):

“why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? why wasn’t it even better? it was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.”

“relationships never provide you with everything. they provide you with some things. you take all you want from a person – sexual chemistry, let’s say, or good conversation, or financial support, or intellectual compatibility, or niceness, or loyalty – and you get to pick three of them.”

“what he knew, he knew from books, and books lied, they made things prettier.”

#a little life #hanya yanagihara #seasidetownbooks

2 notes · View notes

fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

Text

Endless Love

Author’s Note: This is my piece I wrote for #SalDeLysFirstYear challenge. I poured a lot more into this than I realized I had in me, so hopefully it’s actually good lol. Thanks to @saldelys for allowing me to take part!

Prompt #3 Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more… Pairing: Ivar x Reader Words: 5796 Warnings: Angst, Swearing Ivar was back again. He had promised himself last time would be the final visit to the outdoor Cafe. The coffee was subpar, and he was fairly certain he could make a better lemon bar on a first attempt then the sour tart they were serving. It had been by mistake that he had happened to visit it at all. He had been outdoors enjoying the last days of summer, a day off from work, and the chance to get away from his brothers. Crossing the street, his intended destination had been to the train station, but he never got there.

On that day you had stood in his way. Not literally, but it was the look of you that had him all twisted. You were sitting alone at a table with your coffee, reading from a book like he had seen so many others had done before. The novel in question was ‘The Devil in the White City’, not exactly light reading, and not a story Ivar would have bothered himself to read. On the surface you were ordinary, but beneath his chest, his heart was sure you were anything but. Something had brought him to you, and there was a feeling of knowing you when he had yet to hear you speak.

He chose not to approach you. Growing up tethered to mother’s apron strings, and being labeled clever but strange, had made him a target by the other children. It’s difficult to grow out of that mindset, and as a result, he had turned into a bitter and lonely young man. No Ivar did not approach you. With none of the charisma or confidence of his brothers, he instead had swiveled to a spare table and had watched you behind a one-page menu.

Coming back to today, that’s what he was doing once again. Not every escapade was successful, and often he made the trip in vain when you didn’t show. You weren’t preoccupied with a book today, so he had to be careful as to not be caught gawking. Ivar had a penchant for photography, but it would have been a little presumptuous to you and everyone around if he started snapping in your direction. Instead, he had chosen the discreet, and shameful, way of turning the flash off on his phone camera snapshot. It wasn’t a quality photo, and he would delete it once this phase passed, but for the time being, it was a pleasant secret for his eyes only.

…

Ivar watched you as if you were the only one on the boat. Bjorn had returned from a raid, and you had gone with him and Hvitserk, your first raid as a shieldmaiden. He hated the idea that you were off in different lands, fulfilling your dreams as being Viking while he was left alone in Kattegat. Of course, he had never voiced this grievance to you. Your smile when you had told him the news had been so bright, and he wouldn’t be the reason for it to dim. The days without your company had been long and stagnant, and a chill had settled over Kattegat as if you had taken the warmth of the sun with you.

But you had returned, and things would be as they had always been. You were his friend, and he quietly admired you, longing for your love but accepting your friendship if it meant having you close.

You came to the Great Hall with Hvitserk, both sea-worn from your travels, but with smiles that spoke of the success of your adventures. Hvitserk was starved for food, and you began down the line with Ubbe, greeting each Ragnarsson with an embrace. Once you broke away from Sigurd, you made your way towards Ivar, and he almost shouted how glad he was to see you safe. Instead, he came off as aloof, summoning a small smirk as you knelt down before him. You always did. Unbothered by his typical greeting, you pulled him into a hug. Ivar squeezed back. If he could keep you beside him always, he would.

You began to pull away, and that’s when it happened. It was a gesture you only reserved specially for him, something that Ivar clung to in the hopes that it meant you loved him more than his brothers. You gave his left earlobe a small tug between two fingers, and you gazed into his eyes with a smile that made his heartache.

