#shading this made me feel like i was going to valhalla by the time the summoning salt tetris video i had on was over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raineydays411 · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved.

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why?

Because she has her mothers eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming.

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother.

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair.

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months.

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him.

“My lord, you--”

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth.

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there.

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--”

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

*** “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?”

“Love” ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes.

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of.

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence.

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?”

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?”

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting.

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine.

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.”

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table.

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!” Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,”

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it. He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him.

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part.

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound.

Thor walks up to him with the baby.

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child.

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well.

No, this was not his child. Not anymore.

“Get rid of it.”

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga.

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.”

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#loki x daughter!reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson #loki imagine #angst #fanfic #mcu loki #mcu imagine #tom hiddleston #poc #poc reader #reader insert #Loki x poc!reader

699 notes · View notes

pleasantanathema · 5 years ago

Text

Pray to Me

Pairing: Shinsou x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gods!AU, Rough Sex, Too Many Norse Mythology References

Word Count: 8.5k

The frigid waters were laden with blood and ice, the salty waves licking the bows of long boats as they accosted the shores. The dark waters of the bay looked black against the fresh snow, churning oars sending sprays onto the docks as warriors returned home.

You stood among the crowds, whips of snow billowing past your reddened cheeks, your arms crossed in protection across your chest. Despite losing the men within your family to raids and battles long ago, you always came to welcome back those who were fortunate enough to receive homecoming. Upon the sails of the ships was the symbol of your earl, dancing proudly against the winds of winter as the men and women beneath them hailed their successes from summer and autumn.

High upon the prow of the leading ship was a carved figurehead, meticulously crafted in the image of Skoll, the wolf who hunts the moon. The wolf’s jaws were wide and within his wooden tongue was an etching of a crescent moon; the wolf with his prey in his maw was a symbol of Ragnarok, a symbol of the return of chaos. And upon the prow was a man you had never seen before.

The man was all shades of violet and violence. His hair was the color of crushed mulberries, the long strands pushed back and wet from the sea, so deeply purple that it looked as if you were to touch him, your palms would stain with color. Blood, russet and old, crimson and fresh, was splattered across his cheeks. A warrior’s tattoos stained the expanse of his chest and arms; the thick, blue lines were heavy and sprawling from the wood ash buried within in pale skin. And his eyes, they were purple and bright, painted with black kohl. The dark smears ran down his impressive cheek bones and curled up from his eyes, appearing catlike. The curious orbs resembled the farthest stars that lined night sky.

You expected murmurs from around the docks, but it was as if the man belonged there, towering over all the rest, hands pulling at the mouth of the wolf within the wood. He was silent power within the snow, lean and muscular, body on display as if the storm did not touch him. You felt drawn to him, like he was looking for you high upon the prow. Your feet moved before you could think. You wanted to be closer, to have those violaceous eyes upon you.

You moved in front of the crowd, standing by the edge of the water, sand and ice crunching underfoot, but when your eyes darted to find him, he was gone. There was no trace of slick purple hair within the throngs of people. Disappointment settled into your spirit and wearily you traveled home to rest.

For weeks you dreamt of him, saw shadows of him within the corners of your vision; illusions of a dark cat in your windows, a tawny owl upon barren branches.

Some nights you dreamed you were sinking into a vast violet sea, trying to swim upwards to break against the surface, to breathe air into your lungs and call to Odin to rescue you. But you were stuck, some unknown force pulling at your ankles and keeping you in a watery, nebulous purgatory just below the surface. You would always give up, allow yourself to float within the celestial unknown of the eerie, mauve waters, allow yourself to feel weightless and accept that you were no longer in control. The undercurrents would push you, bring you into strong, waiting arms, and you would awaken, breathing in and feeling like for a brief moment you were whole.

No one you asked had seen the purple haired man, save those who returned from raiding in the East. One warrior told you that the man you saw upon the prow of the ship was a land spirit, brought with them from the Balkans after blessing them with the gift of fire and aiding their struggles to survive as the weather turned bleak. Another relayed that the man was a spirit of the Wild Hunt, a straggler from the ghostly procession that attached himself to the fleet and brought the callousness of winter with him. No matter what they believed him to be, they had all seen him, the man with violet hair and violent eyes.

You knew that the sisters were calling to you from The Well of Fate, whispering the future that they had laid before you. Something about the purple haired man, whether he be man, vestige, or spirit, made you believe that you were fated to meet him again.

Nearly a full moon cycle passed before your curiosity could take no more. In the dead of night, you wrapped yourself in your cloak, ignoring the shadows and wisps of eyes in the dark as you made your way through the sleeping village.

You found yourself before the Seer, ancient and decrypt, asking for him to translate the gods’ wishes and intentions for your life.

“What questions do you have of me?” His voice was as rickety as the bones that adorned his hut, rattling from stray winds. He had lived hundreds of years and now dwelled between life and death, an interpreter between gods and man.

“Wise one, I desire to know the gods’ plans for me. I have dreams.”

“What dreams have come to you?”

“I dream I am drowning within the bay, and that a man saves me, but only after I stop fighting the currents.”

There was a pregnant pause between you. The Seer considered your words. Your thumbs fiddled within your lap, and you felt heavy, like you were under the gaze of more than just the ancient one.

“A precarious quest awaits you, one that will take you between worlds, to the land of the gods.”

“But I do not understand. I do not adventure, nor travel. I am only a simple healer. What kind of quest could await me?”

Below hooded eyes you watched a black tongue escape his mouth, worrying across dry lips as he pondered your words. Only a few times in your life had you visited him, well aware that fate was already the master of all, even the gods, as even they were subject to fate just like any and all other beings.

“You shall go past where the fence separates us from the place of self-willed beasts, finding refuge in that which is chaotic, anarchic, and wild.”

“But, Seer, I do not—.”

“Yes, child, I know you do not understand. But such is the way of prophecy, only to be understood when it has happened, and it is too late to change it.”

You stood to leave, seeds of fear sprouting within your spirit.

“But do not forget there is order within the chaos.” His voice crackled like fire, calling out to you as you left his home, forging a path through the snow to your own.

The foresights of the Seer lingered within your disposition, the cryptic words reverberating through your mind and taking hold in your daily life. You started to fight the currents in your dreams, only to wake gasping for breath after monstrous beings pulled you into the abyss. The warm arms of your illusory savior felt farther away than ever before. The murky glooms in the crevices felt stronger, grimmer, the oppressive eyes of darkness following you from every corner, every winter shade.

Your hands began to slip as you tended to the wounded, your thoughts becoming absent as you crafted medicine or supper, often burning yourself over fires or forgetting ingredients. You felt lost, abandoned by the gods, but still yet you prayed.

Winter continued to rage on, with the moon living within the sky at all times of day and bathing the world in a constant dusk during the desolate midwinter. Every night before you made for bed, you trekked behind the village to the isolated temple to the gods. No one was ever there. The summer raids were over, the men safely returned with riches aplenty, which, along with the great harvest, had left many believing that the gods were in good spirits and were bestowing ample blessings upon their dedicated supplicants.

But you, you felt no love from Asgard, felt no promise of Valhalla waiting for you.

The temple was hardly a sanctuary at all, just a hut overrun by dormant vines and overgrown with dying grass, with an altar for blood sacrifices tucked away against the back wall. Despite being a devoted village, most saved their prayers for their pilgrimage to the great temple in Uppsala, but you had become desperate. You needed to feel closer to the gods, to find the place beyond the fence that was foretold to you.

You knelt upon a broken stone, obedient hands upon your knees as you began to pray.

“Odin, all-father and far-wanderer, may you grant me wisdom, and courage,

Thor, grant me your strength, wield your hammer to break the barriers that hold my mind,

Baldr, the beautiful, beloved by all, please bestow upon me joy and light,

And Freya, mother of beauty, the völva, help me to discern my fate—.”

Your prayer faltered as you heard steps crunch upon the grass. But the sound wasn’t of footsteps coming towards you, more like someone shuffling, shifting their weight within the temple.

You were not alone.

All your instincts began to fight one another. Your mind wanted to flee, to spring your legs and send you running to safety, but your heart felt like you needed to stay, to speak into the twilight for answers. The conflict led to you staying still and being silent. Your hands fisted upon your thighs, your eyes closing tightly. Whatever was there would go away, whoever was there would leave. Maybe there was nothing there at all, only the spirits playing tricks on you again.

“And why haven’t you called out for me, little one?”

The voice sounded like vibrations from within the deepest ocean; deep, unfathomable, and a little wicked.

He was there, before you, arms across his tattooed chest that was on display under emerald linen and violet head cocked to the side. He was grinning, like a cat would upon discovering new prey. His purple hair was arched into wild plumes, his skin rubbed clean but the kohl still upon his cheeks and around his eyes. He was handsome in the firelight, fiendishly so.

“Who are you?” Your voice was a whisper, so light and airy it floated away into the darkness.

“Who am I?” He laughed, leaning against the sacrificial altar, a blatant disrespect for the gods.

“Who am I…” he repeated it, drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. He shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, eyes closing as he picked up an imaginary rhythm.

“A creaking bow, a burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake…”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers twitching in your lap. You recognized the pattern and knew what words came next. It was an old saying your mother used to whisper under her breath, a chant for the old women and those who held superstitions. It was a warning, a rhythmic song to help children remember to stay safe, to avoid perils.

Your mouth opened before you could stop it, finishing the proverb for him.

“The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery. No man should be such a fool as to trust these things. For they are the trickster in disguise.”

“Aha, so you do know me, girl. Yet after all this time, I’ve never heard you pray to me. Why is that?”

He crouched down to your level, his startling, devilish eyes gleaming like amethyst. He was too close and you felt yourself leaning away, back arching and neck aching as you tried to pull yourself from his gaze.

“No one prays to you, trickster god.”

He merely shrugged, a strong hand reaching for you. Rough fingers found your chin, pulling you closer as his eyes danced across the planes of your face. You began to shake, overwhelmed by being in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous god.

“And how do you know I am he?” he laughed, thumb running over your lips, “I could be Heimdall, sent by Odin to watch over such a devout and…fascinating little creature.”

“Because you’re so…” you paused as you looked for the words. You felt like you were drowning within his gaze, falling to the ground even though you hadn’t moved since he appeared.

He stood quickly, turning on his heel and smirking.

“Because I’m so what? Handsome? Charming? Surprisingly muscular for a god who uses wits and magic to seduce his subjects?”

He pouted at your silence, wanting more of a reaction.

“What if I told you I could be beautiful instead? Would that hex you?”

This time he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond. Within a haze of smoke, he transformed.

A languid, sensuous body appeared between the mists. Voluptuous breasts met your eyes, smooth thighs peeking from beneath an exquisite olive dress. Long, violet tresses fell down the woman’s back, curling so perfectly she looked to be unreal. But his eyes stared at you from the feminine face, dark lavender and sinister upon high cheekbones.

“Hmm,” she sighed, holding her hand out for you to take.

You took the soft hand outstretched to you, surprised at the strength behind the grip as she pulled you to your feet. The goddess was tall and slender, and she gazed at you while she pondered whatever was on her mind.

“Still not as beautiful as you…” her voice was melodic as she looked over her own body, swaying within the graceful skin for a moment before catching your gaze and stopping. You stood still, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed at the hermaphrodite before you. Her lashes fluttered as a familiar smirk spread across her features.

It was as if she was floating when she neared you again, purple hair uncontrollable and suspended within the air. Her tender hands came to your cheeks, pursing your mouth with her thumbs.

“No…nothing is as beautiful as you, little servant.” Her supple lips overwhelmed your own. You gasped, hands flying to her chest to stop her, only to have your fingers sink into the luscious valley of her breasts. A chuckle fans across your face, more masculine than feminine, and the mixture of the voice had shivers of excitement and pleasure racing down to your toes. You were too shocked, too scared to kiss back, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips moved against yours gently, pleadingly, only becoming more active when the delicate hands upon your cheeks converted to thick fingers and rough calluses.

Before your eyes the god shifted again, returning to the fetching masculine figure that he was before. You could smell him now, taste him, like smoke from smoldering coals and the residue of rain from within a summer’s forest. Your hands were still upon his chest, your fingers brushing against the skin that was on display between the open buttons of his tunic. His kiss was intoxicating, a hum of magic upon his lips as he drank you in.

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, licking your lips wantonly before pulling away.

“Why have you been haunting me?” You demanded between heavy breaths, emboldened by his kiss.

“Haunting you? No, no. I’ve been watching you. Observing you. You looked so…sinless among the throngs when I sailed in all those weeks ago. I must say I am very pleased by the things I have seen.”

“And what have you seen?” Your voice snapped; tongue sharp.

His hands caressed your upper arms, eyes glancing across your body as if he was admiring a pattern within runes that he had seen a thousand times before.

“You serve…everyone. The gods, the people in this village, you tend to the weak spirited and the broken bodied, you serve everyone but yourself.”

The god grew quiet, leaning forward to inhale the sweet scent of your hair. His lips pressed to your temple, thumbs stroking your arms through the thin fabric of your clothing. His breath fanned into your hair and you suddenly felt your heart begin to beat more slowly. It was as if his presence alone, his touch, could calm the raging turmoil within your mind.

“Now, I want you to serve me.”

“Yes,” you said too quickly, a knee buckling as you prepared to kneel, “of course, anything for a go—.”

“Shinsou.” His hands held you in place, kept you from bowing to him. He watched as your head tilted and your brow furrowed, obviously wanting to please him. “Shinsou is the name my friends call me, and as shall you.”

“Shinsou.” You tentatively said the name back to him. Your people knew him as Loki, but to know a more intimate name made tingles of warmth spread across your chest, like he was entrusting knowledge unknown by mortals into you.

He became violet and beautiful as you said his name, a warm smile decorating his striking face. The safe feeling of your dreams washed over you. These arms, his arms, his hands and his body, were the safety you had been dreaming of that saved you from the tumultuous seas. You stared at him for a moment, hands feeling a heartbeat within his chest. He looked so human, felt so real, yet still an otherworldly air swirled so poignantly around him. Everything inside of you wanted to fall into him, to feel enveloped by his spirit.

“I’m going to take you away,” he whispered it, hand trailing from your arm to your face, tucking hair behind your ear in a most affectionate way, “you’ll never have to come back here, unless you want to.”

“Take me away? To Asgard?” Your breath hitched as you said the name of the haven of the gods.

He laughed, the sound like honey dripping across your soul.

“No, little one. I am of the giants; don’t you remember the ancient stories? To Jotunheim we will go.”

Your brow lightened, remembering the words of the Seer. Jotunheim, your brain wracked over the word, letting it roll within your thoughts until it revealed what you were looking for. Útgarðr, you realized, the name of that same place given by your ancestors. It meant the world outside your own, the world of chaotic wilds that surrounded Midgard. The place beyond the fence.

This Loki—this Shinsou—was indeed fated to you after all. You felt the connection from the moment you saw him sailing in the winter winds, felt it even more profoundly as he held you before him in the temple. For some reason, the trickster god had chosen you, or perhaps he was merely following fate, testing you for all this time to see if you were truly the human girl destined for him. He was a sign of change, his hands wrapped around the prow of the ship that was carved into a symbol of Ragnarok, the end of the cycle of this world. He was proving to be a carrier of the end times, at least the ending of your own mundane life. And just like Ragnarok, you had a feeling that with this end would come a new beginning, that Shinsou was taking you away but leading you to a new life, a new destiny, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

“Take my hand,” it was a polite command, his words weighty but light enough to promise that you could decline.

You felt something between his fingers, a quietness, a wickedness you could not quite name. It was like a dull thrum of lightening humming between your skin and his. Billows of smoke weaved between your bodies. Just as quickly as he transformed into a woman, Shinsou had you whisked away, transported so rapidly you felt dizzy. You clung to him, your godly refuge, light flashing as your feet found new purchase upon what felt like a floor.

For a moment, you thought the room was a mirage. It was unlike anything had ever seen before, so lavishly decorated with lush furs, viridian curtains, polished stone and warm fires. Books lined every wall and the air smelled of perfumes and incense, even a fountain sprung from stones in the far corner. It was truly unearthly, but his arms around you felt like home.

His head rested upon your shoulder from behind, his palms flattening on your chest to feel your heartbeat as you took in the sights around you.

“This is…this is your home?” One of your hands gripped a muscular forearm.

“Mhm, more like a home away from home, a safe haven.”

He uncurled himself from you, a stout hand pushing at your lower back to urge you to explore. You padded around the room, fingers caressing the spines of books along the walls, finding many in languages unknown to you. Between many of the tomes were vases and trinkets, some glowing with mystic hues, humming with magic well beyond your comprehension.

“What will you have me do here?” Your breath caught as you turned to find him. He seemed so large and ominous within the space, like was the commander of the room and the only ornament to be admired within the vast collection around you.

“You haven’t figured it out? My, and I thought you were keener than most mortals.”

He rolled his shoulders, sighing with content as he removed his tunic, tossing it into the air to only have it dissipate before your eyes in a bright flash of magic. His tattoos seemed darker in the dim light, like the blackest earth pressed into his skin. A serpent trailed down one of his impressive biceps, his other arm decorated in a swirl of runes and etchings of a wolf and a horse, his chest covered with a dark, ethereal depiction of Yggdrasil, the world tree, it’s branches spreading across strong pectorals and its roots weaving between the hard muscles of his stomach.

“Come,” he motioned to you with his fingers, “come back and touch me.”

You had no hesitation, coming to his call like a pet would their master. It felt safe to be back in his arms again, to have your fingers running over the indigo lines of art upon his handsome skin. He proudly showed you his arms, eyeing you with great interest as you admired him.

“Your children,” you mused softly, tracing the pictures so marvelously stretched upon his musculature.

“Yes,” he laughed softly, “my children. Call me sentimental, if you must.” The enormous snake was no doubt Jormungand, the serpentine dragon that encircled all the oceans, all of Midgard. Then there was Fenrir, the ferocious wolf that was chained away somewhere from all humanity and gods alike, in wait to break his binds and eat the world as the end began again. And then there was Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse that bore the weight of Odin in all of his battles. They were all wild creatures, the offspring of the unfathomably powerful god before you. They were all beasts of anarchy, yet they looked so beautiful upon his skin, so harmless within the ink.

“Order within the chaos…” you whispered, echoing the words of the Seer.

“I want you.”

His powerful voice rumbled from within his chest. It startled you, caused your wandering hands to cease upon his arms and become still before him.

“Why?” Breathless. You felt breathless.

“I have traveled every inch of the nine worlds, regarded every corner for fascinations and enthrallments, yet it was in the homeland where I found what I wanted. You are the most beautiful, pliant little create I have ever beheld, and I want you within my bed.”

“No, you can’t! I’m nothing, no one of importance, you…you can’t.”

He left you then, smirk adorning his features as he sauntered to his bed, waiting for you to follow. And you did, an unspeakable urge to touch him, to follow him, to feel him, to be overwhelmed by him, drawing you to him like a fox to its den, to its safety.

“Well, if you don’t want me, my brother Katsuki would give up his fates in order to have such an alluring woman within his sheets.”

“Katsuki?”

He paused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, that playful grin still upon his lips.

“Thor, if you rather. We all have many names, but I only want mine to come from your tongue. So many nights I waited to hear you pray to me, call out to me within your dreams, but I tired of lingering. So now I will have you say it, scream it, for me, little servant.”

He pulled you into his lap, hands greedy upon your flesh, pulling at your thighs and sinking between your ribs. He looked untamed upon the bed, hair almost purposely unruly and muscles rolling and ready to hunt what he wanted to take.

“Do you think you can do that for me? Pray to me? Call out for me like you need me?”

Thick fingers gripped at your cheeks; violet eyes hazy like storm clouds above the ocean. You were reminded that he was a devious deity, a shapeshifter, a trickster, the one thing that your elders warned you about as a child. A burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake, he was all those deceitful things and more. He was the epitome of chaos, yet he had chosen you, desired you, and you knew that deep within your spirit you wanted him as well. He was handsome beyond compare, but his physical splendor was not all that had you holding onto him. Behind those eyes was a promise of release from every woe, a chance to experience pleasure like you had never known before.

“Yes, Shinsou, whatever you desire.”

“So devoted to the gods,” he whispered, bringing you flush against his body, “now I’ll make you feel like one.”

Slowly, he ran his hand downward, finding the intimate, remarkably soaked place between your legs. He could feel your wetness from beneath your wool coverings and a satisfied groan builds within his throat as his lips curl even more sharply, devilishly.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, wrist flicking and sending your clothing away.

You gasped, feeling the threads peel away from your body by what felt like imaginary hands. Just like his tunic before, your shirt and trousers were gone, whisked away to perhaps another dimension never to be seen again.

“Look at you,” he boasts, keeping one hand tucked between your slick thighs as the other rakes across your curves, pinching, pulling, teasing at your flushed skin, “not even the goddesses compare to you. Mhm, thank the All Father for breathing life into you, I must thank him for creating such beauty.”

Your mouth could barely stammer a thanks. You were beguiled, stunned within his lap, your legs stretched over gloriously muscled thighs. You almost felt shameful to be on such display for him, but the hunger in his eyes and the hardening cock underneath told you just how pleased he was to have you.

