#btw come at me with an axe and all you get is a raised eyebrow
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Ways to Fall in Love Series
49. Through a kiss
Genres: fluff, university au
Pairing: Reader & Eric (The Boyz)
Words: 2.2k (00:09)
Note: Okay so I know Eric just finished high school, but he’s older than me and I’ve gone to university for one year already so it’s hard to imagine him freshly graduated lol. Korean ages always mess with my head. Btw I don’t condone underage drinking (which doesn’t happen in this story). Where I live the legal age is 18 and all The Boyz are of age here and in Korea.
Eric felt down after his crush of two years moved to study in Iceland, despite the fact that he’d never said a word past “hi” to them before. His friends suggested he loosen up, but he was really regretting listening to what they had to offer.
•••
In hindsight, maybe Eric shouldn’t have taken his friends’ advice.
Just forget about them, they said. Go meet someone new, they said.
Load of help that was.
Now Eric was stuck in a crowded room, surrounded by sweaty party-goers who all smelled like a mix of alcohol and Axe body spray. The boys because, well, they’re gross, and the girls because there was no room for any in-betweens there. Wherever Eric went, he was at least six inches from another person. And when someone was not in the mood like he was, six inches was not nearly enough.
Eric wasn’t one for parties. They were always too messy, too chaotic. Too many things could go wrong. In fact, he’d never gone to one until today, when all his friends convinced him he needed a “pick-me-up”. Being there made his skin crawl, he barely wanted to sit down — who knew what the couch had witnessed? Not much of a pick-me-up, if you asked him.
“Dude, you look like you just swallowed a slug.” Sunwoo appeared beside him, a soda in hand. He drove to the party, so he wasn’t drinking tonight, and besides, he had enough energy without it. “You need to relax.”
Eric tucked away his sour expression as he leaned against one of the weathered walls of the house. “I’d be more relaxed at home.”
“Where you can wallow over your long lost crush all day? I don’t think so,” Sunwoo said, putting an elbow on Eric’s shoulder and putting some weight on it. “Listen, they’re in Iceland now, and they’re not coming back until we’re long gone from uni. You barely even talked to them anyways, why get so hung up?”
Grumbling, Eric crossed his arms, but he didn’t shrug Sunwoo off. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just sort of new to the whole... liking thing.”
“God, you sound like a nerd.”
“I just—”
“Yeah, yeah I get it.” Sunwoo sighed, then contorted his face so his lips jutted out and his brows furrowed in exaggeration. He lowered his voice half an octave. “‘Oh, I’m Eric, I’ve never truly crushed on anyone before, just once in fourth grade and once right now. Oh, despair, what am I to do?’“
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Was that supposed to be me?”
“Yeah, and I nailed it.”
“Whatever,” Eric said, “I’m gonna get some air.”
He’d heard people say that in movies before, and it sounded about right, since Sunwoo let him go. When he stepped outside, the door shut behind him, and the music sounded muffled and warped. Cool air blew across his face, but Eric much preferred it over whatever the hell he was breathing in back there.
He sat down on the stone steps that led up to the porch. Thinking about it, he could’ve just left right then, but Sunwoo was his ride and the walk was much too far with it being so late. He looked down the street and wondered if any of the neighbours would file a noise complaint. They should.
It was much better outside — peaceful. The dim porch light made everything seem to glow. He had no idea why college kids liked to party so much, maybe they knew things he didn’t.
He’d only sat there for a few minutes before his peace was interrupted.
The sound of the door opening made him turn his head, and he watched you barrel through, almost out of breath as you pushed the door shut again with your entire body. Your eyes landed on him not a second later, and a relieved smile spread over your lips. You sat down right next to him on the steps.
“Hey,” you said, still breathing too hard to be normal.
“Hey?”
You held out your hand, which Eric was hesitant to take. “Remember me? We went to elementary school together.”
Eric, slightly caught off guard, leaned closer to see you better in the dim light. He did recognize you after a moment, and his eyes widened as he realized exactly who you were. You looked great in the glow of the porch light, if not a little dishevelled. Memories of you from elementary school flooded his mind, how you always climbed to the very top of the playground, how you would put up your hand without knowing the answer, how you once caught a pigeon with your bare hands and named it Steve. (Geez, how had he managed to forget the most chaotic kid in school?) Only one thing he didn’t remember, though...
He couldn’t think of your name for the life of him.
Which was strange, considering the fascination he had of you in fourth grade.
Before he had the chance to reply — which was probably going to be nonsensical babble anyways — loud shouting was heard from inside. Eric couldn’t tell exactly what the booming voice was trying to say, but it seemed you did, as your eyes went wide looking at the door and back to Eric.
“Can you do me a favour?” you rushed to say. The yelling got louder as the person approached the door. Whatever they were saying became slightly clearer, and Eric came to the sudden conclusion that it must have been your name.
Not knowing why, Eric nodded just as the door burst open. A senior appeared, one not introduced to him by Sangyeon for claims of “being an absolute dipwad”. (Sangyeon’s words, not his.)
“Awesome.”
Your hands cupped his face, and before he knew it, you leaned in, closing your eyes as you kissed him.
Well, not really.
The pads of your thumbs touched his lips, effectively blocking them so neither of your lips actually met, but at the angle you’d moved to, the senior had no way of knowing that. Eric barely knew it himself.
Well, you always were the crazy one.
“What the hell?!” the senior raged just as you pulled away, taking your hands back with you so he was none the wiser.
Your smile was wide and bright even under the dim porch light.
“Let’s go!” Taking Eric’s hand, you dragged him up off the stairs and turned to run, pulling Eric with you.
He didn’t have time to think, so he just ran with you down the street, away from an infuriated senior (he made a note to apologize to the host later) whose shouts faded away the further you took him. Your laughter filled the empty road, echoing off the houses and creating a strange reverberation in Eric’s chest.