“Hello, Ivar.”

…

“I knew there was a reason you kept coming back here, and I knew it couldn’t be the coffee,” A voice sounded from behind him.

Ivar panicked. It was Hvitserk, and he had Ubbe with him. How had they found out about his little excursions? Yes, the three of them were roommates, but he was always careful to leave when they couldn’t notice. You were far enough away that you didn’t pick up on the commotion happening, and Ivar was quick to indicate to his brothers to sit. He threw them both a harsh glare, and he had this feeling of shame as if he had been caught doing something inappropriate.

“What do you want?” He hissed.

“We wanted to hang out with you today, but you were already gone when we got up,” Ubbe said.

“Good choice brother,” Hvitserk interrupted as he nodded in your direction. “Have you talked with her yet, or are you waiting until you’re the last two people on Earth?”

“Leave,” He ground out. They were ruining everything…even though he didn’t know what that meant. He hadn’t even approached you yet, and maybe he was embarrassed because Hvitserk had been able to guess that.

Ubbe craned his neck towards your table with a frown. “Who’s the old man with her?”

“What old man?” Ivar spun in his seat and saw that you had stood to embrace the older gentleman who had joined you. “I don’t know, a grandfather maybe?”

“Or maybe he’s her meal ticket,” Hvitserk said with a snicker. “She could be a gold digger, or maybe she’s got a thing for older men. Bad news for you Ivar, guess you aren’t her type.”

“Shut up, she’s not like that.” Okay, so maybe he didn’t know you enough (or at all) to say such a thing, but he was confident there was nothing sinister about you.

“How would you know, have you talked to her?” Ubbe asked, but more with concern than goading.

Ivar didn’t answer but mumbled something scathing under his breath. Why couldn’t they leave well enough alone? He was content in his routine to watch you. Eventually, he would move on and stop coming to the Cafe, but he had wanted to do that on his own terms.

“Time to find out. I’ll just ask the old guy,” Hvitserk said, rising from his seat. You had left the table for a moment, leaving your companion alone.

“No, don’t,” Ivar pleaded, but his brother was already out of reach. “Fuck.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ubbe asked when they were alone.

Ivar kept his eyes glued on Hvitserk as he chatted with the old man. What’s the worst that could happen? You could be what his brother had accused you of, or you could find out about his hobby of watching you and be disgusted. Any scenario that played in his head went from bad to worse, and Ivar was certain this would be his last time seeing you.

“You both have ruined everything.”

Ubbe rolled his eyes and sighed with exhaustion. “Ruined what? Was she supposed to pick up your interest by osmosis?”

“My interest was to take her photograph and maybe ask her to be a model for some shoots. I didn’t want to date her or anything,” Ivar defended. It was a lie, and a poor one at that judging by Ubbe’s doubtful frown.

“If you say so.”

Ivar turned his gaze back to Hvitserk, who was still engaged in conversation. You hadn’t returned to the table yet, but he didn’t want you to come back to find his brother chatting with your friend (hopefully grandfather). When Hvitserk finally stood, he shook the older fellow’s hand in parting and made his way back over to their table. Ivar didn’t like the impassive look on his face, he much preferred the goofy grin. Serious Hvitserk made his stomach clench with anxiety.

“Took you long enough,” Ivar said, gauging his reaction. “What happened?”

“Yeah, who’s the old guy,” said Ubbe.

Hvitserk leaned on his chair but did not take a seat. “I tried to put in a good word for you, brother, but the old man said she’s married to his grandson.”

“Shit,” Ubbe cursed.

Ivar sunk back into the stiff plastic of the chair, blinking with comprehension. So that was it. You were married. It seemed a cruel joke, or a curse, that someone else had met you first. He didn’t even know your name.

“Ivar,” Hvitserk called, waving his hand in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

“I think I’m finished with my coffee,” He replied, ignoring the question. “Do you want to go do something?”