A deft finger began to circle your most sensitive spot, making you bite your lip as a groan burned within your throat. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, gaze catching every breath you made, every shift and roll of your body. You felt hot, unbearably so, as his finger toyed with you so languidly.

His other hand found your breast, cupping it and testing its weight within his giant palm. His thumb grazed your nipple, circling it at the same pace and movement as your clit. He grinned as he watched you slowly come undone, felt your walls and insecurities crumbling away at his touch.

Shinsou then took your sensitive clit between two fingers, rolling it so perfectly that it sent sparks of pleasure racing across your nerves, surging from your thighs to your toes and back again. He kept going, stroking sensually, purposely, with such expert skill that you felt you could cum just from his slightest touches. Is this what being with a god felt like? Like you were constantly on the edge of euphoria, every touch and stroke like the gift of life within your body?

Your head tipped back as you moan, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. He watched with glee as the column of your throat was on display for him. He took a moment to press his hot mouth against your flesh, sucking roughly against the side of your neck like he was taking your pleasure for himself. You could only moan again, the sensations already drowning you in such bliss you were surprised your inner coil of pleasure hadn’t broken for him already. He was an expert in giving pleasure just like he was the art of manipulation and sorcery.

All too easily he moved you below him on the bed, his impressive body now hovering over your own, mouth still biting at your neck, fingers still circling your nipple and caressing your pussy.

“Tell me what you want,” it was a soft command against the slick skin of your neck.

“You,” you breathed in deep, breasts pressing against his tattooed chest with your inhale, “please, more.”

“More of what? Of this?” he pinched at your nipple, tugging it and twisting it so wantonly that you couldn’t help but to shriek in pleasure for him, “or this?” his two fingers danced along the lips of your pussy, sliding between the wet folds before returning to your aching clit, swirling against it so proficiently that you felt your inner muscles clenching and begging for release.

“All of it, I want everything.”

“My, my, you are a greedy little thing.”

All at once, he ceased his motions, easing the pressure upon your body and leaving you wanting, burning, begging for more. But he is not gone from you. His fingers, coated in your slick, tauntingly trace over your clit once more, so light it’s like the kiss of life just barely brushing over your delicate flesh. You began to writhe in response, needing more friction, needing more of his touch, but he moved his weight upon your body to suppress you. He was teasing, purposely neglecting to give you the stimulation you so desired.

“Any time you want more, you say my name, little one. Say my name and I can give you everything you desire.”

“Shinsou, please.”

He groaned, he himself coming undone at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t even begin to explain how gratifying it was to hear his name come from your lips. He was no fool of a god, he knew no one prayed to him, but he wanted you to pray to him more than anything he had ever desired before. Your songs of praise would fill him in ways a mere mortal could never fathom; your prayers, his name from your mouth, was more intoxicating than any substance Odin had ever created. To have you, a devoted child of the gods, calling his name while he stole your faith away from every other god and claimed it all for himself, fulfilled him beyond measure.

His touch trailed lowered, finding your puckered pussy pulsing and waiting, ready for him. He entered a single finger, a heavy moan of approval ghosting against your neck as your inner walls contracted around him, pulling him deeper into you.

“So fucking tight,” he lifted his head, finding your eyes closed and pretty mouth agape, “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

Waves of pleasure rocked over your body as he moved his finger within you, curling it to massage the fleshy walls, quickly finding a sensitive spot to stroke against. His palm pressed against your clit as he buried another finger into you, the two digits working in tandem to spread you, spear you onto his thick fingers, pushing them far into your depths. Every plunge had you gasping, bursts of bliss spreading across your skin like flames.

His mouth returned to yours as he fingered you, hot and heavy, but his kiss felt controlled, like he was holding back. You reacted quickly, pushing up into him with all your strength, arms circling his neck and pressing him for more. You wanted what he can give, all of it, and you showed him with your actions. Your hands fisted into those vivid purple plumes of hair, tugging as your hips began to match the speed of the hand working within you. You moaned, loud, desperately, your tongue prodding his lips. He graciously accepted your tongue, opening his mouth and wrestling against you. His tongue licked your own, slow and wet, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness.

“Shinsou,” it was a murmur against his mouth, but he heard it, soaked it up and began to thrust and curl his fingers faster than before. You cried out at the pleasure, mouth falling from his.

“You like it a little rough, hm? You’re so easy to read, my dear. I am going to make you cum so hard you’ll be begging for all that I have planned for you.”

His words had your cheeks and ears burning with a blush. He only grinned, choosing to prop himself onto one arm so he could watch you. With every flick of his wrist, every move of his fingers inside of you, he watched your face. He watched how your lips curled, how your jaw clenched. He felt your hands twist in his hair; felt how you would pull on the violet strands in desperation when he touched the perfect spots. His eyes scanned your body as well, watching what made your breasts bounce, your stomach clench, your walls tighten around his fingers. It didn’t take the god long to discover exactly what made you tick.

He rapidly increased his pace, using his newfound knowledge to make your body feel like it could explode at any moment. He touched you just right, plunged his fingers so perfectly as to keep you on the edge of your euphoria for as long as he could. Truthfully, he could’ve kept you in suspense forever, but Shinsou was not a god known for his patience. He wanted to watch you cum, wanted to see your face when you came around the fingers of perhaps the most reviled deity. One even you wouldn’t dare pray to.

“You ready?” He called your name, making your eyes flutter open to see him. He saw the lust within your brilliant irises, your dilated pupils, and that sight alone had his cock harder than it ever had been before. He was no longer sure he could keep his composure as he watched you come undone.

He leaned down closer, close enough to catch your breath within his mouth. He would’ve expected you to kiss him had you not been so far gone, so close to otherworldly release that your lips could no longer form words.

“Cum for me,” that wicked tone of voice was back, his fingers now slamming into your body, “cum for a god, little mortal.”

His thumb returned to your clit, showing it no mercy as he rubbed tight, fast circles against it. His words, his fingers, his body, his breath, it was all too much.

“Sh-Shinsou!”

You reached a high you had never felt before as you came for him. Your head felt dizzy, like you were back to drowning within your dreams, waves and waves of euphoria crashing over you so roughly you felt like you were sputtering for air amidst the onslaught of pleasure. Your walls clenched and unclenched around his unceasing fingers, your chest tightening, your core exploding, heat blooming from every patch of skin he had dared to touch. You screamed. Over and over, the bliss felt never ending, and he baited you for even more.

“That’s right, cum all over my fingers, just like that, just how I want you.”

It felt like he was drawing your orgasm from your body, pulling everything he could from you. His thumb still stroked your clit, fingers still buried deep within your body as you quivered around him. Your thighs clamped around his thick forearm as you finally began to descend from your high, body loosening and sinking into his bed.

He finally stilled his movements. He merely smirked as he watched your chest heave with breaths as you basked in the afterglow of your pleasure.

“Good girl,” he cooed. In the haze you realized how much you wanted to hear those words again, recognized how much you wanted to please him. You wanted more of those encouraging words, more of his admiration, wanted to know how much of a good girl you really were. Your spirit suddenly craved even more, despite the world-shattering orgasm still lingering within your muscles, your blood, your soul.

You felt empty when his fingers left you, but watched in shocked delight as he brought the digits to his awaiting mouth. He sat up before you, sucking at his skin and cleaning your slick from his fingers with a very greedy tongue. He looked wild, uncaged, like the wolf Skoll had finally eaten the moon and brought the world to end.

“Fuck,” you whispered in awe, scrambling for purchase against his sheets as you propped on your elbows to watch him.

He quirked a brow as he slid his tongue between his fingers, relishing your slick as if it was the sweetest honey.

“I’m sorry, did I make the pious girl curse?”

“I’m not pious!” You countered, feeling flustered, shaking your head and pouting as he only laughed.

He smirked as he finished cleaning his fingers, crawling up the bed and pulling you into his lap.

“I dare not argue, not after those delicious sounds you just made for me.”

Shinsou quelled any words that were forming in your mind with a kiss, his lips tasting of you. You moaned against him, feeling his arms snake around your back and hold you to him. His cock was hard and heavy, now prodding against your still pulsating pussy.

“Mhm, how will I take you?”

It was a pondering to himself, but the words still made you tremble. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your nipples hardening as they brushed against the downy hairs of his chest. His strong hands found the flesh of your ass, lifting you to hover over his large, throbbing erection. You held in a breath, waiting, expecting him to take you hard and fast and now, but he merely teased your entrance.

“This way?”

The head of his cock began to spread your lips apart, warm and silken and making you drip even more than before. He sat there for a moment, using the strength of his arms to lift and drop you just ever so slightly onto his cock, each little movement making you gasp.

But then the anchors of his arms were gone, sliding down your thighs as he laid you back on the bed. So easily he moved on top of you again, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slithering up your body to wrap around your tender, kiss bruised throat.

“Or perhaps like this?”

He held you against the bed, cock still hard and waiting between your spread thighs, sliding ever so gently against your pussy. His fingers flexed against your throat and he watched how your eyes flashed with want, with need.

“I could always take you as a woman. You fell so easily into my kiss when I transformed earlier, hm? Would you like that?”

He could feel your gulp underneath his palm, shaky and deep.

“No,” he was smirking, plotting. His deft fingers took your hip into his hand and flipped you over, both hands skimming down your body and pulling you up onto your knees. With a stern hand he kept your breasts pressed into the mattress by applying pressure to your shoulder blades, positioning you just how he wanted. You felt even more exposed than before, your pussy open and wanting and waiting, spread before his hungry eyes like a meal ready to be devoured.

The head of his cock was back at your opening, prodding your lips apart and slowly sinking into you with agonizing slowness. You held your breath, hands fisting into the sheets. He continued to open you more and more, his cock thick and hot. His hand on your hip constrained you securely, keeping you locked into place. The hand on your back did the same, his hold strengthening as he felt you writhe before him.

“Yes,” he purred, cock easing into you, “this is how I want my little servant.”

But the rocking of his hips stopped, the head of his cock now barely pressing inside of you. You breathed heavily against the sheets, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in anticipation. Without being able to see him, face him, you could only feel him. You felt his fingertips press deeper into the curve of your ass, as if readying himself, or perhaps attempting to use restraint. The hand on your back was steady, keeping smooth pressure on your skin. His thighs were solid and strong against your own, his breaths even, his cock so fucking hard.

You cried out in anguish, your aching pussy clenching around the head of his cock.

“Please, Shinsou!”

“Pray to me.”

His tone was nefarious, teasing, almost inhuman in how deeply it reverberated from within that broad chest. You closed your eyes and imagined how the sound must have climbed the dark branches of the world tree upon his skin.

“Pray to me like you did to the other gods in the temple. I want to hear that pretty voice beg for me to fuck you.”

That breathless feeling returned. Your heart began to race, mind rolling around too many thoughts at once that couldn’t be comprehended within your lusty haze. You hastily mulled over words within your head.

“Shinsou…” you began, feeling his fingers begin to mark crescent moons into your flesh, feeling the tip of his cock throb within your core, “wielder of cunning, god of mischief, I beg of you, please bestow upon me great joy and pleasure, take my body as this offering to you, so that I may serve you and grant you the indulges of the flesh—!”

With your final praises tumbling from your lips, he slammed his cock deep inside of you, stretching and spreading you and making you feel like he had set your body alight with magic. Your body lurched forward, nearly toppling over from the power of his thrust, but his strong hands kept you in place, allowing him to begin a brutal speed. Your ass bounced forcefully against his hips, breasts jostling with every thrust. One of his hands curled around your waist to your lower stomach, and he groaned when he realized he could feel his cock bulge from inside of you. He became heedless then, impaling you with reckless abandon, eager to feel your belly swell from the onslaught of his cock.

The forcefulness of his fucking left your muscles aching and your lungs breathless. You were now moaning with every plunge of his cock, as with each stroke he lit a fresh burst of pleasure that rippled across your entire body akin to the streams of enchantments you had seen him wield.

You felt like you were slipping away, having to fight to keep your thoughts alive as he brought you up the mountain of euphoria with just the heavy strokes of his cock.

“Don’t fight the currents. Let go for me.” He grunted the words between thrusts.

You allowed ecstasy to fully wash over your body, allowed his hands to guide you, hold you, take you to far beyond what you once thought the limits of pleasure entailed.

Shinsou moved the hand from your back to your shoulder, using the leverage to pound your body back against his. You could only moan at the feeling, of being so full of his cock, of hearing his groans join the chorus of your own. You clung to the bed with what strength you have left, allowing him to completely take the reins of control and have his way with you.

With each and every thrust, he pulled you back at different angles, trying you, testing you, watching you, seeing which way he fucks you makes you react the most. He listened for sharp cries and deep moans. He felt for your walls to flutter, your abdominal muscles to tighten, learned your body and fucked you with a chaotic yet controlled force.

He leaned over your back, hand moving to your neck, pulling your face up from the sheets. This position has him somehow deeper, head of his cock kissing where the curve of your cavern meets your cervix, farther than any had ever gone before. He filled you to the brim, stretched you so wide you felt you could burst, the intense pleasure of it all bringing tears to the corners of your lashes.

He brought your face closer to his, so that he can kiss your cheek as he fucks you, feel your hair against his chin, watch your breasts bounce so unabashedly from his force.

“You like this, hm? Serving me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

“Yes, yes!”

He squeezed the hand on your stomach, making you moan as you felt the massive cock from inside of you press against your belly.

“You like being so full of my cock? No mortal could ever fuck you like I do!”

“Yes—fuck—you feel so, so good, Shinsou!”

You could feel sweat on his skin, feel his heart beating like a caged raven within his chest. He felt so human, felt so real, but the euphoria he brought you was transcendental.

“You’re such a good girl, such a dirty girl, for me, only me.”

His powerful words were becoming whispers within your hair, vestiges upon your skin. You could only nod, the plowing of his cock into your core now leaving you more breathless than before. You could feel your release nearing, the flames being fanned by every stroke of the head of his cock against your walls, every push of his hand against your belly.

Your slick was dripping down your thighs, pussy so wet that every time his cock assailed your core your ears were met with the sinful sound of drenched bodies meeting one another in animalistic rut. You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your neck, your stomach, his vast chest against your back, rough lips pulling your face into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you.

Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another otherworldly release. You could feel your walls clenching around his cock, your body pleading on its own. Pleasure was singing down your body, bringing pure delight and bliss with every pulse, every push of his cock. You were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge. You had submitted to his currents and knew only he could bring the ebb and flow of release.

You began to chant his name in prayer.

“Fuck yes, little one, just like that. Oh you’re so good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you choked out, nearly sobbing for relief, “so, so good for you!”

“Then cum, cum for me!”

He roared the words against your cheek, his command overwhelming you and sending you spiraling as the waves of euphoria returned, crashing over your body like a tumultuous sea. Your body crumpled underneath his and he held you, the violent tightening of your body sending the god himself over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the magnificent feeling of being completely filled by him. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and making you feel suspended within his arms, gasping for breath and reveling in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

He held you for a long moment, hand against your belly, hand around your neck. It was his turn to bask in the afterglow of sex, to feel wholly spent and satisfied with the girl he had handpicked for himself. You were perfect in his arms, hands fisted into his sheets, lips swollen, his seed dripping from where he was still lodged within your depths. You’d let go, allowed him to have you, to take you, and there was no way in the nine fucking realms he was ever letting you go.

Shinsou kept you within his embrace as he collapsed to the bed, inked chest heaving and Jormungand curling around your back to hold you against him.

“Mhm, all the scheming I had to do to get you here, in my bed, filled with my cum.”

“Scheming?” You asked into his chest.

“What, you didn’t think all those dreams were coincidence, no?”

You sat up to look at him, all tussled violet hair, kohl on his cheeks smeared, grin upon his lips.

“And the cats? The owls? All those eyes on you in the dark? All that time spent waiting for you, little one. I even had to whisper my indecent plans to the Seer. Can you imagine that conversation? At least he put it into fun little riddles for you to decipher.”

“I—I can’t believe you would do all of that, for me. You could’ve just taken me.”

He snorted at your remark.

“I did. My hand was forced to interrupt your fucking daily prayer time and beguile you away.”

You nestled back to him, sinking into his skin, his touch.

“Well, I am gleefully bewitched.”

“And to think,” he chuckled, curling a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes to his, “all you had to do was pray to me.”

You were far too tired for rebuttal, choosing to instead settle with a kiss. He had chosen you. And for that you were filled with adoration, filled with a need to please far greater than you had ever desired to find the veneration of any other god. It was all for him, for a god who had no doubt tricked you into his bed.

__________________________________

This was written for the Citrus Dome writing collab.

#bnha smut #my hero academia fanfic #bnhabookclub #hitoshi shinso x reader #smut with plot #bnha x reader #shinso hitoshi #bnha shinso #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinso x reader #shinsou smut #hitoshi x reader #bnha hitoshi #bnha fanfic #my hero academia x reader

3K notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 4 years ago

Text

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?”

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen.

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!”

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.”

“So what? It’s just for us, right?”

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.”

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels.

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.”

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up.

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.”

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now.

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date.

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.”

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--”

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.”

“You are annoying me.”

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids!

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?”

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look.

“That suit, I suppose.”

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses.

“Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.”

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.”

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet.

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat.

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.”

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again.

“Is someone inside?”

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.”

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade.

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later.

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back.

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil.

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.”

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.”

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?”

“Ivar.”

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.”

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough.

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles.

“Ain’t that for your date?”

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave.

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood.

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan

#vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #modern ivar x reader #vikings/reader

200 notes · View notes

nienna-talks-asscreed · 3 years ago

Text

We deserve a return to the writing of The Kenway Saga

I was in the mood for a bit of a ramble on Assassin's Creed, so here, have some thoughts I wrote out in one sugar-fueled sitting:

I have a theory. When it comes to big franchises with a bunch of entries spanning a decent period of time, peoples’ opinions are largely affected by when they first interacted with it. So, when it comes to Assassin’s Creed, you can separate things out into eras, and I wouldn’t be surprised if peoples’ favorite parts of the franchise line up with how they first started playing. The Desmond Story (or the Ezio Trilogy, if you want to separate further), the Kenway Saga, the Initiate Duology (Unity and Syndicate), and the RPG era/Layla Trilogy. Or, to be more general, Old School vs. New School. Personally? I started out (in 2020, mind you, just so there’s no confusion, because yes, I started this franchise as something to do between pandemic and post-college panic) with the Ezio Trilogy, and that’s got a very special place in my heart. Honestly, I’ve yet to have another Video Game Moment that matches up with the ending of Revelations – that shit is magical, let me tell you. Those games are always going to mean a lot to me.

But maybe the actual title of this post just got really confusing, right there. After all, wasn’t I gonna talk about the Kenway Saga? That intro sounds like it’s pushing towards the Ezio Trilogy, right? Well, I mean, yes, it definitely does. But here’s the thing. While I’ll always hold a lot of love for the Ezio games, the longer I’ve sat on this franchise and thought about it, the more I truly, genuinely appreciate the Kenway Saga for what it did. Which is to say, it became the most interesting part of the franchise, full stop.

Now, backstory time, I played these games wrong. Rogue was the fourth game in the franchise I played, right after finishing the Ezio Trilogy, and it’s remained my favorite game of the bunch to this day. Then I played a few more things before working back to Black Flag (and Freedom Cry), which I would personally consider the best game of the franchise. Then there was a bit more puttering around before I finally made my way back to Assassin’s Creed III, about which I had more complex (albeit, still largely positive – don’t misquote me) thoughts. But after sitting on these particular games for a while – a time that included playing both Origins and Odyssey (not Valhalla, because boy do I wish I was more excited about that one) – and letting the connections finally form, given I 100% did not play them chronologically, the more I wish Ubisoft actually returned to that era of the franchise. And not just for the mechanics (personally, I don’t see the problem with RPG skill trees) or the storytelling (granted, see my Odyssey review for my thoughts on that), but for what the franchise was actually trying to do. The way, I think, at least, it was trying to reinvent itself.

See, most of the franchise tends to feel fairly black and white, maybe even more so due to the popularity of the Ezio Trilogy. As much as I do love those three games, their philosophy… isn’t the most interesting. They’re still fantastic, but they are carried entirely by the strength of their lead character, and supported by a cast of frankly iconic side characters. That is not a criticism at all – these games have stood the test of time – it’s just how I see it. That said, in comparison, the original Assassin’s Creed is more interesting on the philosophical front; hell, Unity has more shades of it, even if, personally, I think it fails to stick the landing on that front.

The Kenway Saga, though, takes the morally gray aspects of the franchise and sticks them front and center. They aren’t a side part of the story, implied as part of the journey of the main character; they are the story. And in a franchise that’s so heavily leaned on the whole “Templars bad, Assassins good” form of moving plot, this ends up being a fascinating study of this world and the people who inhabit it. No one here is purely good or bad. Everyone is just a person, trying to navigate this complicated world and the complicated decisions it throws at them.

And the funny thing is that the Kenway Saga games all do this in different ways.