Once you deemed yourself far enough, you slowed to a stroll, still laughing. Strangely, Eric felt compelled to laugh with you.
“What—” he was having a hard time breathing “—was that!”
“You don’t know? Never heard of the classic ‘kissing a hot stranger slash coworker slash partner in crime to escape from a psycho ex slash stalker slash flirt that won’t leave you alone’ trick?” You gave his shoulder a pat. “It’s the second oldest one in the book.”
Too many questions popped up in Eric’s head. You thought he was hot? That senior was your psycho ex? If that was the second oldest trick in the book, what was the first?
You chuckled. Apparently he asked all those out loud.
“Okay, one, yes you are hot. Be confident! All you gotta do is be self-assured —but not cocky — and you’d be a total catch. I mean—” you gestured to his face “—have you seen yourself in a mirror? I’d have to have the beauty standards of an orc to not think you’re at least attractive.” You were walking much too casually to be making Eric blush as much as he was. Already embarrassed enough to have asked those questions in the first place, your comments just sent him further into his awkwardness. “Two, no he’s not my ex, he just kept asking for my number even when I already said no. Isn’t that so annoying?” You looked over at him, expecting a response and getting nothing. Eric had no experience with rejecting. “Anyways... the first trick in the book is when there’s only one bed, duh.”
Eric had zero clue what that meant, but he decided not to ask. Instead, he focused on the fact that even though you’d already let go of his hand, he was still following you down the street in the middle of the night. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a McDonald’s down the road,” you said, pointing in the direction you were walking. “I wanna buy you an ice cream for helping me out. You like ice cream?”
“You don’t have to thank me, I didn’t really do anything.”
Your lips parted as another laugh escaped you. “Dude, I forced a kiss on you with little to no warning. I owe you something at least.”
“But...” Eric wondered if you could tell how nervous he was. “It wasn’t a real kiss.”
You shrugged. “Well, I’m getting ice cream. You coming?”
“Is it even open?”
“Twenty-four hour drive-thru, baby.”
Eric was almost a hundred percent sure you needed a car to go to a drive-thru, but he lost the chance to argue when you turned the corner and ran up to the empty McDonald’s parking lot, where you tilted your body so your face was right in front of the drive-thru speaker.
The voice that came through the speaker was tired and low-quality. “Excuse me, but you need a vehicle to use the drive-thru.”
“Yo, Bomin!” you chirped into the receiver. “Can I get two cones?”
“Why would you ever think I’d do anything for you?”
You giggled. “Because you love me and you know it! I’m moving to the next window!”
Eric could only watch in horror as you continued on to the window, where a very disgruntled employee opened the frame with a scowl on his oddly attractive face. Eric felt a pang of something, but he didn’t know what.
“Why am I friends with you again?” the boy — Bomin, Eric supposed — grumbled at you.
“Because I bribe you with pudding on Fridays, remember? Now let me pay with my—”
Before you could pull out your money, Bomin handed you two vanilla ice cream cones. “Whatever,” he said, “just don’t come bother me at work ever again.”
You took the cones, a smile on your face that was somehow amplified by the light coming from the window. There was something about the way you looked in the night, wearing casual clothes in an empty fast food parking lot and holding free ice cream. Eric wondered if Bomin always got to see you like this.
“No promises! G’night!”
And with that you turned back to Eric, giving him one of the ice cream cones. Eric watched as Bomin shook his head and walked away from the window, not missing the slight, affectionate smile on his face. That pang happened again.
You walked back to the party much slower than you ran away, already done your ice cream before Eric was halfway done his. You talked about the little things, what you both were up to now. He found out what you were taking and that you shared a few buildings with him, though at different times. It was no wonder you never ran into each other, though Eric wouldn’t have recognized you anyways.
One house away from the party, you stopped.
“Well, it was nice re-meeting you, Eric Sohn.” You held out your hand again, chin up as if sealing a business deal. “Say hi to me if you see me at school, and don’t go to too many parties — they’re not that healthy, you know.”
Eric took your hand to shake, but you pulled away much too quickly for his liking. “Wait a second...” he said, not knowing exactly what he planned to say.
You tilted your head, waiting for him to speak, but when he didn’t, you smiled. Bringing your hand up, you jerked your thumb towards the house next door to the party. “This is my stop,” you explained. “Come visit anytime. Who knows, maybe I’ll kiss you for real one day.”
Before he could gather up a response (more babble, probably) you darted away and unlocked the front door of your home, disappearing just as fast as you appeared at the beginning of that night. Strange — it had only been about half an hour, but it felt much longer than that. Maybe you were the cause.
Eric stood and stared at the door for a few minutes, and was only pulled out of his trance when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
[ Sunwoo ] Where’d you go? You better not be on a flight to iceland
Fingers hovering over the digital keyboard, Eric asked himself, where did he go?
Ran into crush from fourth grade. Forgot their name. They kissed me kind of but not really. Went to mcdonalds. Came back. Found out where they live
A whole minute passed by where Eric only saw Sunwoo typing. He was probably trying just as hard, if not harder, to comprehend all that. Eric was about to put his phone back in his pocket before it vibrated again.
[ Sunwoo ] ...you sure you’re not drunk?
#The Boyz scenarios#the boyz imagines#the boyz oneshot#the boyz x reader#eric sohn x reader#eric son x reader#the boyz eric imagines#eric sohn imagines#eric son imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#kpop oneshot#ways to fall in love#.100#.200
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Invisible II (Ivar/Reader)
A/N: Sorry for taking so long... I had a rough time these days, that’s why this is so bad😅 I hope you like it anyway... If you don’t, I can always delete and rewrite! Y’all liked the first part so much I am really scared of disappointing you, especially when this fic is really important to me... Sorry in advance.