Ubbe frowned. “Do you?”

“Yes, something…anything. Let’s just go."

Ivar was grabbing his crutches and propelling himself out of his seat before either of them could get another word in. You had made it back to your table, and it was burning his eyes to look in your direction. He needed to get far away, even as his heart leaped to his throat. It was like losing a friend or someone who had been lost to him before. Ivar didn’t understand what he was feeling, all he knew was he wanted to run.

…

Ivar couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Down by the river, Ubbe and a handful of warriors were preparing to set sail back to Kattegat from York, and you were among them. The betrayal and the audacity of you had him seeing red. He could not let you leave.

Perhaps you thought you could escape unnoticed, but you did not keep your head down as Ubbe did. Ivar always noticed you, everywhere you went, and you would have never slipped away unseen.

”(Y/N),“ He demanded, reaching for you even as you had your arms full with supplies. "Where are you going?”

This time your eyes did not reach his, and you passed your armful of provisions to another warrior loading up the boat.

“I’m going home Ivar. I do not want to live in England anymore.”

“Neither do I, and I do plan on returning once we’ve taken our share. Stay, you cannot leave me.”

You crossed your arms, a frown contorting your face. “Yes I can, and I will. Your hatred and misery are leading down a path I refuse to be a part of. Claim your glory and your legacy if you must, but I won’t be a part of it.”

Ivar lashed out at you before he could stop himself, latching onto your arm with a bruising grip that made you draw a sharp breath. “If you leave me now, I will hate you forever.”

You struggled in his grasp, and Ivar let go once he realized he had harmed you. The indentations of his fingers on your flesh were red and ugly. “Then hate me if you must. Know that I will mourn the loss of our friendship, but if you can renounce me so easily, I wonder if I was mistaken for thinking it was real.”

“(Y/N), please,” He pleaded, voice wavering as childish tears began to fall. “I’m sorry.”

You started to back away, back into the company of Ubbe and the other deserters. “So am I.”

On that day Ivar watched you disappear into the horizon, parting as enemies. He wondered if you ever knew that he was in love with you, but he realized the answer didn’t matter. Either way, it would only bring him pain. You had left him, and you deserved his resentment.

…

It had been weeks since Ivar had last visited the Cafe. He made good on his promise to himself to not return, going out of his way to avoid it even if it meant pushing his legs to have to go to a further train station. His thoughts would sometimes drift and dwell on you, and he had yet to delete the blurred image of you from his phone. Baby steps.

His brothers had encouraged him to put himself out there in the world of dating. They mistook his poor reaction that day for loneliness, and after growing tired of their hassling, he had agreed to try. The handful that he went on were not all awful, though there was the matter of working around his legs. Some girls tried to overcompensate by complimenting everything else about him, while others couldn’t disguise the fact that they were looking at his crutches. He tried not to hold it against them. It was his hang-ups, not theirs.

He had taken the night off from his life of dating to go to the store. Hvitserk had Thora over, and Ubbe was out on a date, so he hadn’t exactly felt like third-wheeling. Mumbling some excuse about needing milk, he had slunk out the door and hit the streets just as the sun was setting.

Perusing the aisles, Ivar wandered aimlessly as he picked up items, only to put them back again. He already had the milk, his whole purpose for being there, but he didn’t want to go back to the apartment. There was a chance he’d walk in on a compromising moment between Hvitserk and Thora, and he wanted to save them all the embarrassment.

“Excuse me, can I get by?”

Ivar tilted his head towards the voice and was startled to find you standing there with him in the aisle. Gods were you a lovely sight. You were bundled in autumn gear, and you clung to a basket with the few groceries you had picked up. Ivar couldn’t help but notice the look of weariness on your face, your shoulders sagged with depletion as if you were carrying the weight of the world.

“Sorry, go ahead,” He mumbled as he shifted on his crutches so you could get through.