Black Flag gives us Edward Kenway, someone who is entirely outside of this Assassin and Templar structure, and even when he gets pulled into that world, he has no intention to interact with it the way every other protagonist does. He’s, objectively, not a good person (which, to be fair, is what makes him an interesting character), and over the course of his story, the Assassins and Templars aren’t ever the main plot. They’re more like set dressing, a way to further Edward’s arc as he realizes what he’s done. And that’s “they” plural, because it’s not really just the Assassins that do it. Yes, he does join them in the end, and they’re instrumental to him looking for redemption, but then there are characters like Hornigold, Templars who make strong points to support their allegiance, and who force Edward to reconsider what he’s doing. Or Torres, someone with honor and dignity who recognizes and respects Edward’s decision to join the Assassins, even if he doesn’t personally agree. Far from mustache-twirling villains. Or, for that matter, there are people entirely outside of that conflict who have major effects on Edward and his shifting perspectives: Thatch and Bonnet, for example. It’s a purely character-based narrative, and one where the Assassins and Templars really take a hard backseat.

Freedom Cry feels like it takes us closer to the old narrative, given that Adewale is a character defined much more by his strong morals, especially in contrast to Edward. He feels more like what you’d expect from this franchise and how it works. And then that’s immediately challenged. What looked like a story with these bad Templars turns into a narrative where Adewale works with the Templars instead and sees that, really, these two groups can share many of the same goals. It’s not about deciding who’s in the right, but putting that aside so that the world can be a better place for everyone involved. And, really, maybe things would be better off if both sides could forget that conflict entirely. (So, basically, it’s kind of doing what Unity maybe intended, but better. And without the romance to muddle things.)

Then Rogue goes a completely different route by flipping the script. Shay is very much an Assassin’s Creed protagonist, but one who is presented with very different choices. Because, while it might seem like this game is still black and white, just in the other direction, I have to argue that it isn’t quite that simple. Really, Rogue is kind of the slap in the face that this franchise needed. The Assassins aren’t always just the good guys; they are fallible, just like anyone else. They can fall victim to dogma and put on the horse blinders so effectively that they lose sight of the bad effects their good intentions are having; they want to protect the world from the control of the Templars, but become destructive puppetmasters in their own way. Shay doesn’t really ascribe to these high-minded ideals in general (whether that’s with the Assassins or the Templars, I would argue) and is much more intent on just doing right, and making things noticeably better for the people. He sits a little bit outside of that big philosophical debate, which really gives us a very different perspective on what it all means: what’s the point of starting a war between your ideals when innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire? (Believe me, I have many, many more thoughts on this game and the Irish boy, but I’ll save that for a more appropriate time and place.)

(Admittedly, I haven’t played Liberation yet, so feel free to imagine I added something insightful here about that game.)

Then there’s Assassin’s Creed III, where it all started. This game is very much a case where the message is the story, and while that’s usually not my cup of tea, it’s presented through the lens of excellent characters. Connor is young and idealistic and wants to believe that the Assassins and the promise of freedom will fix everything – the way the Assassins kind of function in general. Haytham is more cynical, but has a much more nuanced view of the nature of this whole conflict. Freedom isn’t just dangerous to those in charge, but dangerous in general. He explains the Templar ideology in a way that suddenly makes sense. And so Connor’s view becomes more nuanced in response, on top of simply being tragic. The people he helps in the pursuit of freedom – of the Assassin ideal – eventually become much more interested in only their own problems. Those post-credits cutscenes make that starkly clear, giving us nods to the continuation of the slave trade, as well as the treatment of Native Americans at the hands of the US government. And despite that, he chooses to hope for a happy ending he knows he may never see. It’s just sad, to put it simply, and the way forward is clearly complicated. Even if you fight for something that’s just, there’s no guarantee things will turn out for the better.

Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the entire opening segment: playing as Haytham and then suddenly realizing he was a Templar all along? Honestly, just that part sums up what makes Assassin’s Creed III so interesting. The lines blur to the point you start forgetting there was even a line there to begin with.

Taken all together, the Kenway Saga embraces the moral grayness in a way that the franchise never has – arguably before, but especially since. And while all of the other games have their merits – many of them being excellent games in their own rights – there’s food for thought here that keeps me thinking, and in the long term. While I love Assassin’s Creed II and Origins, I don’t end up thinking about them and the morals that they present. At least, not like I do with the Kenway games.

I want those morally gray spots back. I want to be forced to think, especially in this franchise with its basis in this philosophical conflict. There’s just so much room to do things that are truly interesting. Of course, I have my doubts whether this will happen; it does seem more likely we’ll just be getting big action-adventure RPGs. If nothing else, I know we’ll never be returning to this point in history (even if the lack of a Connor/Shay/Arno crossover story is an absolute crime). But hey, this is the internet, so I can make my opinion known.

#assassins creed #analysis #ac rogue #ac3 #ac black flag

5 notes · View notes

peaceisadirtyword · 4 years ago

Text

Teasing (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello!♥️ It took me so long to finish this! (it was actually a draft I had forgotten and that I had to rewrite because it was even worse). It’s not my best work and I'm not very proud of this, but I'm posting it anyway.

This fic is mainly for the lovely @maggiescarborough💕 Happy birthday, Sophie! I know I'm late and all of that😅 sorry! but I hope you had an amazing day and enjoyed it as much as you can. I really wanted to write something good for you, but I've been so mentally exhausted these past months that I don’t seem to be capable of writing good things :( anyway, I hope you enjoy it! I used this idea because I thought it was interesting, I really hope you like it♥️ Thank you for reading!

Warnings: smut, mentions of sex and alcohol, Ivar, my writer’s block (I think my block is the longest block on history), if it’s too bad I'll delete it I promise.

Words: 4108 (sorry)

gif belongs to @whenimaunicorn

You had a love-hate relationship with the gym. You liked feeling fit, you liked the feeling after an intense workout, you felt better with yourself and it allowed you to eat a pizza afterwards. But you hated to be sweaty and sticky on your way home, especially when the showers at the gym were fucking broken.

You nearly moaned in relief when you opened the door to the apartment you shared with your best friend. Her dad had insisted on installing an A/C last year, and even if you were a bit against it (you had spent one entire week bitching about how you were destroying the planet) you couldn't deny that entering the apartment after being walking under the sun for twenty minutes felt like entering Valhalla.

Leaving your bag next to the door, you took off your shirt, groaning in annoyance and already thinking about drinking the entire bottle of fresh water you had put in the fridge earlier that day.

But just when you were approaching the fridge, dressed only on your sports bra and the little grey shorts, someone interrupted you.

"Will you keep stripping for me or should I go back to reading?"

The scream died on your throat. You jumped, startled, and turned around to see the dark haired, blue-eyed asshole that almost gave you a heart attack.

He was laying on the couch, a book between his hands and a smirk on his pouty lips that made you glare at him in rage.

"What the fuck are you doing on my couch? In my house? Who let you in? Where the fuck is Thora?"

Ivar laughed, shaking his head.

"She's on her bedroom, with Hvitserk... I wouldn't go in" he raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" you insisted, trying to cover yourself with your arms.

"Didn't she tell you?" he chuckled "We're reforming our apartment, Hvitserk burned the kitchen" he shrugged "So we need to stay here for some days"

"What?" you blinked. Thora definitely hadn't told you. You could go through some hours with the brothers, in fact you got along pretty well with Hvitserk. But days? That was different.

Ivar's laugh interrupted your thoughts, making you glare at him again. It wasn't that you didn't like him. Ivar was a complicated person, he seemed to really like to tease you, in a friendly way. You didn't know how, but he always managed to get to your nerves.

"Aren't you happy with having me here for days? All for you"

You'd lie if you said his tone didn't make you press your thighs together.

"No" you rolled your eyes, finally opening the fridge to take the bottle out. You could feel his eyes on you as you drank the water "Anyway, I'm going to have a shower"

"Want me to join?"

You rolled your eyes again, ignoring him as you walked to the bathroom, feeling even more exhausted than when you arrived.

Ivar confused you. He could be nice, you knew that, and if he was a bit nicer, you would have probably made a move on him. He was the only one of all his brothers that was still single, he was... Really handsome, and the smartest person you had ever met. Maybe, just maybe, you had a crush on him. It was easy to handle it on a nightclub or a pub, but you didn't know how you'd react to his constant teasing at your own home.

Even if he sometimes flirted with you -or that was what Thora said, you thought he was only messing with you- he wasn't attracted to you. You knew that because he would often go home with girls he met that same night. It was something that drove you mad, he could flirt with you, invite you to a drink, whisper sweet things on your ear as you were already tipsy and giggling, and then, he'd smirk at you and maybe leave for the toilet. When he came back, he had another girl on his arm, and ignored you for the rest of the night.

When you finished your shower, you put your pajamas on and went out of the bathroom, hoping Ivar was only joking and that they'd go home after dinner.

Thora was making out with Hvitserk on the kitchen as Ivar watched TV with a bored expression. As soon as she saw you, Thora ran to you, a big smile on her face.

"I might have forgotten to tell you"

"Yes, you might" you raised an eyebrow.

"But it's okay, right? I mean, Hvitserk will sleep with me, he won't eat all the food and we'll be quiet, I promise"

You sighed.

"What about him?" you pointed at Ivar, who raised an eyebrow.

"I'm fine with the couch" he shrugged "And I will be quiet too" he winked at you with a smirk, and you cleared your throat.

"See?" Thora smiled brightly at you "Everything's fine, and they're buying dinner today, what do you prefer? Mexican or Chinese?"

You shrugged as she looked around the kitchen for the small paper with the number of the nearest Mexican restaurant, knowing it was your favorite and that they needed to have you happy for the rest of the night.

"Ivar, are you sure you can sleep on the couch?" Hvitserk sat next to his brother, frowning a bit in concern. Ivar looked bothered with his question, as he clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Yes, I'm not a baby, Hvitserk"

"I know, but the doctor said you shouldn't sleep in bad postures, Ivar" he lowered his tone "This couch is amazing for sex but terrible to sleep in"

You decided to ignore the fact that Hvitserk just admitted fucking your roommate in the same couch in which you took a nap every day.

"Yeah, Hvitty is right" you muttered, feeling bad for him as Ivar looked to the floor "You won't sleep well in here"

He glared at you.

"He's trying a new treatment" Hvitserk explained "This one is a bit more harsh, so he needs to rest well"

Ivar hissed. You knew that his legs were a sensitive topic.

"You can always sleep on my bed" you muttered "I don't mind..."

"Are you so desperate to have me in your bed, Y/N?" Ivar smirked again, and you tried your best to avoid blushing as you scoffed.

"I'm just being polite" you glared at him, making Hvitserk chuckle.

"Would you sleep in there with me or here?" he asked, shrugging.

"If you think I like you enough to renounce to my bed for you, you're a bit delusional"

Ivar smiled, shaking his head.

"Okay, dinner will be here in half an hour" Thora said happily, sitting on Hvitserk's lap "Want to watch a movie?"

______________________________________

Hvitserk was nice, funny, a really good cook and hot, Thora even said he could give oral sex really good. But his taste in movies was shit.

That morning when you woke up, you didn't even think you'd end up sharing vegetarian tacos with Ivar and watching Fifty Shades of Grey as Hvitserk and Thora kept making out. It was awkward. Especially when the sex scenes started.

It was already midnight when the damn movie finished and you could finally get out from that couch, trying your best to avoid looking at Ivar as you took the plates to the kitchen. Thora had a weird smile as she stood up to help you.

"So, what are you going to do?" she whispered as you put the plates on the sink, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I was thinking about going to sleep" you shrugged.

"Shut up, you know what I mean" she giggled "You're going to sleep with Ivar, on the same bed... Are you going to finally do it?"

"Do what?"

"Do him" she rolled her eyes "Come on, Y/N, we all have eyes and we all can see the sexual tension"

"There's no sexual tension" you scoffed "He just likes to tease me, he doesn't want to have sex with me"

"Are you sure?" Thora laughed "You're so cute" she hugged you, making you frown in confusion "Didn't you see how he looked at you the whole night?"

Yes, you had caught him staring at you more than once. He didn't look away, but instead he smirked and winked at you until you blushed and turned your head to the TV, but you though he was only messing with you, as always. He liked to bother you when he got bored.

Shaking your head you went back to washing the plates. She giggled again and kissed your cheek before leaving to whisper something on Hvitserk's ear.

Soon, they excused themselves to go to Thora's bedroom. Hvitserk wished you a good night with a wink and then proceeded to hit Ivar with one of the cushions before leaning in to say something in Danish and chuckling as his brother glared at him.

As soon as their door closed behind them, you heard Ivar grunting softly as he stood up and approached you with his crutch. He said nothing as he leant onto the counter, next to you, watching your movements in silence.

"Did you like the movie?" he asked. You turned your head to look at him for a second and your heart nearly stopped when you saw he let his hair down.

"Not really" you cleared your throat "But it was entertaining..."

"Yeah, definitely" he held back a smile "Thank you for letting me sleep on your bed"

It was the first time you heard Ivar saying thank you, and you nearly dropped the glass you were washing.

"It's nothing, really" you frowned "Why are you being nice?"

He laughed, running one of his hands through his hair. You tried your best to avoid staring at him.

"I can be nice" he shrugged.

"Breaking news" you muttered, raising an eyebrow. Ivar chuckled again but said nothing.

When you finished, you dried your hands and turned to look at him again. His blue eyes were still fixed on you and you immediately looked away.

"I think I'm going to go to bed" you nearly whispered "I'm tired"

Ivar only nodded, taking his crutch again and waiting until you started walking down the hall to follow you, turning off the lights.

Luckily, your bed was big enough so two people could sleep on it without touching each other. Even if Ivar was fucking huge.

"I'd like to have a shower before" he cleared his throat "Could I?"

He left his bag next to the bed, turning to look at you as you were busy staring at his back.

"Yeah, sure" you cleared your throat again "There are clean towels on the last drawer" you pointed at the four-drawer dresser.

He nodded, and you heard him open the drawer as you turned around to pick up some of the clothes you had left on the floor, trying to make the room look a bit more presentable. And then you heard him chuckle and realized you had fucked up.

"Nice" Ivar seemed to find really funny that you had a vibrator on your dresser. To be fair, you had forgotten you put it in there... And had barely used it "So this is how you can go months without sex"

Blushing fiercely, you snatched the vibrator from his hand and glared at him.

"Shut up"

"It's okay, I'm not judging you" he kept laughing, and you held yourself back from hitting him with the toy "I mean, we all have needs, right?"

You ignored him, turning around again to face the wardrobe as you pretended to be too busy hanging your clothes. You could still hear his laugh when he left the room with the towel on his arm. After making sure you had hidden the vibrator well -you knew he was going to torment you with that for weeks, maybe even months-, you changed into your pajamas.

____________________________

The bathroom was warm and you could feel the humidity when Ivar finally let you enter to wash your teeth. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants. You let your eyes linger on the tattoos that covered both his back and chest, but looked away and pretended to be angry at him as you turned to face the sink and grabbed your toothbrush.

He hadn't washed his hair, and you had the pleasure to watch how he ran his hands through it and put it up on a bun. Then your eyes travelled down his face and his body, and you frowned. It was really unfair how beautiful he was, especially as he was the biggest idiot you had ever met. God, you hated him.

As soon as you were finished, you raised your head to look at him again, but instead you found his blue eyes looking at you through the mirror.

"See something you like?" He raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk was still on his lips.

"No" you narrowed your eyes and he laughed again "What's so funny?"

"You"

"Will I be as funny when I send you to sleep on the couch?"

He shook his head and bit his lower lip, approaching you.

"You wouldn't do that"

"Try me" you rolled your eyes.

"Nah, I don't have to, I know you wouldn't"

"How do you know it?" You turned to face him, crossing your arms on your chest and staring back at him.

"Because I know you like me" he shrugged "I can see it"

"I tolerate you" you scoffed "Only because you're my best friend's boyfriend's brother"

"Sure" he smirked again.

"You're narcissist, obnoxious, arrogant and an asshole"

"You sound like Sigurd" he rolled his eyes.

"I like Sigurd more than you"

Ivar smiled again. It was driving you mad.

"No you don't" he muttered, and suddenly he was really close to you "Shut up now"

You were going to protest, but he interrupted you again. By leaning in and kissing you.

The kiss was even better than you had imagined. His lips were softer and warmer, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and moan softly as he pressed his body closer to you, leaning you against the sink. He was still leaning on his crutch, but his free hand travelled up your body until he reached your neck, grabbing it softly as you grabbed his shoulders to avoid falling down. Your knees felt weak and it was even worse when he smiled against your lips.

Ivar broke the kiss for a few seconds, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you again, this time more deeply. You moved your hips against his, making him groan and bit your lower lip. You let out a gasp and frowned, whining in protest when he moved his lips away from yours. They brushed your cheek and his hand moved to tangle into your hair before he moved his mouth down your neck. Your heart was racing as he bit, licked and kissed your neck.

He kissed you again, softly, almost like he tried to memorize the feeling of your lips against his. You felt dizzy when he finally broke the kiss, you were panting and your face burned. Ivar looked a bit taken aback by his own actions when he moved away from you. The both of you stared at each other in silence. He looked even more beautiful than he did just a couple of minutes before.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat and turned around, walking to the door and closing it after him. You stood there, grabbing the sink as your legs still trembled and you felt hot. Your face was red, and your lips were pink and a bit swollen. After staring at your own reflection for a couple of minutes, you moved to open the water tap, leaning in to wash your face.

__________________________________

Ivar was laying on your bed. He had his arm under his head and his eyes on his phone. You barely dared to look at him when you entered, going directly to the mirror that stood next to you door to put your hair up on a ponytail. Any of you dared to break the silence, though.

You climbed on the bed, facing away from him and snuggled under the covers.

"I'm going to turn off the light, okay?" you muttered, and Ivar hummed.

Silence again. You moved to hug your own pillow, as you always did, and just as you had closed your eyes and were about to drift off to sleep, you felt Ivar moving closer to you. He touched your waist, startling you.

"Is this okay?" He asked, softly, on your ear. You tensed up but nodded slowly. He sighed in content and hugged your waist, pressing you against him. His head rested on your shoulder, and you felt his breathing on your neck. Your eyes were now wide open, and your heart started beating faster.

Then you felt his lips on your cheek and leant onto him, you felt him smile against your skin and it made you smile a bit too. You didn't know what the hell was happening, but you were definitely enjoying it.

"I might have been wanting to do this for months" he muttered "But don't tell anyone"

You frowned and turned around to look at him. You were so close that you could feel his breathing on your lips.

"Are you messing with me? Because it's not funny"

Ivar shook his head. Maybe if the room wasn't that dark, you could have seen him blushing.

"I'm not, I'm being honest now, don't ruin it" he glared at you and you raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm listening" you smirked, enjoying that small amount of power you had over him in that moment.

It was the first time Ivar couldn't find the right words. He bit his lip, feeling stupid as he stared at you, unable to actually put into words what he needed to say.

"Can I kiss you?" He finally said, frustrated. If he couldn't tell you, he'd show it.

You held back a soft smile at his words and nodded. This time it was you who leant in to kiss him. He sighed against your lips and his hand went to your neck again, holding you close to him as he bit your lip.

You moaned into his mouth, making him groan and grip your waist. When he broke the kiss again the both of you were panting and you pressed your thighs together.

"Gods you drive me insane woman" he growled again, pressing his face against your neck. You blushed and smiled, feeling like a teenager whose crush invited her out.

"I thought you..."

"Stop thinking" he chuckled "I know what you think, Thora told me" his blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark "You're wrong"

"But you always teased me" you rolled your eyes "You literally flirted with me and then left with some other girl"

"Yeah, that was rude" he cleared his throat "Sorry, I thought you didn't want to... Go home with me... I thought about you when we fucked though, if that counts"

"No it doesn't" you couldn't help but laugh.

Ivar smiled softly and kissed you again, this time his hand travelled down your waist, caressing your thigh and grabbing your leg, pulling you closer to him until you straddled him, without breaking the kiss. Your hips moved against his and you could feel his erection already pressing against his sweatpants.

"Sigurd said you couldn't have sex" you raised an eyebrow

"Sigurd is a fucking idiot" he rolled his eyes, grinding against you, as a way of showing you he definitely could "He's jealous because he knows that even if I couldn't fuck, I'd be better than him"

You giggled, amused, and leant to kiss him again. Ivar's hands travelled under your shirt and you moaned as he reached your breasts, caressing your skin softly.

"Let me take this off" he nearly begged you, whispering into your ear, and his tone made you whimper.

You took the shirt off and tossed it aside, suddenly feeling self-conscious and trying to hide yourself from him. His expression softened, knowing very well the feeling. Ivar, with a softness on his eyes that you didn't know he could show, put your arms away gently, sitting to start kissing your neck and chest softly.

"It's okay" he muttered "You're beautiful, Y/N, you should know that"

"I'm not that sure" you smiled as he raised his head to look at you "But thanks"

"Then I'll tell you until you're sure" Ivar shrugged.

Your smile widened and you kissed him again, it was like you couldn't get enough of him. His hands caressed your thighs and then his fingers reached the edge of your pajama shorts. Your gasped when he reached your sex, and moaned when Ivar caressed it over your panties, moving your hips to encourage him to continue.

Ivar was already panting. His mouth felt dry and he had to lick his lips constantly. He let out a groan when he felt how wet you were already, and the fact that it was because of him made him smirk against the skin of your shoulder, putting your underwear aside and pressing onto your clit. You whimpered and your hands grabbed his neck and his arm.