Btw I have already started with my Vikings rewriting! And I'm really excited with that one, I hope I can have it soon!💕
Warnings: Mentions of rape, loss of virginity, a bit of smut (not detailed), angst, drama in general. Please if this is too much for you don’t read it. Remember it’s never your fault though. Also mentions of alcohol and violence, Ivar drunk. Nothing written under the cut makes any sense. I am truly sorry for this disaster.
Words: 3538 (it’s shit and long, I think I tried to fix it and that’s why it’s too long but I failed)
I cannot put the link to the first part :( sorry, I will reblog it so enter my blog if you want to read it😘
gif isn’t mine
It wasn't like you had never been alone with a man before. It was because you had never been alone with a man who actually wanted you.
Of course you were being polite when you invited him to your home. It was cold outside, and you wanted to have a talk with Einar to get to know him better. He seemed like a really interesting man.
You had drank a bit, too, and you served some wine Aslaug had gifted you, and it was strong...
Einar wasn't drunk, but you were smaller and hadn't eaten as much as him. And so it happened.
You couldn't really remember how, but you ended up underneath him, not really knowing what was happening, and then feeling a sharp pain between your legs. Einar moaned and you frowned.
He didn't even kiss you. He didn't do any of those things men were supposed to do while taking one woman's virginity. He wasn't as caring and sweet as he had been while talking to you.
You asked him to stop, with tears rolling down your cheeks and your hands pushing him. But he didn't stop. He kept going and it hurt so much...
You closed your eyes, wishing he would finish soon and leave you alone.
When he did, he just got dressed and left. He didn't ask you if you were okay, if you had enjoyed it, he didn't tell you he was sorry for hurting you.
When he closed the door, you sighed in relief. The truth was: you didn't want to deal with him in that moment. It was better to just try to forget what had happened.
You felt stupid. You had been so determined to show Ivar you weren't his lap dog that you went too far. Obviously you should have stayed in a public place to find out about his intentions with you.
You felt a sharp pain between your legs, it was just as if he was still inside you. There were blood stains on the furs that covered your bed.
Trying to control your tears, you curled under the covers, pressing your legs together and closing your eyes tightly.
Ivar furrowed his brow when he saw him going out of your house. He was still fixing his pants and he knew what had happened. How could you give yourself to that guy? He didn't remember seeing him around, and scoffed when he saw him stumbling around and trying to get to the great hall. He didn't even know how to drink properly.
He looked at your house again. The lights were on, so you probably were awake.
He thought about knocking on your door, but he didn't want to see your bed unmade by another man, your hair disheveled and your body full of marks.
Ivar had always done a good job keeping the men from Kattegat away from you. Once, a man wanted to buy and free you so he would be able to marry you, when you were still his mother's slave. He heard him talking to the queen. Ivar managed to make that man disappear, and you never knew about his offer.
But that night he had been too slow. As you were angry at him, you had sat down as far from him as you could, next to his brothers. And he was too busy glaring at you for ignoring him to pay attention to the man that hadn't taken his eyes off of you for hours.
The fact that you had left with him had broken his heart. But he understood he deserved it. At least a bit.
Ivar felt a hard slap on his head and turned, grabbing his axe and ready to sink it on the face of the person that dared to disturb him. Though his face softened when he saw Floki.
The boatbuilder giggled at Ivar, and moved to sit down next to him.
"What are you doing here, Ivar? Watching her house?"
"I was just taking some air" he answered, scoffing "There's too many people inside"
"You're even a worse liar than your father" Floki giggled again. He knew everything.
"She left with him" Ivar frowned, incapable of hiding it anymore "With a man she met five minutes ago"
"Well, I can recall two of your brothers doing the same" Floki raised an eyebrow "Hvitserk is asleep on the bench, too drunk, but he already left twice with some girls... And that didn't bother you"
"But they are not Y/N" he pressed his lips together.
"And who's Y/N to you?"
"She's..." He frowned. Who were you to him? Not a friend, not a slave "Someone"
"Someone you clearly care about but treat like rubbish" Floki's tone dropped. He loved Ivar, but he loved you too, and never approved the way he treated you "I don't understand, Ivar"
"I don't like how she treats me"
Floki frowned.
"What are you talking about, boy? She treats you too well, much better than you actually deserve"
"She treats me like if she was in love with me, and we all know that's not possible, so acting as if I was the love of her life, blushing and smiling, when I know she would never be with someone like me"
"Someone like you?"
"A cripple"
"You know, Ivar, I thought you were the smartest in your family" Floki sighed "Now I see you're just another fool; stop feeling pity for yourself and open your eyes, she could have been with any of your brothers, with any man she wanted, and she chose you, but you pushed her away and now she's moving on, while you're here moping”.
Ivar scoffed, rolling his eyes at Floki's words The worst thing was that he knew he was right.
"I would apologize to her" the boatbuilder shrugged "She's forgiving, she will forget it, but you must stop being an asshole to her, Ivar"
The pain hadn't faded away in the morning, and you were afraid you'd get pregnant. So you went to see the only person you knew who would help you.
Helga was cooking, excited as the Ragnarssons were there again. She loved to have people at home, to cook for them and to hear them talking and moving around the house. When the house was all empty and quiet, everything reminded her of her daughter.
You froze when you saw Ubbe and Sigurd outside, helping Floki with something. Probably, Ivar and Hvitserk were around too, and you didn't want to see the youngest brother in that moment.
You entered the house, biting your lip and frowning when you heard Helga scolding someone.
"I can't cook if you keep eating the ingredients, Hvitserk!"
Ivar chuckled as Helga hit Hvitserk with a kitchen rag. He retreated with his mouth full, raising his hands.
It was Hvitserk who saw you first. He smiled brightly and waved at you, still chewing the food he just stole. Ivar and Helga turned to the door to see you standing in there, biting your lip.
"Hi" you muttered, feeling as if you'd start crying if you spoke louder.