You didn’t immediately take the chance to go, instead, you stood with a puzzled expression that had him avoiding your eyes. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” He remarked too quickly, and it came off as defensive.

“Wait, I remember now,” You continued, a small smile lifting the corners of your lips. “You go to the same Cafe as me.”

Ivar sputtered as he tried to answer. You had noticed him. Did you catch him when he took your photo? Most likely not, or you probably would have avoided him; the weird guy with the lame legs from the Cafe.

“Oh, right.” 'Smooth, Ivar’, he could hear Hvitserk say in his head.

“I haven’t seen you there in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.” It came off as terse, and he regretted using such a tone with you.

“Sorry, that was me being rude,” You replied, bouncing from one foot to another. “It’s none of my business. I should let you finish your shopping.”

You were quick to jostle past, nearly losing the contents of your basket as you went. Ivar didn’t like how skittish you had become, and if that was the last conversation he was to have with you, he didn’t want it to end that way.

“What’s your name?”

You spun back around on the heel of your brown suede boot. “I’m (Y/N),” You said as if anticipating the question.

“Ivar,” He returned in kind.

“It’s nice to meet you Ivar. Maybe I’ll see you around again. We can talk over crappy coffee or something.”

“Maybe.” Ivar smiled, and the warm-hearted feeling stayed with him long after he had returned home with the milk.

…

When Ivar saw you again, you were on opposing sides. You and Ubbe had sided with the treacherous Lagertha. Seeing you standing there with his mother’s murderer had him abandoning any kind feelings he had towards you, but seeing the man standing by your side made his heartbeat with rage. You were round in the middle from pregnancy, and the warrior who held you close must have been your husband.

You were no longer his, and you never had been. Seeing you now made that clear. He hated the power you still unknowingly had over him. If you came back to him now, even in your condition, he would let you. But he couldn’t keep on pretending that everything was alright. He would see Lagertha’s fate sealed by his hands, and you would not get in his way.

Hvitserk had remained loyal at his side, but Ivar could see his mask of resolve slipping the moment he spotted you and Ubbe.

“Having second thoughts?” He provoked.

Hvitserk straightened his back, and shot him a scowl, “No, but this feels wrong. We have family and friends on that side. What are we doing with Harald?”

“The usurper stands there as well. I’d align with Loki himself if it brought me my revenge.”

“And what about (Y/N)? She’s pregnant, don’t you care what happens to her?”

Ivar felt as if a shadow had passed over him, and when he looked at you across the field, you were staring back in despair. “(Y/N) doesn’t need me anymore. She has chosen the failing side, and it will cost her everything.”

Hvitserk let out a harsh laugh. “This is why she left you. You have a stone heart brother, and only Mother could love you.”

“I don’t need love, I need vengeance, and I will have it on Lagertha, Bjorn, Ubbe, (Y/N), and anyone else who stands in my way. Don’t make the same mistake, brother,” Ivar flared back, digging his crutches into the earth as he started back to his chariot.

Angry tears threatened to run down his face, and he wiped them away with a stubborn brush of his hand. It was difficult to hear anything above the whipping wind, but he could make out his heart beating at a furious pace. The pain he felt would recede, it always did. He had piled up all of the rejection and losses that life had brought him, but he never thought you would be among them. Today he looked his last upon you, for tomorrow would bring war and legacy.

…

Ivar couldn’t believe he had fallen back into the same rut. Any of the blind dates he had been set up on had come to a dead stop, and he was back to frequenting the Cafe. The worst part was he had been there enough times that he was starting to enjoy the taste of the weak coffee. He considered it progress that if you weren’t there when he arrived, he wouldn’t wait around for you to show.

On the day that you had been there, you had displayed genuine excitement to see him, and Ivar didn’t know how to handle such a reaction. He had to keep reminding himself that you were married, but every minute he spent in your presence continued to chip away at his resolve. You smelt like patchouli and lemon, and the way you spoke with your hands had him laughing. He couldn’t remember being around someone who was so unabashedly themselves, and he knew if he continued to see you, he wouldn’t stop. You gave him all sorts of bad ideas.