Ivar's fingers teased your entrance, you moaned and bit your lip, gasping when he pushed one finger inside you, moving it slowly in and out before adding another one. Then he curled them inside you, making you moan louder than before, immediately covering your mouth with your hand.

"Don't" he frowned.

"But... Hvitserk and Thora..."

"Fuck them, they're not especially silent, are they?"

You giggled, but nodded as he kissed your neck again, his lips traveling down your chest until he reached your breasts. The feeling of his fingers thrusting into you, with the palm of his hand brushing your clit and his lips on your breasts was too much, and soon you felt that familiar knot on your lower belly, tightening quickly as you moved against him, moaning. Your legs were shaking around him and he groaned, raising his head to bite your earlobe.

"Come on, love, cum for me now"

It seemed that the last thing your body needed was to hear his voice whispering on your ear. You came with a small scream, moaning his name and panting. Ivar looked quite proud of himself when he retrieved his fingers, licking them with his eyes fixed on yours.

Another kiss. He was so addictive it worried you, would you be able to spend a single minute next to him without kissing him? You only broke the kiss to take your shorts and panties off. Ivar only pulled his sweatpants down enough for him to free his cock. You didn't ask him to fully undress, instead you grabbed his face and kissed him as he pressed his erection against your entrance.

"Slowly, please" you muttered "It's been a while and I think you're a bit bigger than the vibrator"

Ivar said nothing, just smirked and pressed his forehead against yours. He thrusted into you slowly, moaning softly as you whimpered in pain.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked, his eyes showed true concern as you smiled and kissed his lips.

"It's okay, don't stop please"

It didn't take long for the pain to fade. This time you moaned in pleasure, and started moving against him. You pushed him so he'd lay down, putting your hands on his chest as you moved your hips up and down. Ivar bit his lip, narrowing his eyes and gripping your waist so hard you were sure he'd leave marks.

Your nails dig on his tattooed chest as you felt your orgasm approaching, and Ivar moaned your name as your walls clenched around him. He moved his hand to your clit and circled it, making you moan even louder, your legs trembled again and your movements faltered a bit. Ivar kept thrusting into you until you moaned his name one last time before letting yourself go. He came just after you, biting his lip and muttering your name.

Laying down over him, you kissed his lips one last time as his arms circled your waist. The both of you stayed in silence, enjoying each other's touch and soft breathing, until Ivar turned his head to look at you and smirked.

"Next time, can we use the vibrator too?"

_____________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallydelys @hellogabysblog @winchesterwife27 @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius @xinyourdreamsx @funmadnessandbadassvikings @eteramfools @tgrrose @flokidottirsstuff @lovessce @tootie-fruity @didiintheblog @alexhandersenx @belovedcherry @fantasydevil2002

I hope I didn’t forget anyone💞 thank you for reading!

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #modern ivar #ivar x reader #ivar smut #vikings #vikings imagine #modern vikings

460 notes · View notes

spicysoftsweet · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 9

Masterlist

tw character death

Mitsuya was used to listening to crying, comfortable even. It was a normal human response after all, and his sisters cried all the time.

But Kumi cried in a very odd way he wasn’t exactly prepared for. Without warning, in the middle of a conversation about her and his plans for high school and beyond, tears had started to run down her cheeks and her speech had paused for a moment, before she continued to speak as though nothing had happened.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand as though she’d simply sprung a leak, and promptly continued, her voice wobbling a little, but still smiling.

“I-if I at least stay in T-Tokyo after graduation, we can still be friends even if we don’t go to the same high school, right?”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why wouldn’t we stay friends?” He asked, confused.

She grinned widely from across the low table in his home, her eyes shining still.

“Promise you won’t get tired of me.”

Mitsuya looked at Kumi’s obvious forced smile and wondered if Toman was the only thing Baji had dropped. His behavior was stranger than usual definitely, but maybe he was really just showing his true colors. Even if defecting to an opposing gang was unreasonable (even by Baji standards), Baji and Kazutora had always been terribly close, and if Kazutora changed, so could the latter.

“I won’t,” he replied.

He, like Mikey, didn’t want to end up fighting his friend, but he wouldn’t mind landing one solid punch for good measure.

---

“I don’t know if I wanna be an angel this year,” Kumi mused as she walked out of the convenience store down the street with her best friend trailing closely behind her. She unwrapped a lollipop, sighing before popping it into her mouth. “You get to look cute and sexy in the devil costume and I’m probably going to look like a nun,” she pouted.

Kaksi took the bag of discounted pre-Halloween candy from her and fished for a milk chocolate bar, unwrapping it for a bite.

“We can trade if you want.”

Kumi turned to her with surprise, but Kaksi grinned appropriately devilishly.

“But you won’t look scary at all, so how can you be a devil?” With that, she held the bar in her teeth and squished Kumi’s cheeks, causing the latter to frown and swat away at her hands.

“Stop!” She whined.

Kaksi laughed louder, which led to her chocolate falling to the ground which had her gasp in dismay.

“Karma,” Kumi pretend-disguised the remark with a loud cough, wincing as Kaksi gave her a slap on the shoulder, then giggled back. “Don’t worry, you can have mine.”

“As I deserve,” Kaksi said, then glanced at her watch. “We should head there quickly, the store will close soon.”

“Mm.”

The girls managed to find their way to the corner shop and picked out their outfits, taking pictures together as they tried their accessories, a white halo for Kumi and a pair of red devil horns for Kaksi.

“You didn’t want to trade?” Kaksi asked, looking through their pics on her flip phone as they walked home, shopping bags in hand. “We can still swap if you want.”

Kumi shook her head.

“My parents are already being too lenient by letting me go out for the parade tomorrow in the first place, so putting on leather on top of that will probably be pushing it,” she said, with a dramatic sigh.

Kaksi laughed.

“You know, for a moment I was wondering if you’d change being around gang members for so long, but it seems like you’re still a goody two-shoes after all.”

Kumi smiled in response but her smile was a little less bright this time, and Kaksi frowned. She’d almost gotten over the sting of Kazutora essentially breaking things off with her but she had to remember that Kumi’s situation was still fresh in her heart.

An idea suddenly popped into her head, and she grabbed Kumi’s hand suddenly, turning around to face her.

Kumi’s eyes widened as Kaksi’s beamed.

“Hey, we’re gonna be friends forever, right? A pair, you and me, right?’.

Kumi nodded slowly in agreement, not exactly sure where Kaksi was getting at. Of course, she was her best friend.

“So… I think we should make a pact,” she proposed.

“What kind of pact?”

The sun was starting to set, pinker than usual, and with the wind picking up in that late October evening, Kumi had the feeling that whatever Kaksi was about to say next would be terribly poignant. She found herself holding her breath, as Kaksi continued.

“When we’re old maids later on in life, we should just buy a huge house in the woods and live together. We can get dogs and cats and make a garden where we grow our own food and not worry about any mean losers that just fight all the time. We’ll buy lots of books and play music all day and you can do all the cooking because I hate cooking but it’ll be amazing. What do you think?”

Kumi’s smile was genuine this time. She clasped her other hand over Kaksi’s warm ones.

“It sounds amazing.”

Maybe Kaksi was the only person she really needed after all, Kumi thought.

---

Even if Kumi was trying to focus on literally anything else aside from Baji, there was a small part of her that still worried about the tension brewing between the Tokyo Manji gang and Valhalla, and the thought of another brawl landing him or even Mitsuya in the hospital seemed to haunt her. It didn’t help that Mitsuya had told her that there would be ‘Toman business’ on the afternoon of Halloween and so he’d have to pass on going to the parade with her and Kaksi. She had insisted that they could all go, and he’d told her that there was something big, without really giving her additional details.

Big was not good when it came to gangs.

All day Kumi dwelled on it until she felt that she had to say something by the time lunchtime rolled around, starting with a long sigh to feign nonchalance.

“So I know we’re not supposed to discuss they-who-must-not-be-named anymore,” she started, stopping abruptly when Kaksi raised her eyebrow at her, “but I feel like something bad’s gonna happen.”

“Like what?” Kaksi asked, barely looking up from her plate.

Kumi frowned.

“I don’t know, Mitsuya wouldn’t really tell me but supposedly they’re preparing for something today and with all that’s going on it seems like it might be a bigger deal this time,” she continued. At this point, Kaksi’s curiosity must have been piqued because she finally looked at her then propped her face up by her elbow on the table.

A slight embarrassment ran over Kumi when she considered how obvious it was that she was still worried about Baji despite the fact that he’d been awful to her, while her friend seemed to take everything in stride.

While Kaksi seemed to be thinking, Kumi decided instead to content herself with spoonfuls of rice.

“Maybe I am nosy,” she laughed out loud for a moment once a couple minutes passed. She considered the idea of showing up again, in front of Baji who probably only found her annoying by now, and she considered that the idea of being chased away a second time was too much to bear. Maybe if she didn’t annoy him, she could pretend that they hadn’t really broken up, just drifted apart. That would work, wouldn’t it?

“Well I’m curious now,” Kaksi said, rising suddenly.

Kumi remembered this exact scenario from just a couple days ago and immediately regretted saying anything.

“Actually maybe this time we shouldn’t-” she began.

“It’s just information. We don’t have to do anything about it,” Kaksi insisted. Kumi agreed.

“Let’s try to ask someone after school.”

...

The school seemed to empty out before either girl could corner a single person. It was odd really, and when they reunited from their different classes, both grimaced as they realized they had absolutely no intel for each other.

Despite the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, Kumi went home to prepare for the evening parade after separating from Kaksi at her house. Walking the rest of the way, she contemplated further the idea of getting over her feelings completely, reanalyzing nearly all of their interactions over the past couple of years to determine what she had missed. This only made her sadder, and by the time she was nearly at her door, she was holding back sniffles.

She hated the fact that she cried so easily.

Not paying attention to where she was going, she found herself running into another boy her age, surprised when she realized it was Yamagishi of all people, one of Takemitchi’s friends that she’d seen a couple times but not really interacted with.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!”

Yamagishi looked at her in surprise.

“Kumi-chan, what are you doing here?”

She tilted her head, surprised by the question, pointing to her house a few paces away.

“I live here?”

Yamagishi’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he laughed nervously.

“Ah, yes… well, it was nice to run into you,” he said, politely, dashing in the opposite direction.

Kumi thought about the weird encounter and considered shrugging her shoulders and going on her way, but then she stopped in her tracks, and ran back to catch up to him.

“Hey!”

Yamagishi stopped, surprised and looked at her in surprise. Kumi faltered a little, phrasing the question, then blurted out, “you know a lot about gang stuff, right?”

Yamagishi scratched his head sheepishly but was clearly pleased. “Yeah, of course. I can literally tell you anything!”

Kumi nodded. “Have you heard about anything big happening tonight? With Tokyo Manji or…?” She didn’t outright say Valhalla, but it was the more pressing question for her.

Yamagishi furrowed his brow.

“Toman’s going to have a huge fight today, if it hasn’t already started…”

Kumi held her breath.

“Where?”

“There’s an old junkyard. I considered going just to see, just because I know it would be crazy, but my parents wanted me home unless I’d get in trouble. They’re going against Valhalla, everyone in the delinquent community knows about it.”

Her heart thumped, and she immediately went ahead to send a text to Kaksi to meet up with her immediately.

“Please tell me where it is.”

---

By the time the girls made it (with multiple wrong turns) to the junkyard, where there were even more people than the Valhalla hideout those couple days before, the fight was more than half over.

At least in sheer numbers,the crowd had already started to thin from Valhalla’s 300, including Baji, Kazutora, and the tall, lanky and obnoxious-sounding boy the girls would later know to be Hanma, and Toman’s 150, including Mikey, the source of all their problems, Kisaki and the rest of the gang they knew well. There were enough bruises and injuries and unconscious boys to go around, and while Kumi and Kaksi froze in space, their eyes quickly scanned the crowd for those that they cared about the most.

The first thing Kumi saw in the distance upon arrival - what they both saw - was the knife in Baji’s hands.

A knife that was raised to the heavens, loud words that sounded like nonsense to her tumbling out of his mouth, and a bold smile on his face.

What is he-

Before Kumi could even process the situation further, or even take account of the other bodies in the junkyard, Baji plunged that very knife straight into his abdomen.

And her heart stopped.

“Kei!”

Maybe his eyes widened for a moment as he searched for her voice, and he did finally see her running towards him, as he collapsed immediately into Chifuyu’s arms who were closer, stronger and faster.

He hadn’t factored this into his move.

In fact he’d thought about what he was doing but he hadn’t really thought at all, had he? Just doing whatever it took to save Kazutora.

Making his death matter.

Bambi, I…

“Kei!” Kumi screamed again, crying this time as she ran, until she found herself intercepted by Mitsuya who saw her run into the fray in time and held her back.

“Let me go!” She shrieked.

Mitsuya said nothing, but held on to her with all his strength, arms tightening as he turned her away, as her screams mixed with Chifuyu’s.

“Someone call an ambulance! Someone stop the bleeding! Please let me,” she sputtered and choked for a moment, losing the ability to breathe. “Let me help him!”

There was nothing she could do. Mitsuya’s grip was like iron and his hold felt like betrayal, and as she watched Baji, turned away from her while he said his final words, her stomach writhed in despair.

Her voice seemed to die in her throat.

“P-please let me go,” she continued helplessly, knowing that Mitsuya wouldn’t give in even for a second, and once she had lost the strength to scream hysterically any longer and her legs grew unsteady, he allowed her to fall to her knees and double over in sobs.

This was cruel, Mitsuya thought, but he could see that Kazutora and Mikey’s standoff was escalating and she couldn’t be in the middle.

Kaksi covered her mouth as she took in Baji’s corpse in turn and it seemed as though time had gone to a stand still until she heard the sickening crunch of Mikey’s knuckles connecting with Kazutora’s jaw.

“I’ll kill you!”

The words came out of Mikey’s mouth, repeated like a mantra and with them, his punches were heavy and relentless; Kaksi could sense the immediate intent to kill.

She couldn’t pretend she didn’t understand why. Kumi was curled into a ball beside her and within Mitsuya’s reach, still sobbing inconsolably while Chifuyu’s eyes clearly went in and out of focus, staring at his friend’s body. She could see the subtle pain behind Mikey’s voidless eyes.

Mikey was absolutely going to kill him.

Her feet moved on their own, faster than she had ever done before, dodging the arms that attempted to stop her. Kaksi could feel her heart racing and her stomach turning at the sight of her ex-boyfriend’s blood being splashed onto the floor. She couldn’t understand why no one was stopping them.

Baji…

Baji had just injured himself and this fight needed to end. So she didn’t think twice, loudly screaming at them to stop before getting in between Kazutora and Toman’s leader. She faced Mikey while her ex-boyfriend was shielded by her back, even though she was slightly smaller than him and much weaker.

The look in Mikey’s eyes was one she had never seen before. She shivered, realizing in what position she had just put herself in. But Kaksi couldn’t turn back now. The fury in his eyes spoke for him and she was unsure about what would happen to her at that moment. Takemichi stood behind while Chifuyu was still focused on Baji’s cold body in his arms. He watched the scene unfold, holding his breath but thankful that the girl had been quick to act.

“Get out of my way,” Mikey told her in an icy voice.

“Mikey, ple-”

Kaksi’s eyes widened as she felt Mikey’s strong hold on her. She let out a whimper as she felt herself pushed to the side, violently falling onto the ground. Everyone surrounding them watched in shock as Mikey aimed for Kazutora again. Takemichi took a step forward but to his relief, Kaksi was standing up again.

The pain from her fall was still present but she didn’t hesitate to run over to Mikey again, this time wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him back as hard as she could. He hit her once with his elbow and she cried out, unsure about being able to take another hit. Unfortunately, Kaksi only managed to put him off balance slightly despite being taller than Mikey and giving it all her strength.

The second hit she received had her fall back down, her hands as well as her knees covered in blood and dirt. That hurt, her breathing was heavier this time and she took a moment before standing up again. But the sight of Kazutora’s bloodied face and the sound of Mikey’s knuckles meeting bones was too much.

“Stop!” she screamed again, even louder than the first time, throwing her body in between the two boys again.

The sound of Draken’s voice calling out the girl’s name could be heard as his eyes followed Mikey’s fist but it was too late. Takemichi cried out watching her take a direct hit for Kazutora. Kaksi wanted to scream, the blunt force stronger than anything she had ever felt before but the sounds were caught in her throat as she found herself unable to breathe. She stumbled backwards. Mikey, stunned by the sight of her falling from his blow instead of Kazutora, stayed immobile.

What have I done?

Takemichi caught the girl in his arms, preventing her from hitting the ground, clearly unable to stand anymore. Horror took over Kazutora instantly as he watched her limp body, the pain probably too much for her to have withstood. He stepped forward, fury taking over him again at the sight of his unconscious darling.

Mikey didn’t move, eyes glued to her as Takemichi slapped her face gently in an attempt to wake her up. He didn’t mean to hurt her, he was aiming at Kazutora. He would never ever hit Kaksi, he thought as guilt washed over him. He would never hit a girl, and especially not this girl, his friend, or maybe more.

“You fucking asshole!” Kazutora yelled his fist connecting with Mikey’s jaw for the first time after a while.

The pain brought Toman’s leader back to his senses and it was instinctively that he blocked Kazutora’s next move. Takemichi watched once again, anger taking over him this time. They couldn’t be serious. He screamed out of frustration for Kaksi who couldn’t, Kumi who was still held back by Mitsuya and everyone surrounding them.

“What the fuck do you think Baji died for and Kaksi took that punch for?”

Kazutora’s eyes filled with tears as he looked over to his best friend’s corpse and his ex-girlfriend’s unconscious form. Mikey was about to argue but Takemichi cut him off, getting impatient now.

“He died for Toman! He died for you two, god damn it!”

Takemichi’s tears fell onto Kaksi as he gently moved her body, taking off his jacket hurriedly to put it under her head before walking over to the two boys fighting. But as the piece of clothing was folded, the charm Takemichi had kept with him fell, catching Mikey’s attention.

“Kazutora didn’t kill him!” he continued. “He killed himself because he didn’t want Kazutora to feel responsible! Because he wanted you to forgive Kazutora!”

Takemichi stopped for a moment, the sobs racking his body making it hard for him to speak.

“Everything Baji did,” he said. “He did it because he loved you guys! Why can’t you understand this?”

Kazutora found himself unable to move, too many conflicting emotions taking over him while Mikey kneeled, picking up the charm that was sent flying. He examined it carefully before asking Takemichi where he had found it. Then Mikey’s eyes widened in shock as the founding members of Toman realized who it belonged to and what it represented. He couldn’t help the tears blurring his vision at the realisation of what they had just lost and at what cost exactly. For a moment Mikey reminisced, brought back to Toman’s founding day.

“I didn’t create Toman,” he explained. “Baji did.”

Kumi, who had thought she didn’t have any more tears to cry, felt a new wave wash over her as her shattered heart ached harder. The emptiness she felt, piercing through everyone who had known Baji.

If one of us gets hurt, we’ll all protect them. I want a gang that’s all for one, and one for all.

They could all picture Baji saying those words, whether they had been there or not to witness it two years ago and at that moment everyone found that they couldn’t muffle the sounds of their pain anymore.

There was a pause that hung heavy, impregnated with tears, but where they all remained unmoving, as they considered everything that had been said.

Kumi stirred finally, wiping her tears, and turned to look at Mitsuya. He eyed her carefully, his own eyes no longer dry, and in a voice that sounded too pained to be speaking, she begged for a chance to move.

“It’s safe now, right? I’m not interfering anymore.”

Without waiting for an answer, she rose and walked over slowly to where Chifuyu still held her first crush, love, whatever she would call it. Chifuyu didn’t look up as she knelt down across from him and placed her head against Baji’s chest, her heart sinking as she couldn’t hear a heartbeat. Throat drying up, she might have deluded herself into imagining something, anything where there should be a sound, so instead she lifted her head quickly, and gently slapped him on the face.

“Wake up,” she whispered. She tapped his face again with her open palm, again trying to ignore how unnaturally cold his cheek was on contact.

She took a deep breath again, then thumped his chest again, a little harder this time. She knew very well that this was futile, and if anything she was upsetting Chifuyu even more, who had started to shake, but she was going to do this. She had to do this.

“Wake up, the fight is over and you’ll be fine. Someone called an ambulance and you need to get checked, but it’ll be okay.” She paused, and bit her lower lip.

She reached over to untie his ponytail, letting the hair tie sit on her wrist. As luck would have it, this one she recognized; he had borrowed it from her. She swallowed hard, as she ran a hand through his hair.

“Kumi, he’s-” Chifuyu started then stopped once she cut him off sharply.

“I know.”

Despite this, she still shook him.

“I forgive you for being mean, okay? We still have dates and movies to go to,” she leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, as though that was the reason why he wasn’t responding to her, not the fact that he was no longer breathing.

“I’ll learn how to make that yakisoba you like. Your mom promised to teach me before, remember? It won’t be as good but you have to promise to eat everything.”

“Kumi,” Chifuyu repeatedly her name softly, and she swallowed a sob but kept talking to the dead boy before her.

“I never gave you those chocolates I owe you, remember? You can’t die before I do that.”

As she said this, the tears she’d thought had run out just earlier seemed to replenish and she buried her face into his jacket and finally let herself weep fully, her arms around him.

“You’re so fucking mean, Baji Keisuke.”