"Y/N, my dear, come in!" Helga quickly welcomed you, hugging you tightly and smiling. Though her smile faded when she saw your reddened eyes and your lower lip trembling.
Ivar looked away, angry. He would have loved to kick you out of the house, he couldn't even look at you... As if he did he imagined you fucking that man.
"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Hvitserk frowned, noticing how you were at the verge of tears. His brother then looked at you, his angry scowl turning into a worried one as he didn't see you smiling happily as you always were.
"Yes, I..." You tried to smile to ease their worry, taking Helga's hands between yours "I just need your help, Helga..."
"Of course, love" she smiled warmly, taking you to the bedroom, understanding you didn't want to speak about it in front of the brothers "Ivar, please, watch the food, don't let your brother eat it"
Ivar's eyes were glued to you. He didn't understand, what had happened to you?
Helga then turned to you, and you couldn't help but start crying.
"Hey, hey, what happened to you?" She shushed you, drying your tears with her hands.
"I'm sorry I... It's my fault" you sighed "I... Yesterday, at the feast I... I met a man... He was so nice and handsome I thought... Gods I'm so stupid" you covered your face with your hands "He told me we should go to my house, and I said yes... I had drank a bit and... Well I cannot really remember how..."
"Y/N, breathe" Helga caressed your cheek "I'm sure it's not your fault, love, come on" she hugged you "Did he force you?"
"No... I don't know, I just told him to stop and he didn't... I" you sobbed, hugging her tightly.
"It's okay, it wasn't your fault..." She caressed your hair softly "Come on, it's okay, you can report this to the queen and she will make him pay"
"No" you panicked "Please don't make me tell the queen, she'll be so disappointed with me..."
"Alright, Y/N, calm down" Helga pressed her lips together "We'll tell her when you're ready, come on" she smiled softly "I'll give you some herbs that will help you"
You nodded, and she guided you back to the main room, where Ivar and Hvitserk were whispering about something.
"Are you okay, Y/N?" Hvitserk repeated when he saw you "Did anything happen?"
"No, everything is fine" you smiled to him "I'm just tired, I drank too much yesterday"
Ivar didn't look at you. He looked even more angry and didn't look at you. Used to his behavior, you sat down next to the wooden table as Helga started preparing a infusion with some herbs you recognized. They were the ones the healers gave to women to avoid pregnancy.
You excused yourself after drinking it, thanking Helga and saying goodbye to Hvitserk with a smile. Ivar kept ignoring you.
At least until you left the house.
"Y/N!"
It was the first time you heard your name on his lips. He always called you slave or christian.
"Yes?" You blinked twice before answering, confused "Ivar?"
"I heard you"
"What?"
"I heard you talking to Helga" he clenched his jaw "It serves you right for fooling around with men you barely know" he spat and you frowned "If you were careful and stopped being so nice to everyone this wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't have to fight some guy now"
"Excuse me?" You felt the urge of running away from there and go home to keep crying, but you already had had enough "Look, Boneless, first of all that was a private conversation, and you didn't have any right to eavesdrop, who do you think you are?" You snapped, and he narrowed his eyes. It was the first time you talked back to him "And second, you're saying it's my fault for being nice? I'm sorry I'm not a heartless asshole like you, Ivar, not all of us have that gift of being so unpleasant to everyone. And I didn't ask you to fight anyone! If I went with him was mainly because you were being cruel with me, as always, and I wanted to make clear that yes, I might have been in love with you, but I have some dignity and enough self-esteem to realize you don't deserve me or my attention" you yelled. His eyes were wide in surprise and... was that pride?
"So leave me alone and I swear if you hear my private conversations again I will cut off your ears, even if it's the last thing I do!" You scoffed and turned around to go home, proud of standing up to him.
Ivar looked at you speechless as you got away from him. Immediately regretting some of the things he said to you. His rage should be focused on the guy who forced you, not on you.
But he couldn't help it. He saw you smiling to him, blushing. The same way you did whenever he entered the room.
Did that mean that you were over him?
No, you couldn't possibly forget him in some days. He sighed. Floki was right. He cared about you, but... He obviously wasn't enough for you. He had made you cry more than once, Sigurd was right, you deserved someone who could make you happy and... He only made you miserable.
_-_
"Don't you think he has had enough mead already, Hvitserk?"
"Ubbe, he needs it if he's going to do this"
"I don't think it's a good idea to give alcohol to an aggressive person"
"Shut up, I'm not aggressive" Ivar clenched his fists, looking at his brother "I'm just fine"
"You know, little brother, I never needed to get drunk so I could go and talk to a woman" Sigurd snickered.
"No, but you need a fucking musical instrument for them to approach you"
Hvitserk coughed to hide a laugh and Ubbe rolled his eyes. Sigurd glared at him, but stayed quiet as he kept cleaning his oud.
Ivar asked his brothers for help to talk to you. He knew they had experience in things like this, and of course they helped him.
Though he needed to have maybe two more cups before he felt ready to talk to you.
"So, the plan is: you go to her house, apologize for being an asshole to her for years, then apologize again because she will probably tell you to fuck off, then apologize for eavesdropping her conversations and blaming her for being forced, and then you can tell her you feel the same for her but you were too stupid to realize it earlier, and then you improvise"
"What if she doesn't open the door?" Ubbe asked, amused.
"I'll break it down"
"No you won't" Hvitserk glared at him "You'll insist but if she ignores you you'll go, let her talk to you when she's ready"
"Poor Y/N" Sigurd whispered, sighing.
"And stop drinking" Ubbe took the cup from Ivar's hands "You'll forget your own name if you keep going"
Ivar grunted, but rubbed his eyes before letting himself fall on his knees and start crawling to the door.
"Good luck!" Hvitserk sounded even more excited than himself.