“It looks like rain,” You said, glancing up at the grey sky that was lousy with clouds.

“We could go somewhere else,” Ivar suggested out of the need to keep the afternoon going. He didn’t want to part from you yet. “Somewhere warm, and dry.”

“My apartment is close, we could go there.”

You said it with such innocence as if you had just been discussing the daily news. The proper respect to the implication behind such an invite had not been given. What kind of woman are you? His heart sank in disappointment.

“What about your husband,” He said, taking a terse step back to judge you.

You had the decency to look surprised, and you gave him a hard stare right back. “How do you know about Ben?”

Ivar flushed pink. In his quick anger, he forgot he’d have to explain that he had been watching you from afar for some time. “I…well…”

You interrupted his stammering, realization coming to you. “It wasn’t your brother asking after me that day, he was doing it for you.”

“You knew about that?”

“Wally told me when I got back to the table, but you guys were already clearing out. I didn’t see you again after that day until the market.”

“Yeah, well, you’re married, so I didn’t see the point,” He mumbled, looking away from you.

“I’m a widow, Ivar,” You said, and that quickly grabbed his attention. “I think you and I need to have a talk because you were looking at me just now as if I was the worst type of person, and I don’t like that.”

Ivar felt a flurry of emotions, but at the brunt of it all was guilt. He had practically called you a harlot in so many words, only to discover your husband was dead. He was lucky you didn’t kick his crutch out from under him and leave him on the cold ground.

The first drop of rain hit Ivar between the eyes, and you put a gentle gloved hand on his arm to get him moving again. You didn’t get far before the sky let go, and you were both trudging through puddles. The rain was making his grip on his crutches slick, and he struggled to keep up with your pace while also trying to avoid falling. He felt you slow down beside him, and he felt bad that you were getting soaked just because of him.

“Sorry,” He spoke in a soft manner.

“Don’t be. I’ve been going for walks in the rain for a while now. It’s the only way I can cry in public without people noticing.”

Ivar paused to study you, and that’s when he recognized the same look of sadness that you had worn that day in the market.

“Your husband passed away recently, didn’t he?”

“Just a few months, yeah,” You said while ducking into an alcove of a building. “This is me. Let’s head upstairs.”

Ivar nodded. He was relieved to be getting out of the rain, but a nervous sweat had him hot at the collar. You were about to reveal something personal to him, even when you didn’t owe him an explanation. He hadn’t meant to insert himself into your life in such a short time in a manner such as this, but he would listen to your story. In the end, he hoped he would be one step closer to being a part of your life.

…

On the shores of Kattegat laid the fallen. Bjorn had not been able to surmount Oleg’s forces, and Ivar had come out the victorious son of Ragnar. While the Rus celebrated in the Great Hall, Ivar had escaped outside to the familiar sites of his home. It had been in a different life when he had crawled through the sand. Now he stood tall on his crutches, weaving slowly through the dead. He was searching for his enemies, Bjorn and Harald, to see if their defeat had been decided.

The sun was sinking low, and without the light, it would be difficult to determine the identities of the dead. He pushed on overturned bodies with his crutch, sometimes remembering the faces from his past, while others were strangers. It was an empty victory. He was still under the thumb of Oleg, and he could not restore glory to his home until they were gone. That battle was yet to come.

“…Ivar?”

A weak voice called to him, carried by the wind. Ivar’s eyes flitted back and forth as he tried to find the source.

“Where are you,” He called, possibly to no one.

“I’m here.”

The voice was not as far away as he thought. He caught the motion of a limp hand waving through the stillness. Ivar made his way through the remnants of the battlefield until he came to the body perched up against a boulder. It was you. He had not recognized your call, most of it lost and weakened, much like your body. You were battered and bleeding, and with the mark of death soon upon you.