#baji x oc #kazutora x oc #tokyorev #off target effects #collab fic #mae.writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x oc #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers #longfic

11 notes · View notes

ivarswickedqueen · 4 years ago

Text

My king

Do not read this if you didn’t watch the last episode of Vikings. It contains major spoilers!!!!

Paring: Ivarx reader, Hvitserk x reader (platonic)

Worlds: 555

So I watched the last episode yesterday and I am not emotionally OK after that. I had to write something little. It’s sad, and I am not 100% sure, if that scene happened like this, because I am not able to rewatched it. At least not anytime soon. It’s shit, but I felt like I have to write this... Also I wasn’t able to write it more detailed, because I was already crying while writing this...

Warning: main character death

You could feel your arms growing weaker with every swish of your sword. The battle was taking too long, the English men were closing around you, and you saw a lot of your shield-maidens falling down on the ground dead. You could see in the corner of your eye that Hvitserk was in serious trouble and you slowly started making your way to him when you heard Ivar screaming. You looked at your husband in terror a saw that his eyes turned into a really intense shade of blue, you swore that you could hear one of his bones breaking and he nearly fell on the ground. You watched him getting back on his feet and slowly making his way towards Hvitserk who was now surrounded by the enemies; it seemed that everyone wanted to take down the son of great Ragnar Lothbrok. You didn’t know what Ivar’s intentions were, but you redoubled your efforts and made your way towards the brothers. The battle was so intense that you lost the view of your husband and brother in law. Suddenly you heard Ivar shouting, his voice was so strong that you could hear it over the sounds of the battle. “I am Ivar the Boneless! You know who I am! You know you can’t kill me! No matter how hard you try! Because I will live forever!” you were so proud of your husband, you could feel the mood changing in Alfred’s army, you could see his man hesitating, trembling in fear, seeing Ivar as a devil himself. You dared to look at him and your heart nearly stopped beating when you saw a young, trembling English soldier stabbing Ivar’s stomach several times. You let out a terrible scream and tried to run to Ivar, but once again the English soldiers were in your way, but you didn’t care this time, you were cutting your way through sea of bodies, getting closer to Ivar who was now lying in Hvitserk’s arms. “I am afraid”, you could hear him whimper when you finally made it to the Ragnarsson brothers. “I won’t tell anyone”, you could hear Hvitserk assuring him while holding him tightly in his arms. You fell on the ground quickly crawling to Ivar seeing that he is really close to leave this world and enter Valhalla. “Do not worry, my king, my love, my husband,” you cried out, looking for the last time into his beautiful blue eyes. “Y/N, my love”, he barely whispered, his trembling, blood stained lips, turning into a weak smile, when he saw your face. “Do not worry, because you won’t go alone!” you said gently and before Hvitserk could stop you, you grabbed one of Ivar’s ring daggers and stabbed yourself in the heart with it. Blood spilled out of your mouth and you gently pressed your lips to your husband’s lips, sharing your last kiss on this earth. You felt his lips press against yours and after few seconds he was gone. You felt like if you didn’t already pierced your heart that it would break anyway. “Farewell sweet Hvitserk, I am so sorry to leave you here all alone, but I can’t live in the world where Ivar the Boneless is no longer alive,” you smiled softly at him and your heart gave its last beat and you joined your husband on the ground.

#ivar the boneless #Hvitserk #ivar x reader #vikings imagine #ivar ragnarsson

89 notes · View notes

sodalitefully · 4 years ago

Text

It’s hazardous to breathe... [GNR Mad Max AU, pt. 2]

This is the second and final half of @smokeandmirrorz’s and my GNR AU inspired by the movie Mad Max: Fury Road! Thank you for reading, enjoy 😊

*Contains mpreg, character death, and plenty of unpleasant things from the Mad Max universe, including implied/referenced sexual violence, some regular violence/gore, and Immortan Joe.*

[part 1]

----

The sun-baked sand stung the soles of Slash's bare feet as he curled his toes and bit his lip and tried not to let the pain show on his face.

After the sandstorm and all the chaos that came before it, Izzy had decided that there was enough space between them and the War Party to take a much-needed break. And as much as Slash appreciated a drink of water and a chance to stretch his legs, he was more than ready for them to pack it up and keep moving.

With every gust of wind, he thought he could hear drums pounding and engines roaring, and with every step, he scalded his sensitive soles. But he didn’t like the idea of voicing his discomfort to the others, so instead he tiptoed back into the shade of the War Rig and sat on the side of the fuel pod, carefully perching his feet so that they wouldn’t touch the ground.

It had been years since Slash last found himself surrounded by people that he mostly-almost-kinda-sorta trusted, and he thought it might be a few more years before he relearned to act like it.

Steven was happily banging sand off the sides of the War Rig with a spare pipe. Duff was fiddling with the hose, looking at it in fascination like it was the Fountain of Life itself. Axl was taking inventory of the weapons, which spoke volumes about how much Izzy trusted him, and Izzy himself...

"Are you just planning on sitting there, or are you going to help, Princess?"

"Well I –" Slash wasn’t sure if he’d rather get up and tough it out, or explain the problem to Izzy, but Steven interrupted him before he could decide:

"How can you talk to him like that, Imperator?!" Offense was plain on his face, his sand-clearing weapon hovering near his head mid-strike.

Oh no.

"I'll talk to him however I want," Stradlin retorted, rather unhelpfully in Slash’s opinion.

"He's a wife! He was chosen by the Immortan himself to be one of his prized breeders! He's the most shiny, chrome –"

"Steven, stop, put that down..." Slash's weak attempt to defuse the conversation went unnoticed.

“You can give up the zealot act, the Immortan’s not here to give you a pat on the head for it! Slash isn’t his wife anymore and he’s never going to be again, so you better get used to it.”

The bomb went off. Axl drifted closer as Steven started shouting at Izzy, who tensed up, ready for a fight.

"You – You 'traitored him? You're stealing his wife for yourself, is that it? How could you, you fucking – "

"I knew you should have killed him to begin with. He's a fanatic, there's no saving him – "

"Slash deserves better than a weak, 'traitoring coward and his feral bloodbag! You're mad if you think you can get away with this, when the Immortan catches you, he'll – "

"Steven!"

Finally, Slash got his attention.

"Just... Come here. Stradlin, Axl, fuck off for a minute. See if you can pry Duff away from the hose or something, I don't care, just let me talk to Steven.

"Look, Stevie, just listen to me, alright? I asked Izzy to get me away from Joe because he was cruel and he was a liar, and we all deserve a better life than we were living there. None of us were happy at the Citadel, we just stayed because we believed him when he told us we had no choice. I'm not his wife anymore and I never was any different than anyone else, that was a lie too." He got up from his perch on the Rig, and tried not to flinch when his feet touched the burning sand. "Do you believe me?"

Steven didn't respond, couldn't even meet his eyes.

Slash didn't expect it would be easy for Steven to reconcile a lifetime of indoctrination with the truth that he suspected the War Boy knew, deep down, but the silent treatment still stung.

He sighed, and looked over to where the others were hunched over the War Rig's engine. Slash was practically useless when it came to mechanics, but surely there was something he could do to help.

He started to head over, but stopped in his tracks when something landed in the sand beside him: Steven's pair of heavy leather boots, a godsend to Slash's aching feet. He turned around to thank Steven, but his friend had already picked up his pipe and ducked around to the other side of the Rig.

"Why didn't you stay with me?" Axl asked, his hushed voice drifting on the bone-dry desert wind. "We could have survived together, had each other's backs. Why did you leave?"

It was past time for Izzy to go to sleep and let Axl take over keeping watch, but instead they were sitting side by side in the still-warm sand, staring at the lights in the sky in companionable silence. Just like old times.

"Resources. Better odds. The Citadel had water and I thought that if I played along with their little society for a while, I would come out ahead in the end."

"That's what you told me then, too... Your choice didn't exactly pay off for you, did it?"

Izzy clenched his jaw, swallowing the urge to snap at Axl's bluntness.

"... I thought it would be nice, that it would be the next best thing to what it was like before. I thought the Citadel would be civilized. I was wrong."

"What happened, Izzy?" Axl turned to look at him when he didn't get a response. Izzy could feel him eyeing the scars on his face, and wished he hadn't left his bandana in the Rig. "Why the fuck won't you tell me anything?"

"Why won't you stop asking?"

"I don't know, maybe because I care about you? I care about whatever happened to you while we were apart! I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, though, you haven't asked me what I've done in the past two thousand days – not even once!"

Izzy kept his eyes pinned on the dark horizon.

"For fuck's sake, you're going to have to tell me eventually." Silence. "Fine." Axl got up and brushed the sand off his clothes. "Why don't you just get some sleep, Izzy."

Izzy didn't move, but he could hear Axl walking around to the other side of the Rig, and climbing up into the turret. Stubbornly, he waited a few minutes before rising to his feet, climbing into the cab, and sitting down as if he was about to drive, with his eyes on the windshield and his hands on the wheel.

"Why won't you tell him?"

Izzy jumped at the whispered voice. He turned to see Slash, wide awake and staring at him, his eyes glittering black behind his hair.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I remember the first time I saw your scars," Slash told him, ignoring Izzy's attempts to signal that he absolutely did not want to talk about it.

Izzy remembered too, and it was far from one of his fondest memories. The Organic had just released him the day after the accident, and Izzy was still in a haze of pain when Immortan Joe summoned him to one of his chambers at the top of the tower.

Apparently, Joe just couldn't wait another minute to explain to Izzy in great detail what a disappointment he was. He sat on a cushioned throne with his wives gracefully positioned at his feet, and recited a speech that Izzy had heard a dozen times before – though usually not directed at him. Blah, blah, "mediocre," blah, blah, "not worthy to call himself a follower of the V8..."

The performance culminated when Joe informed Izzy that he would no longer hold the honorable position of his wives' personal guard. The Immortan could no longer trust someone so pathetic and disgraceful with their safety.

Izzy grinned at the irony. The scar on his face flexed, and Slash flinched. Immortan Joe laughed and took Slash's face into his hand so that he couldn't look away.

"Hideous, isn't it? Unlike you, my Desire, perfect in every way..." Slash had to stretch as Joe lifted his jaw higher, putting his body on display. "He may be a full life, but he's damaged, just like all the others. Even if he is chosen for the halls of Valhalla, he will never be as flawless as you. Do not be afraid, my Desire, for the Imperator is unworthy of your fear."

"I'm not afraid."

"Of course not, you're under my protection, after all..." The Immortan kept talking but all Izzy could remember was the way that Slash stared at him dead in the eye, his gaze darkened with an emotion that Izzy couldn't quite pinpoint.

At this point, Slash had only been at the Citadel for a hundred, maybe two hundred days, and even though Izzy was around the wives almost every day, he still felt like he didn't really know the newest addition to Joe's treasure vault. Slash was quiet and withdrawn, even from the other wives. He didn't talk about his life before Joe imprisoned him, but he must have been one of the more fortunate survivors, because he wasn't dazzled by the wive's luxurious lifestyle for even a second. Instead, he focused all his energy on fighting Joe with tooth and nail.

In the Immortan's eyes, Slash's wildness only increased his appeal, and fueled Joe's desire to tame his prize – turning tempestuous Slash into the the object of his Desire. Izzy could tell that Slash was smart, he quickly learned how to choose his battles without fully giving in. But what he didn't realize was that Slash's observant gaze was so often turned towards him, silently evaluating a potential enemy or ally.

In the present, Slash was giving him the exact same stare. Wide-eyed and piercing, as intense as the sun but as dark as night.

"I was jealous," he told Izzy with complete conviction, as if that was the only sensible reaction to fresh, disfiguring burn scars. "I wanted your scars, so that Joe would only look at me the way he looked at you then. You're lucky, you know?"

By the next morning, the past was forgotten – or at least, Izzy, Axl, and Slash collectively decided not to bring it up again. There were more pressing matters, plans to be drawn and decisions to be made. Just about nothing in the past 24 hours had gone the way Izzy imagined it would: First they took on a stowaway War Boy, then the deal with the Buzzards fell through, and now they found themselves aimless in the middle of the Wasteland with only another day's worth of guzzoline.

Ahead of them – barren desert, uncharted wastes, and a seemingly infinite expanse of lifeless salt flats. And behind them – as Axl helpfully pointed out – fresh water, green plants, and a veritable fortress.

And a War Party, did he forget about the War Party? God, maybe Axl really was mad, suggesting that they go back the way they came and face Immortan Joe and his lackeys head on. Or maybe, Izzy wondered, they were all mad for agreeing to go along with his plan.

As they prepared the War Rig for a very hard day's ride, Slash approached Izzy in private.

"Look... Stradlin. I know this wasn't what you planned. I'm sorry that you and Axl didn't get to make a clean getaway and put this hell behind you, I really am. But... Thank you."

"Thank me if we survive tomorrow," Izzy replied. Maybe he was trying to sound gruff and indifferent, but he and Slash both knew the Citadel’s ghosts far too well to believe it.

The Gigahorse was gaining on the War Rig fast, its monstrous tires bumping against the rear of the truck like a dog trying to mount a bitch, but neither Slash nor Duff payed the beast any attention.

Slash couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark red stain on Duff's bandaged chest. It was growing – not like a seed, but like a wildfire, fast and merciless and deadly. He didn't know that it was still possible to feel like the world was ending, but now he thought that the emptiness in his chest, the cold heartbreak and furious hopelessness – this must be how people before felt when the world died.

Duff's fingertips touched Slash's chin and gently tilted his head up. Slash tore his eyes away from the bleeding wound to meet Duff's gaze.

"Slash, it's okay. It's all going to be fine." He took a labored breath. "Just... Remember me, alright?"

He was smiling, like he really, truly believed that everything would work out, even as he dropped his hands from Slash's face to pick up their last exploding lance and a half-gallon of guzzoline.

"No, Duff, please don't – " Don't go, don't leave me... The words died on Slash's tongue. It was hard to beg for mercy when he had long since forgone the belief that the Wasteland was capable of giving any.

Duff though, he believed. Maybe that was Slash's fault, or maybe it was something ingrained in Duff's soul from birth, almost a half-lifetime ago, but he believed he had a purpose, that he could put all the misery at the Citadel to an end, that he could help Slash to start his new life, that he could put an end to his own body's slow decay.

Duff took his last look at Slash's dust-streaked, grief-struck face – and then jumped.

At that moment, Slash wouldn't have noticed if the sun fell out of the sky. He didn't move or even breathe as the Gigahorse blossomed into a mass of blazing orange petals that forced apart its metal hull and consumed Duff and Immortan Joe alike.

Slash stared as the wreckage shrank away in the wake of the War Rig. Only a rising column of heavy black smoke was still visible when Axl reached a hand to his shoulder and gently guided him back to the cab.

They had to stop the Rig to collect Joe's body, knowing that they couldn't claim to have killed the Immortan, the undying, a god among men without proof. Steven jumped off the Rig before it fully stopped and took off running to see the corpse of a man he once worshipped with his own eyes. Slash moved to follow, but Axl blocked him and gave Izzy a pointed look.

For once, Izzy conceded without a fight. He wrapped an arm around Slash's shoulder and guided him back to his seat.

"Slash, you need to rest. Steven and Axl will take care of it."

Satisfied that Izzy would look after Slash, who was obviously in shock, Axl turned to follow after Steven, gravel and charred bits of metal crunching beneath his feet.

Steven stared into the gruesome wreckage, quieter than Axl had ever seen him and looking like he couldn't decide whether he'd rather run away from the pale corpse, or beat it with a lug wrench. Axl couldn't blame him, just the knowledge that the man had hurt Izzy for years was enough to make him want to spit down his ruptured esophagus. In the end though, exhaustion won over and they hauled the mangled body back to the War Rig without any additional desecration.

The rest of the wreck was... not salvageable. The Gigahorse might have been Joe's pride and glory when he was alive, but now it was no more than a heap of charred steel, a grim warning to all those who pass.

And as for Duff... There would be no gravedigging in the hard-packed clay, but Axl didn't think Duff would want to be buried in the toxic soil anyway. A mound of rocks would suffice instead, a tribute that Axl hoped would last for the rest of the lifetime Duff deserved.

When they finally climbed back into the cab of the Rig, Axl twisted around and reached into the backseat to press a dirty lock and chain into Slash's hands.

"Izzy... you have a responsibility for these people."

"Responsibility? I don't owe them shit. I was as much a prisoner at the Citadel as any of them, I'm not going back and if they have any sense they won't either."

"The water at the Citadel is too important to abandon. You have to make sure that no one else tries to do what Immortan Joe did, to hoard the water and use it to own people instead of helping them."

"Didn't realize that spending two thousand days on your own would make you care so much about the common good."

Axl turned away with a grimace. "You don't know what I've been doing since you left." He tried not to let it sound like an accusation, but Izzy got the message anyway.

“The kids are going to need you,” he added, still looking at the horizon instead of Izzy. “I mean, Slash is pregnant for fuck’s sake. You’re not just going to drop him off to deal with all the ghosts in that hellhole alone, are you? Especially after...” He glanced at the figure curled under his old leather jacket in the rearview mirror, making sure that Slash was still sleeping like the dead in the backseat.

"You're right. Again." Izzy sighed. "Fine. I'll stay at the Citadel, for a little while."

"Good." Axl rested a reassuring hand on Izzy's arm. "I'll go with you, alright? I'll help you do what you need to do, and then we can leave and never look back."

Slash stood on the carved outcrop jutting out from the tallest tower in the Citadel. His skin was tanned, his hair was wild, and a steel chain with a broken lock was twisted into the stained cloth at his waist. Above his head, the skull edifice was scarred by a jagged gash, no longer a monument to the Immortan's false glory. Below his feet, fresh, cold water churned impatiently in the irrigation channels, desperate to be released.

Steven stood behind him, a bit battered, but the encouraging grin on his face was no worse for wear. On his other side, Izzy surveyed the scene below, and a few steps deeper in the shadows Axl lurked impatiently, trying not to let on his anticipation.

The crowd of formerly-Wretched roared when Slash stepped forward and rested his hands on the levers, their shouts echoing between the towers. It felt like the largest crowd of people that Slash had seen in his life, and every one of them was watching him. For a moment, he wondered if Duff would be proud – but Slash didn't feel proud, he felt like his knees might buckle.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Fuck victory speeches, he just wanted everyone to get the water they deserved. He thrust the levers forward, and listened to the water as it burst from the pipes and rained down to the ground, a thunderous cascade almost as loud as the overwhelming relief ringing in his ears.

----

#sodafics #gnr fanfic #gnr #guns n roses #guns and roses #slash #saul hudson #steven adler #izzy stradlin #duff mckagan #axl rose #mad max #mad max au

29 notes · View notes

mischiefthedreamerx · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Glorious & Free

Synopsis: Lady Loki visits young (kid) Loki in a dream, he feels lost and ashamed of who he is but she has a few words of wisdom to be shared.

A/N: Just an idea, nothing that’s logical but it’s a fanfic so it doesn't have to make sense 😂 Also Ik nothing about Loki in the comics, this fic doesn't really fit in the mcu either so just take it as it is. 🤷🏻‍♂️ I kinda imagine Lady Loki as Eva Green XD

- - -

Radiant white light blinded his vision. Young Loki placed a hand to cover over his squinted eyes. The radiance was warm and comforting. Though the feeling quickly faded when a thought entered his mind;

Was this Valhalla? At least he was grateful to have died a peaceful death in his sleep.

Loki still felt the rise and fall of his chest, the soft texture of grass between his fingers, the sound of soft winds. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, the mysterious light was the blazing sun. Loki rubbed his eyes; he was in a field. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, in fact, the whole place seemed too perfect to be real.

He studied his surroundings in hopes of finding a way out. Instead he saw a large beech tree in the distance. A darkened figure sat against it, hidden in the shade. If this was a dream, his dream, surely he'd remain safe from any potential threat. He hoped so anyway.

Loki began his walk towards the giant tree that swayed gently with the wind. The figure was shadowed by a hood that covered most of their facial features. Loki kept a few metres away to analyse this guest in his dream.

Young Loki struggled to keep his composure in order to stay calm.

The firmly built figure was dressed in some kind of green leather dress with golden armoured plates on the arms, accessorised with a black corset. The dress had a long slit on each side of the hips to reveal tight black trousers and boots underneath.

Loki felt his heart hammer in his chest.

The finely dressed female let out an amused laugh of the richest honey. The dark hood was was removed.

Waves of long black hair fell in place accompanied with piercing blue eyes painted in thin layers of black. A small horned headband rested around the forehead.

"I was expecting something more glamours than a field. But this shall do." She said, looking around at the view. Her voice spoke in confidence that demanded to be heard.

Loki attempted to swallow down his anxiety. "W-who are you?" He asked.

This..version of Loki rolled her eyes. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to.” She patted the ground next to her underneath the tree.

"Sit. You're wasting time." She commanded. Loki obeyed silently and sat down. He felt captivated and almost jealous at this future version of himself. She began to inspect him, eyes moving up and down.

"You still have such a long way to go." Her voice sounded like Mother's, though it was lightly edged with darkness.

"Are you from the future?" He asked.

"Yes and no. I'm just one of the many version of who you'd wish to become one day." She responded. Loki pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

"Of someone I can never become." Young Loki said in small voice.