You were finishing a soup for the next morning. You planned on taking it to Helga so she wouldn't have to cook that day, as a thank you for what she had done for you.
She had came to your home later that day, to talk to you and to comfort you. Thanks to her you were feeling a bit better, though you needed to be busy so you wouldn't think about it.
And then someone knocked on your door, startling you.
Should you open the door? The thought of Einar being at the other side of the door made you shiver softly... Surely he wouldn't try to hurt you, right?
But it wasn't Einar who you found.
"Ivar?" You frowned. He was sitting on the floor, his hair disheveled and his eyes unfocused.
"Hi" he cleared his throat "Can I... Can I enter?"
He stuttered while talking, and blinked a few times when the lights of your home blinded him.
"Yes..." You bit your lip, confused. You were still angry at him for what he said to you that morning, but you were curious about his presence at your house.
He entered the house with slow and exaggerated movements. Grunting as he crawled to sit next to the fire.
"Ivar... Are you drunk?"
"No I just... drank a bit with my brothers" he said, his voice raising a few tones.
"What are you doing here?"
"I..." He cleared his throat again, biting his lip "I wanted to... Say that... I didn't mean what I said before... Or ever, I..."
You raised an eyebrow. You understood what he wanted to say, but you wanted to hear the magic word.
"Yes?"
"I... Don't think it's your fault Y/N, he... didn't have the right to take advantage of you... And it's good you're nice, we... Need that kind of persons around here"
Obviously it was the alcohol talking. Ivar would never say that to you.
"And?" you crossed your arms, waiting for him to continue with his poor excuse of an apology.
"I... Don't mean anything I always tell you, you're not annoying or stupid, you're amazing, and I..." He blushed, and cursed, looking away from you. He just hoped he had drank enough to forget all of that in the morning "I'm too cruel with you"
"So... You mean you're sorry?"
He nodded frantically, relived he didn't have to keep apologizing.
"Say it" you pushed, though a part of you wanted to cry in happiness.
"I..." He growled, rubbing his eyes. He needed more alcohol to say that without dying in embarrassment "I am... Fuck" he rolled his eyes "I am sorry, Y/N"
You smiled softly. Of course you couldn't forgive him that easily, not after all the pain you had gone through because him. But it was a start.
Ivar cleared his throat as you stayed silent, uncomfortable. It was the first time he apologized to someone and though he felt better, he still preferred to solve things with an axe and some blood.
"Okay, thank you" you shrugged, sitting down on the floor next to him "I appreciate the effort you made by coming here and saying all of this... I would like to apologize too, you're not a heartless asshole... Well sometimes you are, but I know you Ivar" you bit your lip while he blinked in confusion "I've known you for years, and you have a heart, a big heart that you hide from everyone because you're afraid someone will break it again... If you stopped pushing people away and let us get close to you you wouldn't feel that lonely"
Ivar felt tears gathering on his eyes, but managed to hold them back as he looked to the burning fireplace.
"It is true what everyone says?"
"What do they say?"
"That you're in love with me"
You gulped. You could take advantage of his poor self-love and tell him you wouldn't ever fall in love with him, but just the thought of hurting him broke your heart. And it didn't mind if it saved your dignity.
"Yes" you avoided his eyes "I thought that was obvious... I understand if you don't feel the same"
"I thought you were nice to me because you pitied me" he muttered "Everyone who is nice to me is because they pity me"
"Even if you don't want to believe it, there's people who actually love you"
"I do feel the same" he shrugged "At least that's what I think, I've never been in love with anyone, so I don't know"
He wish he could stop talking. He was going to kill Hvitserk, what kind of mead had he given him? He was saying way more things than he wanted to.
You felt your heart beating faster and faster in your chest.
There's no way he's in love with you.
"Ivar..." You whispered "Would you be telling me this if you weren't drunk?"
"No" he answered, turning his head to look at you "As I wouldn't tell you how I can't wait to kill that bastard, Y/N, for hurting you, and I wouldn't tell you the soup you made the other day was the best I ever had, or how much I like it when you enter the great hall smiling in pure happiness, there's a lot things I would never tell you... But here I am"
"Ivar you hurt me a lot..."
"I know"
"You make me feel worthless and stupid, you're mean to me, you scream at me when I'm only trying to help... I was nothing to you, just a plaything you liked to torment and torture, you liked it when I was afraid of you... Because you know I never talked back at you or slapped you or anything because I'm not like that... And now you tell me you're in love with me but you wouldn't say it if you weren't drunk"
Ivar didn't say anything. He knew you were right, he knew he had been the worst person towards you.
"You say you want to kill Einar for hurting me, but you hurt me too"
"So you don't believe me"
"I didn't say that..." You sighed, you didn't want to hurt him, but you couldn't just forgive him "I just would have liked it more if you came here sober"
"If I was sober, Y/N, I would be an asshole to you, because I can't fucking talk to you when I'm sober. The alcohol at least makes me forget you're way too good for me"
"Wha...?"
"You want me to show you what I feel for you?" He scoffed, raising his voice "Okay, I will, I will show the fucking world how I feel about you"
Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @cbouvier23 @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @thisisparadisemylove @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @fuckthatfeeling @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @cynthianokamaria @cris101071 @radiotramp @the-nargles-made-me-do-it
I hope I didn’t forget anyone💔 I’m sorry about what I did in there, I know what you’re thinking😂 but I didn’t want to leave you without part 2.
I’m starting to worry because I cannot fucking write properly for Ivar now and that’s frustrating.
Anyway thank you for reading😘
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⭐️Can you please also do a director's commentary for "Foundations" chapter 3? Thank you for your commentary on ch. 2, that was fantastic btw, :D I love that chapter!!
Yes! Thanks for asking! Link to AO3.