Ivar dropped to his knees and crawled to you. The moment he touched you, you fell into his arms. Your breathing was a series of harsh wheezes, and your eyelids fluttered.

“You found me,” You croaked out, holding your hand to the ax wound at your gut. A slow way to die.

“(Y/N),” Ivar whispered, brushing your hair from your forehead. You were sweating and cold to the touch. “Why were you here?”

“Kattegat is my home. I would never abandon it.”

“Where is your family? I need to get you to them,” He said, recalling that you would have a small child waiting for you.

“My family is dead, Ivar. I will go to them now, and be reunited in Valhalla.”

“Stupid woman. If you had just stayed with me, I could have protected you.” He didn’t just mean from this battle, but since you had left him in York. “I loved you.”

“I loved you as well, but I did not want your path to be mine,” You said and you reached for his ear, giving the lobe a small tug that caused his heart to burn in agony. “Perhaps the Gods will find a way for us to start again. When Thor cracks his hammer, and the storm fades, we will find each other again, Ivar the Boneless.”

“Don’t go, not yet.” Angry tears ran lines through the blood and mud on his face. There was no point in his pleading. You belonged to the Gods now.

“Odin is calling me,” You said, and your arm fell down at your side. “Please, Ivar, I do not want to die this way. My breath is leaving me too slowly, and every beat of my heart is as long as a life age. I want to go, but I am afraid.”

Your ramblings were turning incoherent, and he wondered if you could still see his face. Many of his tears had fallen onto your cheeks, but you had not flinched. Ivar knew what he had to do, but he did not know if he had the strength to ease your passing.

“Please.”

You were staring up at the sky, and Ivar felt invisible. His hand moved with precision, and he brought his knife down to the hilt through to your heart. A gasp escaped you, and then an endless stillness. You had a vacant expression of peace, and Ivar closed your eyes to rest.

When night came, he had managed without aid in loading your body onto a boat. It was just something he had to see done alone. Being away from you for so long, he had no mementos to send with you, save one. He had set upon you his hammer of Thor while remembering your words with the hope that it would see you to the halls of Valhalla. With one arrow your vessel was set ablaze in the twilight, and Ivar was up 'til dawn as you drifted passed the horizon, and beyond his sight. But you would never be beyond his heart, and time would bring you back to him. He would find you again, even if it took a thousand years.

…

Ivar followed you into your apartment, both dripping wet from the rain. He stood on your doormat, hair clinging to his neck as he balanced on his crutches. You kicked off your shoes before shrugging out of your coat.

“Let me grab you a towel,” You said, shooting him a quick smile before you ventured down the hallway.

Ivar stood unmoving while he tried to absorb everything around him. Was this your apartment, or had your husband lived here before what he assumed was an untimely death? There was a hint of eucalyptus and mint in the air, and other than the wet shoes and your abandoned coat, everything appeared to be in order.

He was saved from drowning in his own thoughts when you returned with a purple towel. Grateful to finally be dry, he took it from your outstretched hand, trading you for one of his crutches. He swayed only for a moment before finding his balance as he toweled off his damp hair.

“Need a hand?” Your timid voice broke through even as he had his head turned.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He managed to keep from being curt, knowing you weren’t asking out of pity.

“Well, at least come inside. I feel strange making you stand in my doorway.”

You started ahead, and Ivar followed. He noticed you had already dried your own hair, the ends frizzy and curling. Now in the comfort of your own home, you were without the bundled garments he always met you in, and beneath was a blue dress with black nylons. Stockings on a woman were enough to drive any man crazy, and he tried to keep his eyes trained forward. He was here to listen to your story, not ogle you like a schoolboy.

The rain outside had picked up strength and was pelting your window in swells. You switched on a table lamp, a dim warmth glowing in the room. Ivar felt some shame that his first instinct was to check for any framed photographs of your husband. He needed to confirm his existence, and maybe compare himself to the man you had loved and lost.