"Nonsense. You can become whoever or whatever you wish to be, you know you have the power to do so. The only thing stopping you is your own fear." Lady Loki said, she made it sound like an easy thing to overcome.

Loki felt his chest tighten. "Fear of what others may think of me." Though still so young, there were whispers of what many thought of him. A growing shadow amongst warriors.

"It's too late to fear what others may think of you, they have already decided." A hint of sadness laced her voice. "You are not responsible for how others perceive you. Show everyone you are better than them. They are the weak minded fools who follow what they have been taught, never having the courage to think for themselves."

Loki locked eyes with his female self, he could feel the confidence radiate from her.

"They are not free." He said, both of their lips mirrored a smirk.

"You are learning well. The world follows their little pathetic paths that are controlled by others. But you, us, are glorious and free." Lady Loki brushed a gentle hand along her younger self's cheek. "We make up our own rules.”

Loki closed his eyes, savouring this strange moment. These were the words he needed to hear for so long. A part of him did not wish to wake up. A brief pause of silence fell between them as Lady Loki waited for a response.

"But it's.. it's not natural to be..." Loki wasn't sure how to word this correctly

"To be both, or neither, somewhere in between." His female self shrugged. Loki nodded.

Lady Loki let out a chuckle. "Says who? There are many unnatural things in this world. Take our idiotic brother for example, " She joked. "It is only considered unnatural because others find it uncomfortable. Many tend to fear those who are different. I find being normal rather tedious."

"That is true." He mumbled to himself.

"We are not the only ones who feel this way. There's a realm that is more..progressive and accepting, a realm of those who are similar to us."

Loki turned, appearing surprised. Surprised that he was not the only one. It brought him a sense of comfort that a world so far away lived beings similar to him.

"Where is this realm?" He asked.

"On Midgard. They are only mortal, they live such short lives."

"I've heard of that realm." Though he did not know much about it. It shocked him that mortals seemed to be more accepting than those who lived far far longer.

"Believe me, it's not a very exciting place to visit. I've had my fair share of fun with them” Well she wouldn’t exactly have called it a fun time...

"If they are more accepting then I'd much rather be there anyway.." Loki sighed.

Lady Loki's eyes widened. "No." She pointed a finger at him. Loki let himself laugh at her response.

"I see they do not like you very much?" He dared to ask.

Lady Loki moved in closer and smirked. "Not quite. They just couldn't handle all of my glory." She spoke proudly, twisting a strand of long hair with her finger. Young Loki let himself freely smile.

This.. dream gave him some hope but the fear still remained strong underneath.

"Let me ask you something." She said in deep thought. Loki nodded.

"Do you believe women are weak creatures in need of protecting?" She asked.

Loki frowned. "No, of course not!" He said in dismay. He knew many strong women, his mother especially. Her magic was something to truly admire and even fear at times.

"Good. Do you believe their appearance dictates their worth?"

Loki shook his head. "No that's completely absurd!"

Lady Loki chuckled. "If only you could see the look on your face, young one.”

Loki felt slightly embarrassed. "Why ask me this?"

She let out a soft sigh. "Because it is what many people believe. It's something that has been ingrained in us since we were children, in story books, in legends, when we are young it is easy to subconsciously believe these ridiculous ideation." She tapped the side of her head. "We both believed this without even realising it.” It took a great amount of years to break away from it all, she only wished it hadn't taken so long.

“Oh and also, it’s possible to be both beautiful and strong at the same time.” She added with a wink.

This had never come to Loki's attention before, it was a lot to take in in such a short amount of time. He realised how much the idea of fear truly controlled everyone so easily, even him.

She continued; "No matter how hard you try, you'll never stop others from judging you no matter what you do, it's inevitable. You could pretend to fit in to avoid it all but that isn't who we are. Not when we were born for greatness. "

Lady Loki's prideful speech soon began to loose its confidence. "My only advice is to not strive for too much, it will only leave you disappointed."

Loki could see the hint of sorrow in those ancient eyes.

"Power is addictive." He commented, he was afraid of asking what sort of things had happened to her. Or maybe he did not wish to know at all.

With a frail smile, Lady Loki replied; "If only I knew that before it was all too late."

"It's never too late to start over." The words that left his lips sounded rather naive, though perhaps it was true in some ways. ".. are you happy?"

Happiness seemed like such a childish word.

Lady Loki tried to suppress a laugh for the sake of her younger self.

"Is anyone ever truly happy?" She responded.

A question in response to another question. Typical. Loki wasn't surprised.

"You're avoiding my question."

"It's one of our many talents." She replied, but Loki wanted an answer.

"It's my dream, I deserve answers. Skip the fancy philosophical responses for once."

Lady Loki raised an eyebrow, she should at least have the courage to be honest with her younger self, right?

She leaned back against the tree, eyes lost into the distance of the vast field, struggling to come up with a response.

"For awhile I forgot what it even meant to be happy, I was lost within myself, consumed by rage, never satisfied with what I had. Some people are just cursed to never feel satisfied and I've come to accept that as a part of my life... but now, after many years, you ask if I am happy... then yes, I am happy." She risked turning her head to meet her younger self's curious eyes.

"Liar." He whispered. Lady Loki's face tightened with anguish, a hidden fist began to clench but nevertheless, she smirked. She was unsure if it really was a lie or the truth.

"Guilty as charged." She said. "Lying may be our native tongue but we have yet to believe the lies we tell ourselves." She then began to stand up. "Looks like our time is up."

“Why so soon?” Loki stood up too. "Please don't go. I still have so many questions." Eyes pleading upwards to his older self. She was truly a beautiful sight to behold, so much power with a single look.

"All in due time. You'll find all the answer you seek soon. Don't forgot what I have told you or this would all have been for nothing." Would he even remember this dream when he woke up?

"Then can you promise me one thing before you go?" He asked. Promises weren't exactly her forte but she'd try to make an exception.

"Go on." She urged him.

Loki fiddled with his fingers. "Promise me you'll be happy one day." He said in a quiet voice, he knew how silly this sounded.

Lady Loki fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I promise." She said, though they were both not satisfied with her response but it would be enough.

Then she spoke again; "A promise for a promise then; promise me you won’t give up. Your story has only just began."

Loki nodded.

Lady Loki closed her eyes and began to fade away. He wanted to reach out to stay for awhile longer but it was no use. They shared a smile together before she had completely vanished away, a trail of glistening sparks flew up with the wind.

Sleep soon arrived to take Loki back home.

Loki drifted off and fell backwards thinking he'd fall on the grass but within an instant, his eyes opened wide as he awoke on his bed. He pulled himself up, moving his legs out to the side, feet touching the cold floor. A slow and steady sigh exhaled from his lips. He remembered.

He would not tell anyone, it would be his little secret. Though like all dreams, they are soon forgotten.

Loki got up and walked to his full length mirror, looking at his reflection. Placing a hand against the glass and holding his head up high, Loki spoke these words like a sacred prayer;

"Your story has only just began."

- - - -

A/N: As a trasguy who likes feminine clothes but is often scared to wear them, this felt really nice to write 🥺💚

#lady loki #mcu fanfiction #marvel #loki #loki fanfic #thor #the avengers #loki odinson #loki oneshot #female loki

14 notes · View notes

the-girl-in-the-box · 4 years ago

Text

Can You Imagine? I

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

A/N: As you can see from the summary above, I have... had a very strange idea. But! It’s one I look forward to exploring, and this is an AU of a sort that will be revealed as the story progresses :) If you have any ideas what the AU is exactly, I’d love to hear them! Otherwise, I would also love to hear any other feedback, and I hope you enjoy! Please reach out with DMs, reblogs, or asks if you’d like to be added to the taglist, which will be at the end of the post. Skål!

Warnings: Hospital-like environments, mad science, injections, human experimentation, etc. Google translated Norwegian and German, and Old Norse in Italics!

Masterlist

—

The World Turned Upside Down

The first thing Freydis noticed was the bright lights overhead, even if she didn’t know how they were so bright. She shut her eyes against them, and moved her arm to cover her face in an attempt to block them out. When her arm didn’t move, held down by something wrapped around her wrist, her heart lept into her throat. She had thought to wake in Valhalla, to be welcomed by the gods after her sacrifice in saving Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless, facing him with what she had done and still fighting to save her own life from him. But… this could not be Valhalla, she thought.

Wherever she was, it was cold, and almost unnaturally bright. Her eyes finally opened again as her chest rose and fell quickly. She was hyperventilating. Vaguely, she became aware of a strange, high pitched sound that was short and quick. People around her were speaking, she heard their voices, but their words were foreign and unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem to her this could be Hel either. It didn’t match any description of what she knew from the legends and stories from home.

So… what was this place?

Freydis’s eyes soon adjusted to the bright lights, which she saw were coming from strange spheres, held up by… some sort of disk, on a pole? Her head turned to the side, and she groaned quietly. “Where am I?” she tried to call out. “Who is there?” Her voice was scratchy, and cracked under the attempted volume.

“Hun er våken,” she heard someone say, and she frowned. It sounded vaguely similar to her own language, but not quite familiar enough that she could make it out. She caught the first word, she, so… they were talking about her, weren’t they?

“Who are you?” she tried again.

A door behind her opened, catching her attention and making her quickly turn her head to look. The room began to spin with the speed she’d turned with, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“God morgen, Freydis,” the voice said, and her eyes opened to see a woman standing in front of her. The woman was dressed like no woman she’d seen before, in a strange white coat that came to her thighs, beyond which Freydis could see she wore loose pants, of a dark shade, and strange shoes which covered the front, sides, and back of her feet, but not the tops. “Ikke vær redd, vi er dine vinner, hm?��

She couldn’t understand enough of the woman’s words to respond, though she could catch not, we, and… friends? Was she saying they weren’t her friends? Her heart jumped again.

“What is happening?” the Viking woman tried to ask. When the woman put what was meant to be a calming hand on her arm, Freydis flinched and tried to jump away. A soft sob left her throat, one she hadn’t even realized had been building. “I don’t know what you want with me,” she started to say, “but please, just let me go. I will not cause you any trouble, I swear it.”

“Shh,” the woman said, beginning to stroke her hair. “Du er trygg her.”

You, and here. She wished they could understand each other, at the least. The woman looked toward the source of the strange sound, and sighed. It’s speed and frequency had increased. “Du er for stresset,” she mumbled. “Du må slappe av.”

“I cannot understand you,” Freydis tried to tell her, but the woman just shook her head.

“Du burde hvile,” she said. “Vi flytter deg til annet rom.”

The woman picked up a strange looking device, like a tube with some liquid in it, a long thing off the tip. Her breaths only became more shallow, more quick, as she brought the thing closer. “What is that?” Freydis asked. The woman didn’t answer, and she pushed the tip to her neck. A sharp pain immediately pierced her skin, and a soft cry came from the Viking woman. Something burned through her under her skin, making her gasp and writhe on the cold surface they had her strapped to.

“Hvil, Freydis,” the woman said. “Du vil føle deg bedre når du våkner igjen.”

The corners of Freydis’s vision were darkening, and she let out a quiet whine as she started to lose consciousness. Her chest ached in the worst way, feeling tight and strained. One last choked sob left her, and she descended into darkness.

—

When Freydis woke the next time, there was still darkness. Her head hurt, and her body felt stiff, but she could move. She was laid in a bed now, blankets laid over her body, her head resting on a pillow. It was better than what she’d been used to as a slave, the straw pallets she slept on, but not what she’d had as a Queen, as Ivar’s wife. The bed was small, with a firm mattress and flat pillow.

She sat up slowly, closing her eyes to combat again the way her head was spinning. Her hand went to her forehead as if that could help, brows creasing. Once she felt more steady, Freydis opened her eyes once again and started to look around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was nothing else in the room, it seemed, aside from her little bed. But that was better than that harsh surface from earlier. The woman rubbed the back of her neck, sighing.

At least now, Freydis could see she was alone. Without that woman in with her, she began to mumble softly to herself- or, really, to the gods. “You gods, you cannot leave me alone here,” she whispered. “Here I know no one, and I have nothing. If I must remain, help me to understand what it is I am to do here, and bring me a companion, so the loneliness will not set in and take my desire to do your will.” She sighed, running her hands over the wall, which felt much like the cold, hard surface she’d been strapped to earlier. It must have been made of the same material.

“I do not doubt that it is my fate to be here,” she continued, “and I will not question your judgement of my fate. I only ask it be made more bearable for me. For your servant, Freydis.”

At that time, she heard a clicking sound, the same sound that before had signalled a door opening. Her heart jumped as she whipped around, looking for whoever may have entered the space. This time, she was joined by a man, one who still dressed in no way she had ever seen. He wore similar pants to the woman, though his shoes covered his whole foot, and he had no strange white coat. Just a long sleeved shirt, a vest over that, and a… strange sort of bow fixed around his neck. What sort of clothing did they have there?

(It should be noted, at this time Freydis had not yet noticed the far stranger garment she wore- an almost nightgown sort of thing that stopped above her knees, and opened down the back except for the three or four places it was tied together.)

“Hei,” he greeted, smiling at her. Freydis lifted a brow in response, and subtly pressed herself closer to the wall. “Snakker du norsk?”

“I… do not fully understand you,” she told him, more confident without being tied down. “I can tell this once you have asked if I speak Norwegian, but only because the words are so similar to my own. But I do not speak your language.”

The man chuckled a little. “So my theory is correct, then,” he said. Her eyes widened as she recognized every word that came out of his mouth. “The Norwegian spoken today is similar to the Old Norse spoken in your time, similar enough much meaning can be understood, but not similar enough for the languages to be interchangeable. Fascinating.”

“What do you mean, ‘the Norwegian spoken today’?” Freydis questioned. “‘The Old Norse spoken in my time’? Hm? I don’t deny I am glad to hear my own language spoken, but you must understand the unnerving situation I find myself in. I do not know where I am, who you are- only that you are not my friends- and it would appear that I am being held captive. All I want, is-”

“Who has told you we are not your friends?” the man interrupted her. “Of course we are your friends. We’re- well, we’re the reason you’re alive, My Lady.”

“That woman who came to me when I was restrained. She said we were not friends. And then she took my consciousness.”

“Yes,” the man confirmed. “You were having a panic attack. We knew there’d be no use talking to you, explaining anything, if you were panicking. My colleague chose to sedate you so we could restore you to a calmer state, and explain then. She does not speak Old Norse, or perhaps she could have calmed you better than she did.”

“Perhaps I should not have been restrained, if calming me was your goal,” she pointed out flatly.

The man’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and her brow lifted. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But what we have done with you, has never been done before- not successfully. It has been attempted, but you are the first success.”

His words brought no comfort to Freydis, and her eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly to the side. “What did you do to me?” she questioned. Her voice had turned more firm than before, losing any of its naturally amicable tone, as she demanded this answer.

“We brought you back to life, of course.”

Everything froze at his words, including Freydis herself. She watched him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and then she laughed bitterly. “That is a cruel joke. If you want me to believe you have brought me back to life, then I must first have died. But I know I have not died, as I have not seen Valhalla. I do not believe you.”

The man sighed, and bit his lip. “Could I convince you to come with me, then?” he asked. “I can show you proof of my claims. Then, perhaps, you will let us help you.”

“If it is true you raised me from the dead, then you should be horrified with your actions. You have stolen me from Valhalla, and the gods, and interfered in fate. They will be angry.”

“Or, perhaps you have found a new fate with us,” the man suggested. “Come. I’ll introduce myself along the way.”

Perhaps against her better judgement, as she had nothing else she could do, Freydis walked to the man, and allowed him to take her from the small room she was in.

The man led her out into a long, bright hallway that felt similar in nature to the first room she’d woken in. Large, white rectangles seemed to light the space, and she creased her brows as she looked up at them. Something about them made her quite uncomfortable. She swallowed again.

“You have not told me where I am,” she commented. The man merely chuckled in response. “Do not laugh at me.”

“My apologies, Queen Freydis,” he said. “I was laughing because you’re right. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

Freydis narrowed her eyes at the man’s back. “No, I don’t,” she agreed harshly. “And I will not ask again. Where am I?”

“You are… in Germany, not that this will make any sense to you. You’d have known Germany as the Germanic tribes, which were part of the Frankish Empire.”

“Has it been taken from the Frankish?” she questioned. Her mind turned to her husband’s uncle, Duke Rollo, who had helped him take Kattegat. Freydis wondered vaguely if Rollo was alright.

The man chuckled again, but answered before he could anger the Viking woman behind him. “Many centuries ago, yes.”

A frown set on her lips as her brows creased harshly again. “I still do not believe you, that I have been dead before,” she said. “I fell unconscious at the Battle for Kattegat, and you have kidnapped me. Perhaps I am not even in the Germanic tribes.” She swallowed hard, making sure her voice did not shake, and no nerves were heard in her voice as she spoke again. “My husband will come and find me. You should return me to him before he destroys you and your people.”

She couldn’t see the way the man grimaced. History didn’t know that Ivar the Boneless murdered his wife after her betrayal. After all, she had been found sharing a tomb with him, buried like heroes together, and none of the sons of Ragnar had taken note of how Freydis had died- other than it was the day Björn Ironside took Kattegat. So, with her question, he was hit with the realisation that she didn’t know her husband was dead.

“He… is not a concern to us. We are safe, keeping you here,” he said vaguely. He hoped that Freydis wouldn’t realise anything about Ivar’s passing until she learned it truly was centuries later, and it would only make sense that he was gone, just as she once had been.

This caused Freydis to frown more deeply, and she suddenly stepped quicker to the man, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him into the wall. He immediately pulled away from her as best he could, though he did not escape her. His eyes squeezed tightly shut. Clearly, he was terrified of her.

“Ivar the Boneless will come for me,” she hissed out. “You would be wise to return me to him, entirely unharmed, before he raises up his Great Heathen Army again, to come and rescue his Queen.”

The man was shaking under her. Freydis wondered how little prepared these people must have been, if their men fell apart so easily. She wasn’t even a shieldmaiden, and yet he was terrified of her. “If- if we could get through this tour, I think you would see just what- what I mean about your husband, Your Highness.”

She huffed, and narrowed her eyes. “If you try anything, and he finds out, he will kill you. I’ll be sure of it.”

He nodded enthusiastically, still grimacing and trying to push himself into the wall. “Of course,” he said. “I’ve told you- we are your friends, here. We won’t hurt you.”

“See that you do not, or there will be Hel to pay.”

Eventually, he took Freydis into another strange room. Though this one was still different from all she had seen so far. It was filled with strange slabs of metal, all with moving images on them. People in the funny white coats, including the woman from earlier, were watching these moving images, and writing in a language she couldn’t read.

The images showed men and women strapped down the way she had been, the same strange devices put to their skin, sometimes multiple of them, and various liquids were pushed into them. The woman from earlier soon noticed Freydis’s presence, and she smiled, coming toward her. The Queen backed up immediately, and the woman’s face fell.

“Jeg antar at det er fornuftig at du ikke vil like meg, ikke sant?” she said. Freydis looked up to the man, as he had clearly understood her, and she didn’t understand this woman.

“Doktor Schmidt, sie spricht kein modernes Norwegisch,” the man said. This was yet another language, and Freydis frowned sharply. What the hell were they playing at.

“It is rude to speak in front of a guest in a way they cannot understand you,” she reminded him pointedly. “What are you saying to her, and what is she saying?”

The man turned to Freydis to answer, “I was telling her that you don’t understand modern Norwegian. She doesn’t speak the Old Norse you do, so I’m going to have to translate between you two, I suppose.”

“No need,” Freydis said. “She is the one who has brought me here, is she not? She put that strange liquid in me which took my consciousness. I will not speak to her.”

The man grimaced and relayed what she said to the woman, who pressed her lips together and sighed, before answering him. Freydis’s eyes watched his response intently.

“She is sad to hear this, but understands. Though, she asks your forgiveness for making you sleep earlier. You were beginning to have a panic attack, and she wanted to keep you from going through that.”

The harsh glare Freydis shot the woman revealed she did not have Freydis’s forgiveness. “Anxiety and panic are nothing I have not experienced before,” she said. “I would have been fine.”

Again, he spoke to the woman, but this time she didn’t stay to listen, her eyes catching on one of the moving images. She had seen herself flicker across it. An image of her sitting in a throne, eyes open yet unseeing, hovered in the upper right corner. She looked beautiful, if not… dead. Covering the whole thing was a moving image- the one in the corner was still- of people moving around a woman, strapped to and laid out on a cold… hard…

Gods above… she thought. It was her.

What Freydis was watching was footage of her being brought back to life by these scientists, who were testing various things on her corpse, monitoring her, until an order was given. A shot of something was put straight into her heart by one scientist, and then they all quickly cleared the room. It was then that she woke, and she watched the interaction she had had with the woman- now standing behind her- before she’d been rendered unconscious.

She watched as she was given a shot of a tranquiliser, and fell asleep, and then the image froze. “This is a monitor,” the man at her side said. “We play back videos on it, and can take notes on what we see in them. That video was of you being woken up for the first time- brought back to life. The picture in the corner there, that was your corpse as we found it. You were with your husband, Ivar the Boneless, in a tomb meant for heroes. Preserved. It was… it was incredible, really. To find you both so perfect, even after death. We were thrilled, naturally, and-”

Freydis stopped listening as another one of the ‘monitors’ shifted, and showed a different image that struck her to her core.