I used to write such short chapters, haha. This one is under 2500 words! I talked a bit when I did chapter 2 about why I wrote Foundations. Chapter 3 was actually the first chapter I wrote. It was The Scene (you know, the one you see in your head that’s the whole reason for writing the thing in the first place) for this fic, but when I write, I usually write The Scene first, haha.
Loki shifted in his camp bed, reaching up to pull the orb of light floating next to him closer before he turned the page of his book. Wind rattled the walls of the tent, but the storm outside wasn’t enough to drown out the rising and falling swells of sound from the impromptu feast that had sprung up several tent rows over.
I remember really struggling to get the atmosphere of the setting of this chapter...mainly because I didn’t really care that much, haha. I wanted to write a fraught conversation between Loki and Thor and what to you mean I need to describe where they are? Though I actually think it turned out well in the end.
He paused for a moment, listening, knowing the right thing to do—the expected thing to do—was to be there himself. Eating, drinking, bragging and inflating whatever deeds he’d accomplished in battle that day. And singing, apparently, if the sound he could hear was any indication—and if one was extremely generous with their definition of ‘singing.’
I don’t think I’d come up with my head canon yet that Loki hates to sing at this point.
They were on Alfheim, one of the Nine Realms, which was facing a minor insurrection; nothing that Asgard’s forces couldn’t put down in a week or two.
Sneak peek! Alfheim features prominently in the sequel to The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy.
They’d been there three days and the tide of the war was already turning in their favor. Still, it had been a shock when the Bifrost had brought them there. Years ago, Mother had taken Loki and Thor to visit, and Loki had found the planet breathtaking. Asgard was beautiful, of course, the pinnacle of the Nine Realms, but the lacy architecture of Ljosalfgard and the forests twinkling with lights was captivating. Thor had wanted to capture a unicorn and ride it;
I draw a lot of inspiration from the comics when I write about Alfheim, since we’ve only seen one very brief shot of it in the MCU. Ljosalfgard is the capital (Ljósálfar is Old Norse for Light Elves). Unicorns are native to Alfheim in the comics.
Mother had forbidden it, and added for good measure that if he was gored, he’d have to sit in bed for the duration of the trip and wouldn’t be allowed to have any fun.
The forests were nowhere to be seen now, though. Or the unicorns, for that matter, though during that long ago visit, neither Thor nor Loki had gotten anywhere near one, anyway. The rebel army was moving towards Ljosalfgard, burning everything as it went, and the tall, graceful trees that had fascinated Loki as a child were nothing but smoldering stumps now. Whole towns had been reduced to rubble, with the bodies of those who had been unable to flee lying amid the wreckage.
In the last such ruin they’d passed through, Loki had stopped to stare down into the face of a dead elf. Her legs were pinned under the collapsed wall of a building, crushed beyond repair, but what had killed her was the discharge weapon that had been fired into her stomach. Tarry blood, turning black as it dried, was spread around her. Not a quick death, or a painless one. He’d knelt down and closed her eyes, but he couldn’t do anything about the howl of pain that twisted the rest of her face.
I added this paragraph about the dead elf during editing, feeling that my description of war was too impersonal and sanitized. Since writing this, my body count in my fics has multiplied. Now I kind of look for excuses to describe corpses.
A crack of thunder brought him back to the present with a jolt. He realized he’d been staring at the same sentence on the page, reading it over and over again.
Mood, Loki.
With a yawn, he closed the book and set it aside on the small, ornate table he’d carted to Alfheim from Asgard.
My pocket dimension head canon wasn’t as well developed at this point. I was imagining the table physically being carried. I’ve actually always intended for this table to make an appearance in my fic again, like Loki chucked it in his pocket dimension and sort of forgot about it, but I try to limit the amount of Asgardian stuff he’s got in there for angst value, so I’ve never had it show up again.
The book was a treatise on astral projection, wherein the author theorized that with the proper source of power, the range of the projection could be amplified infinitely.
I still think this is clever, haha. This is a reference to Infinity Stones! Specifically the scene in Avengers where Loki astral projects and talks to the Other. I head canon that Loki really can’t astral project very far (maybe, maybe, a mile or two), but that the Mind Stone allowed him to do so in that scene.
Interesting, but not the lightest reading after a day of battle. He’d brought other books—and been roundly mocked for it
Whether Loki was being mocked or teased is open to interpretation. He can’t see it as anything other than mocking, though.
—but his focus was shot to hel. Whatever he picked up, he’d only end up sitting with it open on his lap while his mind wandered.
At that moment, the tent flap burst open, letting in a spray of wind and rain. “It’s pissing down out there,”
The fact that Loki and Thor both have English accents makes me desperately want to make them speak British English, but I don’t because they don’t in the movies. Sometimes, sometimes, I allow myself to throw something in.
Thor said, apparently to no one in particular, because when his eyes fell on Loki, he added, “Ah. I thought I’d find you hiding here.”
“I’m hardly hiding,” Loki said. “Anyway, I was tired.” He flicked his light orb higher and expanded it with a twist of his hand so that it illuminated more of the space.
This is the first time I wrote about this spell of Loki’s, which I now use alllll the time. It’s one of my go-to spells for him. If you’ve followed me for any length of time you’ve probably seen me talk about this fic I have where Strange goes into Loki’s mind (still unposted)—this spell is actually a major part of one section of that fic.
Thor looked at it, shook his head a little, and switched on the lights on his side of their shared tent. “What?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.
Generator? Asgardian tech? Who knows!
Glancing at him, Thor replied, “Tricks.”
Uh oh.
With a slight smile, Loki said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, brother, but one of my tricks prevented an axe from lodging in that thick skull of yours earlier.”
Thor snorted. “Not so tired that your wit’s dulled, I see.”
“Well, no. Never.”