“Did you want anything to drink?” You interrupted his investigating, bringing his eyes back to you. You were lovely, standing there against the backdrop of the raging storm.

“I’m alright,” Ivar replied, anxious to get to the truth of the matter.

You took the towel that hung in his grasp at his side and brought it back to the side of his face that was still wet. Once you were satisfied, you gave his earlobe a small tug, and it sent his heart into a frenzy. Where did that come from?

“Good as new,” You said, a mesmerizing look glazing over your eyes.

“Thanks,” Ivar murmured, touching his ear.

You sighed as you parked yourself on the sofa, breaking the spell. “Sorry, I’m stalling. It’s just…it’s difficult to rehash a chapter I only just finished closing.”

“I don’t want to force you,” He explained, taking the other side of the sofa. “Maybe I should go.”

“No, I’m not letting you go back out in the rain. Besides, I owe you an explanation,” You paused a moment, gathering your strength before continuing. “Ben died from stage four pancreatic cancer this past spring. He wasn’t sick when we first got together, but he got his diagnosis only two months into our relationship. By the time he was diagnosed it had already metastasized, and the chemo was ineffective. When the doctor gave him a year to live, that’s when he proposed to me.”

Ivar felt his face sink into a frown as you told the story. Your husband had been dealt a bad hand, unjust and cruel. He suddenly felt ridiculous for even being jealous of a dead man. A great evil had been done to Ben, the work of forces unknown, and Ivar was a mix of elation and regret. He was strangely fortunate that the man was no longer in your life, and it was an awful thing to say, let alone think.

“How long into your relationship was that?”

“About five months. When I think back on it, I’m not even sure if our dating would have progressed to marriage naturally. Our dates went from restaurants to hospital appointments, but I never considered walking away even when Ben and his family all suggested it was a lot for a new relationship,” You said, bringing your legs up onto the couch, and you jumped when a thrash of thunder boomed outside. “I never thought of it that way though. When Ben proposed, he said it was because he wanted to experience being married before cancer took him. I’m not sure if either of us were in love, but we cared about one another, and at the time that was enough. The only thing I had to lose was Ben, which eventually I did. He didn’t even last the full year that the doctor had estimated.”

Ivar didn’t know what to say. 'I’m sorry’ was trite and cliche, and he was certain you had been told so enough. Though your voice wavered, you did not cry. He wanted to hold you close, but he didn’t have the courage to cross the invisible barrier that seemed to keep you trapped away from him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m terrible for accusing you of wanting to be unfaithful. I guess I got so caught up in my own feelings, I didn’t consider yours,” He said, looking down at his lap.

He felt the sofa shift with your weight as you shuffled closer to him. “These feelings you have Ivar, I don’t understand. You don’t know me very well.”

“But I feel like I do,” He was quick to say, eyes flashing to you. It sounded absurd, and he flinched, preparing for your bad reaction.

“I know,” You said, blinking in surprise. “It’s strange, but you are so familiar to me. It’s like we’ve been here before.”

You reached out your hand, and Ivar snatched it up, not letting anything take away the moment in front of him. All of the doubts and the unfair restrictions that had kept you from him went away, and he pulled you close until you were in his arms. The apartment fell to silence, and the storm began to relent. Your head was nestled into his neck, warm little puffs of air tickling his skin. Ivar kept his nose pressed into your hair, breathing in your scent. He was reminded of fire, and of a ship sailing into the setting sun. Maybe it was all just a coincidence, but as you held each other through the fading thunder, Ivar was sure he had loved you once. Time had brought you back, and now that he had found you, he would never let go.

@peachyboneless @didiintheblog @saldelys @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @shannygoatgruff @tgrrose @1950schick @castielsangelsx

#SalDeLysFirstYear #history vikings #vikings #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar angst #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar fic #modern ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern ivar x you #ivar imagine

173 notes · View notes