Ivar’s corpse, laid out on the same sort of table as she had been, and he was being injected with various things, just as she had been. She hadn’t seen that part of her own footage. She walked away from the scientists again, and up to the monitor, watching as an injection was given to him in his heart, just as had been done to her. The scientists in the room with him cleared out, and just as she lifted her fingers to the screen, her expression unreadable… Ivar the Boneless took a breath.

Freydis promptly passed out, and collapsed to the floor.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @zuzus-sun

#ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #history channel vikings #ivar's heathen army #vikings history #ivar #ivar x freydis

21 notes · View notes

hysterialevi · 4 years ago

Text

Hjarta | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THAT EVENING

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

“...It took me a whole month to track Geirmund to that fortress.” Ulfar said he continued his story, nursing a cup of mead in his hand. He was currently sitting across from Eivor at one of the tables in the longhouse, and entrancing him with a tale from his past.

His voice carried a comforting roughness in the serene bass of its tone, and even though the ambience of the feast around them was full of jovial conversation, Eivor found a unique tranquility in the intonation of Ulfar’s speech, similar to when he heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

“Did you go inside the fortress?” Eivor asked, taking a sip of his own mead.

Ulfar nodded. “Against my better judgement, yes. It was a foolish decision, though, if I’m being truthful. I was alone on that island with nothing but an axe, and the frozen wind had seeped so deep into my skin that I could hardly feel a thing. But I refused to let Geirmund escape a second time. So, I snuck into the fortress and prepared myself to kill him for good. What caught me off guard though, was how empty it was on the inside.”

The younger man shrugged. “What happened to all his men?”

Ulfar chuckled. “I asked myself the same thing. I went in there expecting an army of warriors to come charging at me, and yet, I came upon no more than the dead remains of a battlefield, littered with the bodies of Geirmund’s people.”

“Someone already killed them?”

“Indeed, but I did not know who. And back then, I didn’t care to find out. The only thing that concerned me was putting an end to Geirmund’s life. So, I carried on with my quest and searched for the little rat. He was nowhere to be found inside the fortress, but I ended up finding a trail that led outside of its walls, and towards a nearby waterfall. The footsteps he left behind all looked cluttered and erratic, almost as if he had been running from something.”

Eivor found himself intrigued. “Did you ever find him?”

A twinkle sparkled in Ulfar’s eye. “I did. After what felt like ages of searching, I finally located Geirmund at the peak of the waterfall, surrounded by nothing but ice and snow. He was sitting on his knees and quivering in the wind, staring at me with a pair of eyes that nearly bulged out of their sockets. His tongue hung lifelessly from the pits of his mouth, and a large gash separated the flesh on his throat, causing blood to dribble down the front of his clothes.”

Ulfar leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the look on Eivor’s face. “Holding him in place... was a woman unlike any I’d ever seen. She stood behind Geirmund like a giant in human form, and carried a ferocious-looking weapon in her grip. Her gaze was wild with the rush of a fresh kill, and her teeth were bared like the fangs of a wolf. She took one glance at me, and then hurled Geirmund off the edge without saying a word.” Ulfar’s lips stretched into a smile. “...That was the moment I fell in love with Linnea.”

The young man chuckled. “Wait, a woman slits a man’s throat and throws him off a waterfall... and you fall in love with her?”

Ulfar shrugged. “You wouldn’t? I suppose I’ve always had a strange taste in women. It turned out for the best though. Linnea and I were wed two years later, and I finally found true peace with the world. She tempered the fury that burned inside me, but also kept it alive. She was my guide in a storm that never seemed to fade away.”

Eivor fidgeted with the straps on one of his bracers, recalling some of his childhood memories. “I don’t remember that much about Linnea. She died when I was still so young.”

A wave of nostalgia washed over the older man. “Linnea loved you. She didn’t get the chance to know you that well, but... she knew the pain of losing her parents too. In fact, she was one of the people who encouraged Arngeir to take you in.” Ulfar let out a sorrowful sigh, turning away from Eivor. “All she wanted was to ensure that you had a better life than her. I just wish she could’ve watched you grow up.”

“How did she die anyway?” Eivor asked. “What happened to her?”

Ulfar gestured loosely at the scene around them. “...The same thing that happens to most people these days. Kjotve. He cornered her in the sea whilst she was out on a raid, and slew her in the end.”

Eivor frowned out of sympathy. “...I’m sorry.”

The other man shook his head. “Don’t be. Linnea may have departed from this realm, but she now awaits me in Valhalla, roaming the afterlife of a warrior at the Allfather’s side. I couldn’t be more proud of her.”

“And do you still miss her? Even after all this time?”

“Of course. Though, I must admit, it’s becoming harder and harder for me to remember what she was like as a person. As the years have gone by, I fear that Linnea has become no more than a memory to me. I’ve... almost forgotten how I used to interact with her. How we used to talk. If you were to put me in front of her at this very moment, I’m not sure I would know what to say.”

Ulfar cleared his throat and decided to flip the subject to Eivor, clearly feeling somewhat mournful at the mention of his wife.

“And what about you, Eivor?” He questioned. “Have you found someone you love?”

“You mean in the same way you love Linnea? No, not yet.”

“Well, you’re still young. You still have plenty of time. And even if you don’t find someone, there’s more to do in life anyway. All that matters is that you do it with honor.”

Ulfar finished the rest of his drink, allowing the alcohol to sheathe him in warmth. “Ah, but this old man has bored you with enough of his tales for one night. Go on and enjoy the feast, little cub. We can always talk later. I’d like to be alone for now.”

Eivor nodded and stood up from the table, taking his cup of mead with him. “I understand. I think I’ll go get some fresh air for the moment. We’ll speak another time. Until then, skål.”

The other man raised his drink. “Skål, Eivor.”

Leaving Ulfar to his thoughts, the blond viking swiftly removed himself from the old warrior’s company and returned to the bustling activity of the feast, immediately finding himself in the midst of jubilant merrymaking.

All around him, Eivor saw people from both the Raven and Bear Clans singing cheerfully as the mead soothed their sea-weary bones, allowing their minds to break free from their restraints for one night.

A symphony of laughter could be heard bouncing off the wooden confines of the longhouse as their celebrations drifted off into the evening, and sitting amongst all the wondrous chaos at the front of the hall, Eivor spotted Arngeir conversing with Styrbjorn, accompanied by Thora and Randvi.

Something that seemed odd to Eivor however, was the fact that Styrbjorn’s son was nowhere to be found. He assumed that Sigurd would’ve been spending the entire day wandering around with his new betrothed, but the man had made himself scarce.

He was probably bored of circling political discussions all day long, especially considering that there was a wedding coming up in the next two weeks. And the fact that Randvi was here by herself led Eivor to believe that she might’ve felt the same way.

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

Making his way out of the longhouse, Eivor rounded a corner at the end of the hall and stepped through an ornate archway, only to come to a screeching halt when he suddenly rammed into someone.

The mead in his cup went spilling over the rim due to the impact and splashed everywhere onto the person’s clothes, causing both of them to let out a surprised grunt. Eivor’s tankard went tumbling to the ground shortly after the bump, and once the pandemonium finally settled, Eivor found himself standing there in silence, sheepishly trying to utter out an apology.

“Shit...!” Eivor cursed, waving his hand dry. “F-Forgive me. I’m a clumsy fool. I didn’t see you--”

The young man paused abruptly, astonished by the person he had just run into.

“--there.”

Standing on the opposite side of the archway, Eivor saw a tall man dressed in an opulent gambeson gazing down at the mess that now stained his clothes, attempting to dry himself off. His long hair stood out from the blackness of the night with a distinct shade of red, and his eyes practically pierced through the shadows due to their glacial tint.

His forehead was decorated with a uniquely-shaped rune resembling the image of a tree, and on his back, Eivor spotted an impressive longsword resting proudly in its sheathe.

It was a fierce-looking weapon that he would’ve loved to wield himself someday, but for the moment, Eivor was simply praying that the man wouldn’t use it.

Pinching his shirt, the stranger pulled the soaked fabric away from his skin and gave Eivor a neutral expression, surprisingly unbothered by the incident.

“Have no fear, my friend.” He replied with a sincere smile. “They are only clothes.”

Eivor felt the sudden need to ask for his name, admittedly not recognizing him. “Are you new here? Your face doesn’t seem familiar.”

The man nodded. “I’m from the Raven Clan.”

“Ah, I see.” Eivor said in understanding. He reached a hand out. “Well, my name is Eivor. I’m from the Bear Clan. I promise, not everyone’s as clumsy as me.”

The stranger displayed a hint of hesitation, almost as if he didn’t want to share his identity.

“...Gunnar.” He finally responded, shaking Eivor’s hand in a firm grip.

“It’s good to meet you, Gunnar. Again, I apologize for the mess.”

Gunnar waved a pardoning hand. “No need to worry. I can always replace them.”

Eivor shrugged. “Well, I still feel like I should repay you somehow. Is there anything I could help you with?”

The other man thought for a moment, stroking his beard in silence.

“Well, if you insist on repaying me... perhaps, there is something you could do. What say you to a walk around the village?”

The reply took Eivor by surprise. “A... walk?”

“I know it may sound like an odd request,” Gunnar conceded, “but I fear that I haven’t been able to see as much of Bjornheimr as I’d like. I was originally on my way back to the feast after a few minutes outside, but I think I’d like to spend more time in the nature of this place. Care to join me?”

Although a tad confused by Gunnar’s unique proposition, Eivor had to admit that he was intrigued. He was definitely in need of some fresh air himself after being trapped in the longhouse for a couple hours, and he couldn’t deny that his heart skipped a few beats at the sight of his new friend.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

“Alright, Gunnar.” Eivor agreed. “I’ll walk with you.”

The man beamed gladly, beckoning his companion to follow him through the archway.

“Wonderful. Where shall we go?”

Eivor stepped in front of him, taking the lead. “Follow me. There’s a place I can show you. It’s not too far away from the longhouse. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m right behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

Sauntering through the snow-smothered paths of Bjornheimr, Eivor accompanied Gunnar as the two of them strolled leisurely under the clear night sky, steadily distancing themselves from the boisterous sounds of carousing that bled out of the longhouse.

At the moment, there was no one else occupying the frozen roads that twisted their way throughout the town, and the only other creatures that seemed to be roaming around were a handful of hares and birds, scuttling away back to their homes.

It would’ve seemed lonely to Eivor on any other given day, but with Gunnar there to provide him some company, the man felt a celestial grip of solace holding gently onto his heart.

Eivor couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but something about his new friend seemed to put his mind at peace. A soothing aura clung onto Gunnar with every step he took, and a sense of nobility radiated from his naturally tall stature. He gazed at the auroras shimmering above them as if he had traversed the very lights himself, and despite the silence, his mere presence alone was enough to send Eivor’s head bursting with a multitude of thoughts.

Just who exactly was this man?

“May I ask you a question?” Gunnar suddenly said, pulling Eivor back to reality.

The younger man nodded, his boots crunching in the snow as they walked. “Go ahead. What’s on your mind?”

“You said your name was Eivor,” his friend recalled. “You wouldn’t happen to be Arngeir’s son, would you?”

Eivor smirked. “Ah, so he’s told you about me already. I hope he left all the bad parts out.”

Gunnar chuckled. “He uttered nothing but the highest of praises whenever your name was mentioned, I assure you. Why else do you think I asked you to join me?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Though, I must admit, you look different than I expected. There’s quite a contrast between you and your siblings.”

“I wasn’t born into the family like my sisters,” Eivor explained. “Arngeir adopted me when I was nine winters old. My parents...” his voice sank a bit, “...had just been killed when he took me in. By Kjotve.”

Gunnar sighed in empathy. “...Ah. I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eivor was quiet in response, leading the other man to feel a pang of guilt clutching him in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” Gunnar quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry. I... I should’ve known better than to bring it up.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Eivor reassured. “It’s just... strange to talk about, I suppose. I love my new family with all my heart, but... part of me wonders what would’ve happened if my parents were still here. How my life would be. It’s a question that’s hounded me for years.”

Gunnar allowed himself to open up a bit. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m also familiar with the loss of a parent.”

The younger man lifted a brow. “You are?”

“I’m afraid so. My mother succumbed to a battle wound when I was only a child. I don’t remember much of her, but I still think of her often. Sometimes, I find myself sharing the same thoughts as you.”

Eivor’s tone softened in heartache. “Then you understand.”

“Indeed,” Gunnar replied. “Many people told me that my mother was in a better place after she left this realm, but... I don’t know. Surely, the best place a mother could be is at her child’s side?”

“I’d say you’re right,” Eivor agreed. “My father gave up the chance to enter Valhalla in order to save me.”

“Then it just proves that nothing can surpass that type of love. I suppose we should be grateful.” Gunnar paused for a second, breaking out of his melancholic state. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean for this conversation to take such a grim turn. My father says I’m too forward with my thoughts sometimes.”

Eivor scoffed in amusement. “Please, be as forward as you’d like. We could use more of that nowadays. Nothing irritates me more than running around in semantic circles with someone, but I digress. We’ve reached the place I wanted to show you. Come on. It’s just up here.”

Leading Gunnar up a hill, Eivor guided his friend to the same peak where he’d been relaxing earlier that day, eager to see his reaction to the view that sat in front of it. The sun wasn’t there to illuminate all the corners of its beauty much to Eivor’s dismay, but he still wished for his companion to take in the sight.

“Here we are,” Eivor said, coming to a halt at the top of the hill. “What do you think?”

Gunnar froze in his tracks, absolutely amazed by the remarkable view.

Stretching out for miles in front of him, Gunnar saw nothing but a sea of Northern Lights gently gliding along the edge of the sky, kissing its divine darkness with a mystical green glow. Hints of magenta sat delicately atop their beams like a crown fashioned by the gods, and the colors elegantly danced with each other like waves in an ocean.

Countless stars could be seen dotting the vast void hanging above them, and lying calmly just underneath the horizon, a plethora of waves softly caressed the saltwater tides, brushing against the shore in a rhythmic motion that seemed to hypnotize the nature around it.

It wasn’t quite as striking as when the sun’s light managed to hit its surface during the day, but Gunnar felt a transcendent sense of awe blooming his chest nonetheless. Something about the way the mountains were formed seemed to draw him closer to the sky, and for a brief moment, part of him even forgot he was still standing in Bjornheimr.

“It’s... beautiful.” He whispered in astonishment. “I’ve never seen such a clear view of the fjords before. Not even in Fornburg.”

Eivor took a seat on the bench and stretched his legs out, allowing himself to relax as he marveled at the sight in front of him.

“It’s definitely something to behold. I spend most of my mornings up here. I’ll usually come here to meditate, or to pray, or to think. It helps clear the mind. I only wish you could see it during the day.”

Gunnar sat down beside the other man, tilting his head up towards the sky.

“I can understand why you come here so often. The solitude on this hill -- it provides a feeling of peace that I’ve not experienced in ages. I wish we had more places like this back home.”

Eivor turned to his friend. “Things are stressful over in Fornburg, I take it?”

Gunnar sighed. “Very much so. Especially with Kjotve’s fortress standing so close to our shores. We have many capable warriors looking after the village while we’re gone, but... I still question our king’s decision to leave it unattended during such a dire time.”

A sudden thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “Hey, Gunnar. You’ve asked me a lot of questions so far, but do you mind if I ask you one?”

“Go ahead.”

The younger man took a second to think about how to phrase his next sentence. “...What can you tell me about your prince?”

The question seemed to catch Gunnar by surprise. “Our prince? You mean Sigurd?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard a few things about him already, but I’d like to know more. He’s going to marry my sister in two weeks, after all. I’m curious to hear what kind of a man he is.”

Gunnar struggled to think of an answer, unsure of what to say. “Well... people say he’s a great warrior.”

Eivor shook his head in disappointment. “Ah... that’s what they say about everyone these days. It means nothing to me anymore. I want to know what Sigurd’s like as a person; as a husband. Do you think he’ll treat my sister right? And with respect?”

Gunnar let out a deep breath, finally deciding to abandon the pretense he had been holding up.

“You wish to hear the truth? The truth is... Sigurd is human like everyone else. His father describes him as a ruthless warrior driven by an undying ambition, but I fear that he likes to embellish his tales sometimes.”

That piqued Eivor’s interest. “And the other people in your clan? What do they say about him?”

“Some people say he’s charismatic. Others say he’s serious, or sad, or angry.” Gunnar hung his head low in a humble manner, forming his own opinion. “...I believe he’s all four.”

“Do you consider him to be a man of honor?”

The older man paused, attempting to conceal the same hesitation he showed back in the longhouse.

“...I do. Sigurd’s judgement may not always be the best, but I’ve never known him to be a man who indulges in the suffering of others. He’s a man with many flaws, and...” Gunnar gazed downwards at his hands, fidgeting with them in timidness, “...and I just hope that others can see he does have a good heart. Even if he doesn’t know how to show it.”

Eivor took on a more serious tone, latching onto the honesty in Gunnar’s voice. “And Randvi? Do you think he’ll do right by her?”

“Yes,” he answered sincerely. “I know he held some reservations when the king first told him of this marriage, but I believe Sigurd will do everything he can to keep your sister safe. He understands the necessity of this alliance. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

The younger man found a hint of relief in that statement and finally decided to let go of the subject, allowing himself to be free of his worries for a minute. Part of him suspected that Gunnar was simply telling him what he wanted to hear, but there was an undeniable sort of candor hiding in his speech that Eivor felt naturally compelled to believe him.

Though, he couldn’t deny that he found it rather strange how Gunnar’s mood shifted so suddenly. It was only a few moments ago that the man was parading around like a king in a crowd of peasants, and yet... all it took was one mention of Sigurd’s name to shatter that facade entirely. He now carried himself like a man being tried before God, and stared at the ground in a despondent fashion.

It only made Eivor wonder who Sigurd was to Gunnar.

“Sigurd?” A third voice called through the darkness, causing Eivor and Gunnar to jolt their heads towards the source. “Sigurd! Are you there?”

Trudging his way up the hill, an unfamiliar man abruptly emerged from the shadows and came trekking through the snow, approaching Gunnar as he tried to speak through labored breathing.

“Sigurd!” He greeted upon seeing the man. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father requests your presence back at the longhouse. There’s something he wishes to speak with you about.”

Sigurd exchanged a brief glance with Eivor at the sound of his true name before quickly turning away from him, clearly unhappy that his friend had just exposed his real identity.

“Thank you, Dag.” He replied solemnly. “I’ll go see him right away.”

Dag offered no more than a formal nod in response before hurriedly taking his leave from the scene and backtracking towards the longhouse, eager to return to the warmth of the feast.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained seated beside his new friend as the younger man came to a sudden realization, finally understanding why their talk had caused “Gunnar’s” demeanor to switch so drastically.

“...You’re Sigurd?” Eivor asked, his expression blank with shock.

The prince sighed quietly in remorse, linking his hands together out of anxiety.

“I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to be deceptive, but... it’s difficult to get a genuine reaction from people when they know you’re a prince.” He shifted in his seat slightly. “In truth, Gunnar is the blacksmith of my clan. I only hid behind his name because I wished to take a break from all the political discourse for a moment. I hope I haven’t tarnished your impression of me.”

Eivor shook his head, resting a hand on his knee. “No, not at all. It must be a tiring endeavor, having to constantly pry the honesty out of people’s fake smiles. I think I can understand, being the son of a jarl myself.”

Sigurd smiled brightly, relieved that he hadn’t ruined the other man’s opinion of him. “It gladdens me to hear it. Not everyone is so willing to lend their ear as you are, Eivor. I... I enjoyed having this conversation with you.”

The prince rose to his feet, finally ready to return to his royal duties.

“Well, I suppose I should see my father before he sends out a search party. Thank you for spending the evening with me.” A bashful tint kissed the surface of Sigurd’s cheeks. “I’d... love to see you again. If you’re alright with it, that is.”

Eivor stood up from the bench, chuckling at his friend’s shyness. “I’d like that too. And I promise, I won’t spill my drink all over you again.”

The older man smirked. “Can’t wait to see my father’s reaction when I return to him soaked in mead. He’ll probably be mortified. Not exactly a good way for a prince to present himself, you see.”

Eivor shrugged humorously. “On the contrary, I’d say it’s the best.”

Sigurd laughed heartedly at that. “Well, let’s just hope he shares your point of view. I don’t fancy bearing the brunt of his wrath today. In the meantime, though...” he softened his voice, admittedly wishing he could stay a bit longer, “take care of yourself, Eivor. It was a pleasure getting to speak with you.”

The man mirrored his affection. “You too, Sigurd. I hope I get the chance to see you again soon.”

“Don’t hesitate to approach me if you do. I’d love to spend more time with you. Until then...” he shifted awkwardly in place, almost as if he had to restrain himself from giving Eivor a hug, “...farewell, my friend. And may the Allfather watch over you. These are dangerous times for all of us.”

Turning on his heel, Sigurd reluctantly parted ways with Eivor and slipped off into the night, vanishing behind the thick layers of darkness surrounding them. He had no more than a few scattered torches to fend off the shadows that threatened to encompass the path, and his limbs were somewhat stiff from having been in the cold for so long.