Obviously, I try to capture the characters’ voices when I write, especially their dialogue, but I do it to the point where if there’s a kind of really distinctive delivery of a line, I’ll take that and turn it into almost like, a verbal tic? You know how you’ll catch yourself saying certain things a certain way, little phrases, that sort of thing? This is an intentional echo of Loki’s line in Avengers, where Thor says, “You think yourself above them,” and Loki responds, “Well yes.” I use this one all the time.
Removing the vambraces from his forearms,
The amount of time that I have spent looking up what different pieces of armor are called, UGH. And I never remember. When I edit, I always have to double check. The only one I know for sure now is demi-gaunts because I use it so often, haha. Those are the things Loki wears on his hands in Ragnarok.
Thor chuckled, then said, “You should have joined us. No party is complete without your troublemaking.”
Loki put a hand over his heart, a grin twitching at his mouth. “I’m touched. I had no idea I was so appreciated.”
“That,” Thor said, “and the fact that Fandral couldn’t stop bragging about how many more rebels he slew than the both of us combined. I could’ve used your help knocking him down a peg or two.”
I wanted to show a few things here. One: Loki is used to Thor being dismissive about his magic, and he doesn’t actually dwell on it too much in conversation. Two: Thor’s attitude about Loki’s magic isn’t actually awful. He could certainly be nicer about it and have more respect for something that Loki is really good at it, but this isn’t something that Thor feels really affects their relationship. He’s mildly contemptuous, and he forgets immediately. And three: Thor enjoys Loki’s mischievous side. The two of them still have a decent relationship, though the cracks are showing.
“Mm. Sorry to disappoint you,” Loki said.
Thor snorted. Removing his cape and slinging it over a chair back, he asked, “What are you reading, anyway?”
With a glance at the book, Loki said, “I don’t think it would interest you.”
“I don’t think so either.” Thor smirked at him. “I’m just trying to show some interest in the things my little brother’s interested in.”
Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Loki said, “Ah, I see. Mockery, then patronization. What a day.”
Thor chuckled and came over to pick up the book. “Astral projection,” he said, then looked at Loki. “You already know how to do this.”
Really trying to hammer (haha, pun intended) home the point that Loki is an extremely unreliable narrator. Thor asks Loki what he’s reading, then shows that he knows what Loki can do. And then:
Loki raised an eyebrow. It was always a surprise when Thor demonstrated that he knew what Loki was capable of.
Yeah but, is it, Loki? Is it?
“You already know how to swing a sword, but you still train.”
“Hm.” Thor put the book down. “Once Father gives me Mjølnir, I won’t have to.”
Still pre-Mjølnir.
Right. Mjølnir. It had been heavily implied, when Father had sent them to quell the uprising on Alfheim, that the reward for success would be Mjølnir. For Thor, of course. For Loki, well, he supposed the reward was the satisfaction of a job well done. Once, when they’d been children, the two of them had snuck down to the weapons vault to see if they could lift the hammer. Thor hadn’t hesitated; he’d strutted up to it and yanked on its handle. It had come off its stone pedestal easily, and Thor had crowed and brandished it while Loki had stood there grinning.
Then, Thor had set it down and said, his face flushed with happiness, “You try it!”
Loki had reached for the handle. But he’d stopped, his arm outstretched, and closed his fingers around nothing but air before withdrawing his hand. What if he couldn’t? What if he wasn’t worthy?
To this day, this bit hurts me. I find it so relatable. If you try, you might fail, so maybe it’s better to not even try? At least you won’t feel like a worthless failure that way. And on a broader character note, this is Loki as a child already feeling that he isn’t living up to expectations.
So he shook his head and had said, “Father will be angry if he finds out we came down here.”
This was a thin excuse to put off learning something about himself that he didn’t want to learn, but even at a young age, Loki had been all-too-cognizant of his own failings. Thor had looked crestfallen, which almost made him feel guilty enough to try lifting Mjølnir, despite his misgivings.
HE’S NOT THOR. This is something that I definitely address in my fic series, this idea that he’s not Thor, so he’ll never be good enough. And yes...it is something that he gets over. He stops worrying about the fact that he can’t lift Mjølnir. He begins to see the value in his way of doing things, and not in a defensive way, but in a way he’s actually proud of. He realizes he doesn’t need to be Thor because he’s Loki.
But this is waaaaaay before that, haha.
Almost.
Rain beat on the tent, which luckily was imbued with enough Asgardian technology to keep all of it outside. Winter on Alfheim, at least in this hemisphere. If the blood didn’t turn the battlefields to mud, the rain would. Loki glanced up, his brow furrowed, as thunder rumbled and a gust of wind made the canvas billow like a sail. “The weather could be better.”
“If it doesn’t stop, it will just make the battle more glorious,” Thor said.
Smirking, Loki said, “I think I find dry clothing more glorious than battle.”
Thor shook his head at Loki, looking like someone had just told a wonderful joke, but only he was in on it. “You enjoy it, admit it. You can pretend you’re above it all you like, but I see it in your eyes.” He paused, clearly wanting his punchline, or thesis, or whatever this was, to really land. “That’s the rage of battle, brother.”
This was the first bit of dialogue I thought of for this fic. I remember it coming to me while I was sitting in bed one night.
Loki somehow hadn’t expected that. Taken aback and hoping it wasn’t showing, he said, “You’re mistaken.”
[...] Thor chuckled and laid down, his hands laced under his head, but Loki remained sitting, staring at the opposite wall of the tent and fidgeting with his hands. The rage of battle. Ridiculous. If there was one thing that Loki was good at, it was not letting his emotions get away from him.
OOF. If you thought to yourself while reading this, That doesn’t sound like the Loki I know, then you are correct! Frigga has that line in TDW where she says, “So perceptive about everyone but yourself,” and that line is one of my guiding stars for writing Loki. He’s very, very good at reading other people...but terrible at knowing his own mind. And then his read of what other people think of him gets filtered through his skewed perception of himself.