Despite his rather uncomfortable situation however, Sigurd left Eivor’s company feeling more fulfilled than he had for the entire day. Something about the man’s spirit seemed to harmonize with him unlike anything else, and it honestly frightened him somewhat how easily he opened up to the man.

It wasn’t normal for Sigurd to pour out the contents of his heart to a complete stranger within minutes of meeting them, and yet, part of him felt as if he had already known Eivor for his entire life. There was an indescribable force binding them together, and it only seemed to strain more the further Sigurd distanced himself from his friend.

As for Eivor, the man couldn’t help but wonder if this was the “chaos” Ingrida foretold. Initially, he assumed that no harm could come of this wedding considering the motive behind its arrangement, but now... he understood what the seeress meant.

The war she spoke of would not originate from within the marriage, but rather from outside it. It wouldn’t be forged in the fires of bloodshed or in the heat of battle, but rather in the defiance of the Nornir’s plans.

It would start with a spark, and spread until it couldn’t be contained.

“Dammit...” Eivor muttered with a sigh, pacing around the hill. He wanted nothing more than to pursue a friendship with Sigurd, but the pragmatic side of him knew it would end in mayhem.

Sigurd had already been promised to Randvi. He would soon be a married man. He couldn’t afford to have Eivor distracting him from the sidelines, or tempting him with something so problematic.

It would clash directly with all the plans Styrbjorn and Arngeir had in mind for their people. They had a war to focus on with Kjotve’s men, and couldn’t bear the risk of brewing even more conflict between their clans.

But even then... Eivor knew what he felt, and he knew it would be pointless to fight against it. He had seen for himself how this kind of force could shake the very earth beneath their feet, and he assumed it would only be a matter of time until it triumphed.

Still, Eivor had no intentions of speeding along the process. He had a responsibility to carry out for his people, and right now, their safety was depending on the sanctity of this marriage. He would have to do his best to stifle the affection in his heart, and keep things on their course.

It was what the gods intended, he presumed, and the last thing he wanted was to interfere.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

23 notes · View notes

kate-read-that · 4 years ago

Text

Scandinavians believed when a worthy warrior died in combat, a valkyrie would pick his soul and take him to Valhalla to serve Odin.

Dimitri is in hell. He can hear his brothers screaming around him, but he can't see them in the fog. He's killed so many men he can't count them an he's badly hurt, blood stains the fabric on his chest.

He's dizzy. He tries to force himself to stay standing but his legs fail and he falls to the ground. He tries to remember his sisters' faces. His mother's. Yeva's. They need him. But his eyes close mercilessly and he drowns in the darkness.

_Wake up Einherjer, we have to present you tonight. You've already made us wait enough.

The voice seems entertained. Dimitri tries to open his eyes but they don't obey. His body doesn't answer neither, but his brain seems to work just fine. He's laying in a cloud, or something similar. He can smell incense, and flowers. He hears voices somewhere close, but muffled, and music. He feels someone's breath on him.

_You seemed a good choice when I first saw you, but all you do is sleep -the voice sounds a little petty now, and he can imagine a pout in the girl's voice (it's definitely a woman, he thinks)-. I bet you died on battle because you were too lazy to duck an arrow or something.

What?

His eyes open in shock, and he closes them again. It's too bright. The woman laughs and caresses his hair. It feels nice.

Dimitri sighs and forces his eyes to open slowly. He's in a bed, so perfect it doesn't seem real. The blue ceiling above him has constellations painted with golden ink.

_About time Bogatyr, I thought i would have to drag you out of bed.

He turns to the voice and stops breathing. The...the woman before him is the most beautiful creature he's seen. But she's not a woman. He's sure because her face is different, somehow, more elegant, and her skin glows and... well, she has wings. She focus her black eyes on his face and smiles, and Dimitri can see a pair of tiny white fangs.

_Finnally! Welcome to Valhalla. Yes, you're dead. I'm sure this is very traumatic for you. I'm a valkyrie. Well, your valkyrie. Born to fight alongside you serving Odin and Freya eternally. Please, tell me you're not an skeptical. They’re a nightmare to explain this to.

Dimitri is hallucinating. Or, he's having a very weird dream. He sits up in the bed and looks around. He's in a beautiful room full of luxurious furniture, and there's an open door that seems to connect with a balcony. Through the door he can see the night sky.

_I... what? This is not real.

The creature, sit a few inches away from him, rolls her eyes and hands him a cup of water. He eyes it doubtfully but he's so thirsty he'll take anything. As he drinks, the beautiful woman caresses his chest and analyses every inch of him.

That's when Dimitri realises her skin doesn't actually glow, but she's covered in intricate golden tattoos from her neck down. Which, considering she's hardly wearing any clothes, is a lot. He looks away.

_Your new clothes are in that trunk. I'd dress you happily -she winks with malice-, but I don't want to rush things. We have all eternity and Odin isn't a patient guy.

There's no more water in the cup for him to hide, so Dimitri guesses he should talk instead of look baffled.

_I died? -she nods- and now I'm in... Valhalla. I pray with my family, but... I just... I need a minute.

He won't ask why me. He's not prideful but he knows he is... was one of the best warriors in his clan. He knows valkyrie pick up the best soldiers for Odin, and then... valkyrie and warrior are bound for eternity.

He looks at her carefully. Her hair is dark and braided in a thousand different ways. It's beautiful. Her eyes are black and her skin is a shade of brown he had never seem on a woman. Her wings are small, at least for him, but they are white and gold and make her look even more dangerous than she already seems. He notices five dagues in different cases over her body and smiles.

_You're my valkyrie? Are you... are you happy with that?

He doesn't know if valkyrie can choose their warriors, and since he looks bloody and... dead, he's not feeling really valkyrie-mate material right now.

She arches a brow as she answers.

_As soon as we get you washed up and brush that hair I'll be. I had to undress you to heal your wounds and you're pretty amazing under those ugly things.

She wiggles her hand in front of his face for him to see the blue fire, the healing fire valkyries have, according to the myths. Wait.

_Heal me? I thought I was dead!

_You are, but your body rises to Valhalla when it gets burnt at your funeral and joins your soul. I had to patch you up or you'd be a porous eniherjer, and that's not very alluring for your valkyrie.

She gets up from the bed and Dimitri forces himself to look at her eyes. Her clothes are scarce at best and she looks scary and powerful and beautiful and Dimitri’s body definitely works in all fields, for his own shame. She turns to him and smiles knowingly before shaking her head.

_Stop looking at me like that or we won't make it to dinner. You arrived yesterday, so you have to drink from Odin's wine soon to gain immortality, or your body will start rotting and being all disgusting.

_I left people I cared abut behind -he knows he sound like a child, but his family needed him. It's not her fault but he's just... grieving alive people? That makes no sense.

She frowns -were you married or something? Her wings shake in what seems an unconscious movement.

He shakes his head- My sisters, my mother and my grandma...

_They'll miss you, and it'll suck. But when they die you'll be allowed to see them again. It's not perfect but World's ending isn't going to be fought alone you know?

He doesn't answer. She sighs and sits back next to him.

_Loyalty to family is honourable. There's nothing you can do now, but you must know they'll be alright. Not right now, but they'll be. And I'm kinda happy i dont have to worry about some dead wife coming over to claim my man.

He laughs at her tone and she holds his hand. She's warm and he feels a bolt where they touch. He has the sudden feeling everything will go alright as long as she's with him.

_I don't even know your name.

The woman seems surprised at first but then answers proudly-My name is Rose, but you can give me a new name if you wish, like I could change yours if I wanted. I like Dimitri, though. Though I may call you Bogatyr, as well-she winks an eye and smiles again.

He caresses her cheek and feels a warmth he's never experienced outside her family-I like Rose, too.

#romitri #rose x dimitri #rose hathaway #Dimitri belikov #va #vampire academy #norse au #valkyrie au #fantasy au

49 notes · View notes

anonwriter27 · 4 years ago

Text

Trust in Me Ch13

Here’s the latest chapter! I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas :)

Thor had every reason to be worried.

He knew his brother would not die, not while his quick wit was still around. However, Thor knew what would become of Loki should he grow weak. During Loki’s interrogation on Asgard, Odin put him through countless trials, testing his strength and stealth; as Loki grew weaker, his heritage began to show. Glimmers of blue could be found in the cracks of his constructed, composed appearance.

Thor had shared the information about Loki’s heritage with Bruce, purely for medical reasons. Tony had often queried why Loki appeared cold on Friday’s scans, but Thor always shook off the questions.

But now, as Thor watched over his brother’s sleeping form, he could see the signature Jotun etchings making themselves visible on Loki’s skin.

Once the team arrived back at the tower Loki was rushed straight to the medical wing. Bruce had summarised that while Loki had lost a lot of blood, it was not enough to kill a God. Loki would just be weakened for a few days, maybe a week.

The team left Loki to rest, Natasha and Steve were suspicious of Loki’s altering appearance but the concerned look on Thor’s face kept them quiet.

Thor was left alone to sit with his brother.

“I’m not sure if you can hear me brother. But you’ve always said that my voice is so loud, it would disturb those resting in Valhalla.” Thor chuckled.

Thor watched as his brother slowly turned a darker shade of azure. “I know how you get when confronted with your past. But you have made such progress brother, do not let this put you back in your shell.”

Thor had watched his brother flourish in recent weeks. Loki had become comfortable enough to take part in group discussions. He had willingly made friends, taken part in group activities, he was even smitten with a beautiful young woman. But when confronted with the truth of his birth, Loki became scared. Like a wild animal backed into a corner, Loki felt the judgemental gaze of those around him; surrounding and suffocating him, and when backed into a corner Loki always fought his way out.

Whether it be with knives or words dripping in venom, Loki could strike the most damning of blows. That was what Thor feared, he worried his brother would lash out at the wrong person.

Thor held Loki’s hand, knowing the trickster would never allow him to do so when conscious, praying that the worst would not come.

Y/N was worried sick when Nat told her what had happened. She rushed past the team, ignoring the knowing glance from some, and the confused looks of few. Before she could knock on the door, it swung open to reveal Thor.

“I heard panicked footsteps, I assumed it was you.” Thor explained upon seeing her startled.

Y/N reached up on the tip of her toes to try and look past Thor’s large frame, “How is he? Can I see him?” She asked.

Thor closed the door behind him, keeping himself and Y/N in the corridor outside Loki’s room.

Y/N looked up confused, “Thor?”

“Would you sit with me a moment?” Thor said, gesturing to the small seating area a little way down the hall.

Y/N nodded, growing more and more panicked by the second. Nat had told her Loki would be okay, but what if that had changed? What if there was something that Bruce had missed in his examination? Why did Thor look so worried?

Thor took a deep breath and began, “What do you know of Loki’s heritage?”

Y/N thought back, “Umm, I know he’s adopted… I remember the name Laufey from the reports during the incident in New York. I assume he’s a relative…?”

Thor nodded, “Laufey is Loki’s birth-father. He was also king of the Jotunheim before Loki killed him.”

Y/N nodded slowly, “He killed his father?” she asked quietly.

“It’s quite complicated. You see, Loki and I had always been raised to think of the Jotuns as the enemy. We were told stories of their monstrous deeds when we were children.”

“I see…but what does that…” Y/N began.

“The Jotun’s have distinctive features, characteristics that Odin demonised. Loki has disguised his Jotun appearance for many years now; but when he’s hurt or weak it begins to show.” Thor explained.

Y/N didn’t question Thor any further and decided she needed to see Loki to understand what was going on. She made her way to his room and slowly opened the door.

What greeted Y/N was surprising but not shocking. She walked over to his bedside and took a good look at him.

He looked beautiful. Loki was always handsome, even when he first woke up dishevelled and disorientated. But this was another type of beauty; his skin was a beautiful shade of blue, like a thin layer of ice over a clear lake. His skin was marked with intricate patterns, they seemed tribal yet elegant. It would appear that in any from Loki looked regal, a born prince.

She reached out to hold his hand, slightly startled by how cold he was. She looked to Thor for explanation.

“Jotun’s run much colder than we do.” He offered.

Y/N thought back to the countless times Loki had felt cold under her touch, why had she never questioned it?

“This form of his,” she started, “how does Loki feel about this?”

Thor sighed, “I’m afraid Loki has never accepted his heritage. He will be embarrassed having been seen in this form. So I beg you, if you are frightened then…”

“Frightened?” She interrupted, “Why would he frighten me?”

The innocence of her question and the confusion in her eyes put Thor at ease. Thor could relax knowing she wouldn’t run away from his brother. Thor had wrongly judged the Tatum girl, he could see that now.

They sat by Loki’s bedside for the rest of the night, waiting for the prince to wake up. It was only when Loki’s skin returned to its usual appearance, signalling his growing strength, that Y/N allowed herself to sleep.

Loki woke up early the next morning, he felt groggy, but the sight of the tower’s walls relaxed him. He was certain he would never admit that out loud.

He looked to his left and saw his brother, back against the wall, head tilted back and snoring. Loki could not help but smirk, knowing his brother would lose a fair few admirer if they saw him in this state.

Loki then glanced to his right and smiled instantly. There sat his little companion, wrapped in her blanket, and curled up into an uncomfortable looking ball. Her book on Norse mythology lay half open on the armrest.

As if sensing his presence, she began to stir. Upon seeing his smiling face, she leapt up from her seat and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Thank goodness you’re awake.” She fussed over him, stroking the hair away from his eyes.

He chuckled, “I was perfectly fine. The only thing wounded was my pride.”

Y/N curved her brow knowingly, “And your shoulder.”

Loki conceded, “Yes, my shoulder. But I came back.”

She giggled softly, “Yes you did. You kept your promise.” She leant in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

Loki lifted his right arm to hold her in place before she could move away. “I’m not made of glass darling, kiss me properly.”

“Your brother is sleeping right over there.” She whispered, her attempts at wriggling away becoming futile.

“Brother you’re awake!” Thor boomed.

Loki rolled his eyes, “Speak of the devil.”

The three of you sat together for some time, Thor boasting about Loki’s heroics on the battlefield. Loki never particularly enjoyed basking in the afterglow of battle quite like his brother, but the proud look in Y/N’s eyes made him feel good. Dare he say it, he felt like a hero.

“You looked so frail brother; I feared your wounds were far worse. But like always you survived!”

Loki chuckled along with them, though his mind chose to focus on his brother’s chosen word, frail.

“But look at you, back to your usual mischievous self. We can add this to the list of stories we have Loki…”

“Back?” Loki interrupted, “Back to my usual self? What does that mean?”

Thor looked like a deer caught in headlights, “Well I just meant…”

“What exactly was I before I returned to my usual mischievous self?” Loki demanded.

Y/N was uncomfortable with the quick change in atmosphere, but she did not wish to lie to Loki. It’s better he knows now what they saw, rather than find out further down the line.

“When you were sleeping, you were in your Jotun form.” Y/N admitted.

Y/N had yet to see Loki angry. She had seen him annoyed or perturbed, but never angry. She feared that was about to change now.

Loki’s face suddenly went blank, devoid of all emotion; Thor sighed knowing what was to come. His brother concealed his emotions when enraged; then, like the crack of a whip, the pain and aggression would come out in one fell swoop.

“Leave Thor.” Loki spoke with little emotion.

“Brother please…” Thor began to plead.

“Get out!”

Y/N flinched at Loki’s shout and looked to Thor for guidance on how to handle the situation. But Thor knew better than to question his brother in this state. Instead, Y/N watched Thor’s retreating form, leaving her with her angry God.

After a minute, maybe two, Loki spoke. “You too.”

She almost misheard him; he spoke so quietly. “Loki can we not discuss this?”

“Discuss what?” Loki snapped, “Discuss my monstrous from? Discuss how disgusted you are?”

Y/N shook her head quickly and reached for his hand, “You could never disgust me Loki. Thor explained the misconception of the Jotuns…”

Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled darkly, “There are no misconceptions, Thor is foolishly attempting to put you at ease. We are monsters, Y/N, and you’re a fool to think otherwise.”

His words were beginning to cut her, but she stayed strong, she wouldn’t let him think this way of himself.

“Loki, I do not believe you’re a monster…” she began, but Loki cut her off.

“What do you get out of this? Are you hoping to improve your own image?” He sneered, his voice rising as he spoke. “The innocent young maiden who managed to tame a beast, is that what you want them all to think!?”

“Loki please.” She pleaded, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“You’re like the rest of them, craving approval from you’re betters. Get out my sight.” He demanded, ripping his hand out of her grip.

Y/N felt heartbroken, but she would not anger him even more. She grabbed her book and blanket and quietly left the room. She stood in the hallway, for some time, not entirely sure what to do now. Despite his cruel words, she did not want to leave him. That was when Y/N spotted the chairs she and Thor had previously sat on, just a small distance from the room Loki was resting in.

So, in a matter of minutes, Y/N grabbed a cushion and some snacks from her apartment. She pushed the two chairs together to form a make-shift bed and she printed out various articles on the Jotunheim.

Loki had barely moved since Y/N left. Once the door closed behind her, Loki allowed the tears he had been holding back to fall. She had finally seen the monster.

He knew she would eventually learn of his heritage, but Loki had wanted more time. A few more months, or maybe a year, where she could see him as good. Now it was too late. If his form hadn’t frightened her off, then the cruel words he spoke to her would have scared her away.

How he regretted those words.

Loki had spewed out some truly despicable words throughout his life, his aim was always to cut a wound too deep to heal. But he took no enjoyment in speaking to Y/N the way he did, he just felt guilt. How could she ever trust him again?

Loki had lain in his hospital bed for four days now, ignoring the food that Bruce had brought in for him. His guilt had dulled his appetite. He looked a sorry state when Clint came to see him.

“I uh, hope I’m not disturbing.” The archer said awkwardly, hesitantly walking into the room.

Loki raised his brow in surprise, “You’re the last person I expected to visit.”

Clint looked down, almost ashamedly, “I should have been the first person to visit.”

Loki’s expression of confusion didn’t alter, “You saved my life out there.” Clint clarified.

Loki shook his head and sat up in his bed, “I ruined your life. This was a meagre attempt to make up for it.”

Clint was surprised by the trickster’s honesty, “You’ve been trying. I’ve noticed you helping out around the tower, making friends. I haven’t exactly made your stay here easy.”

Clint was aware of Loki’s efforts, but his experience with the God had taught him not to give second chances. After the recent mission though, Clint reflected on the many second chances he had given. He had willingly accepted Bucky into the tower, he had all but recruited Wanda himself. Hell, his greatest friendship was born from him giving a young Russian spy a second chance.

“Your feelings about me are justified.” Loki offered.

Clint would not accept that, “Perhaps we should start from scratch.”

They both nodded in acceptance, happy to continue on a clean slate.

“So, you turn blue… is that like some Avatar shit? You haven’t got a tail, have you?” Clint asked.

Loki’s dark mood returned, “I am unfamiliar with this ‘Avatar,’ but it is not something I wish to discuss.

Clint nodded in understanding, “Is that why she’s sat out there?”

Loki looked up at the archer, confused but hopeful, “She?”

“Y/N. She’s set up camp outside the room, she’s been there for three days now” Clint clarified.

Loki didn’t know what to say. Had she really waited for him?

Clint sensed that Loki needed some privacy, “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t leave her out there too long, okay? She looks sadder by the day.”

Clint left Loki to his thoughts. The God couldn’t understand why you would stay; he had been cruel and irrational, he didn’t deserve your concern.

Curiosity got the better of Loki, he jumped out of bed and walked quietly to the door. The window in the corridor presented him with the night sky. Under the faint lights of the hallway, Loki found her. She was sleeping in a position that can’t have been comfortable, her hair was slightly dishevelled, and her blanket had the remnants of empty food wrappers. Had she not eaten properly in three days?

On the floor next to her lay what appeared to be paperwork; Loki knelt to pick up the discarded papers. They were articles on the Jotunheim, many of them discussing ancient traditions, others analysing the anatomy and appearance.

Loki could have cried at her concern, she truly wasn’t scared of him; in fact, she wanted to know more about him.

Loki had been a damned fool. He rested his head on her lap and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

With the weight of his head on her lap, Y/N stirred awake.

“Loki! What are you doing out of bed?” She asked, combing her fingers through his hair.

When he looked up, he saw nothing but concern in those delicate features.

“Please forgive me. Those words… I didn’t mean them, please.” Loki rambled, choking back a sob.

She silenced him with a gentle kiss to his forehead, “It’s okay.”

Loki shook his head, he had received too much forgiveness in one day, he didn’t feel he deserved any of it. “It’s not okay. You cannot allow me to treat you that way.”

Y/N moved in her seat and took hold of his hand. “I am not okay with what you said… I won’t deny it hurt. What I mean to say is, I understand where it came from.”

He took hold of her; his arms wrapped around her tightly, as if this one precious thing in his life could disappear into a puff of smoke.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Y/N insisted.

Loki moved, keeping one arm around her. “Will you stay?” He asked, his eyes looked afraid, worried she may come to her senses and reject him.

She smiled up at him, “Always.”

They lay in the hospital bed together. Their pasts would always come back to haunt them every now and then; but the knowledge that they had each other, made those moments more bearable.

#loki x reader #loki fandom #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #thor #natasha romanoff #clint barton #bucky barnes #pepper potts #peter parker #tony stark #bruce banner #sam wilson #wanda #vision #avengers #steve rogers

9 notes · View notes