Anyway, I very much believe that Loki is horrible about keeping his emotions in check. He absolutely, when agitated, thinks entirely with his heart and not at all with his head. Here’s the thing...
He was as collected in battle as he was any other time.
He wants to be a Good Asgardian. So in his mind, it’s controlling your emotions in battle that’s important. Other times? Not so much. As long as he does it in battle, nothing else matters. And Loki is very good about keeping his head in battle. He’s an amazing warrior, just as good as any other Asgardian.
To lose your head was to invite costly mistakes. Absently, he ran his thumbnail over his other fingernails. He feared losing himself, anyway. Sometimes he thought it would be all too easy, when he wasn’t always sure who he was to begin with.
This is one of the core elements of Loki’s character to me. He doesn’t know who he is. He fears a loss of control. I absolutely keep these things in my head at all times when writing him. These things affect everything in his life and hold him back from things he wants. Love? That’s a loss of control.
“You’re quiet, brother,” Thor said.
Loki glanced over at him. “Just thinking.”
“You think too much.”
“Possibly.”
Another intentional movie dialogue echo. “Are you mad?” “Possibly.”
Propping himself up on his elbow and facing Loki, Thor said, “This is war, Loki. You get up, you slay the enemy, you drink, you feast, and then you go to bed so you can do it all over again the next day. There’s nothing to think about.”
Life was definitely simpler for Thor back in the day.
With a slight smile and a mirthless exhalation of laughter, Loki said, “I’m not like you, Thor.”
“Really? That’s so shocking, whatever could you be talking about?”
Loki gave his brother a sidelong look. Once in a while, Thor displayed a snideness that came directly from Mother. While Loki was truly their mother’s son, some of it was bound to rub off on Thor, too.
I’ve never liked the idea that Thor is stupid, and I do like those moments where he’s sarcastic and clever. “I thought you liked tricks,” from TDW comes to mind, and obviously a lot in Ragnarok. Loki has a tendency to think in binaries. Father=Thor, Mother=Loki (in the sense that they take after their parents, not like, Loki is maternal). He has trouble seeing that Thor also takes after their mother...and he has even more trouble seeing how much like Odin he himself is.
“I don’t mind battle,” he said. “I’m perfectly happy fighting to protect Asgard and the Nine Realms.
It’s really important to me to show that Loki isn’t squeamish about killing people, but also that he sees it as a duty.
But you know I’d rather be sitting by the water, reading a book.”
“The water” is what I’ve come to call the body of water that surrounds Asgard’s land mass. It’s not an ocean, it’s not a lake. Here, I’m literally just saying ‘sitting by the water’ the way you’d say that if you were like, sitting on a dock or on the beach or whatever, but since then it’s become my official name for it. I like the idea that Asgardians really do see themselves as superior, and this body of water sitting around their planet is The Water, like there’s no other water.
“Or causing mischief,” Thor said without missing a beat, which made Loki shrug in acknowledgment of this point. Thor stared at Loki for a minute, and then he said, “Perhaps you should…” But then he trailed off and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Perhaps I should what?” Loki asked, a sharp edge to his tone that he knew would put Thor on the defensive.
A flicker of irritation crossed Thor’s face. “Perhaps you should take greater pains to be more like a warrior. We’re Asgardians, Loki. We don’t hide in bushes and cast spells. We face the enemy head on.”
Aaaand there it is. Thor definitely feels this way, but he’s also more of a dick than he has to be, because Loki purposefully needled him—and Thor’s quickness to anger is one of his flaws.
Loki’s eyes narrowed. “A dead rebel is a dead rebel. It doesn’t matter if I stood in front of him and ran him through with a sword or if I distracted him with an illusion while I threw a dagger through his windpipe.” Tilting his chin up, he said, “And I hardly ‘hide in the bushes.’ Don’t be insulting.”
“The men talk,” Thor said, still sounding prickly.
Loki is the one we think of as being the one who feels like he doesn’t fit in and as though he has to maintain an image of someone he isn’t...but I’m really partial to the idea that Thor feels the exact same way. The two of them have actually had this in common their entire lives, but they never talk about it or see this basic fact about each other. They’re both trying to live up to something, and it isn’t who either of them are.
Ah. So that was the issue. There Thor had been, just trying to get drunk with the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif while they compared body counts, and it had been interrupted by the troops questioning Loki’s prowess on the battlefield. Or perhaps even his commitment to the battle itself. What an inconvenience. How embarrassing. “Do they,” Loki said, his tone flat. “And do you defend me, brother? Or do you let them talk?”
Thor rolled his eyes. “Don’t start this.”
Does Thor not really answer the question because obviously he defends Loki, or because he doesn’t, and it embarrasses him? I left this purposefully ambiguous here. Loki certainly knows what he thinks.
Loki held up his hands, his eyes widening a little in an expression of sarcastic innocence. “I thought you started it. Didn’t you just tell me to stop hiding in the bushes?”
With a frustrated sigh, Thor said, “You take everything the wrong way.”
“Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully,” Loki shot back.
Their whole relationship, summed up in two lines.
For a long moment, Thor glared. Loki tried to return it with a look of cool haughtiness. Finally, Thor said, “Of course I defend you. But when even Hogun and Sif—”
At this, Loki’s mask dropped, he knew it did, and he knew that for a split second, the hurt showed on his face. Thor’s glare slipped as well and guilt flashed across his features.
They’re so good at hurting each other. It’s exactly what they’re trying to do, and then they instantly regret it. But it doesn’t stop them from doing it again.
Well, Loki had just told him to choose his words more carefully. It would do his brother good to listen. Otherwise you ended up saying things that other people didn’t need to hear.
Loki snorted derisively, a hard twist of a smile on his face. “I see.” The fact that Sif was bad-mouthing him stung more than he cared to admit. His feelings towards her toed the line between platonic and something more on and off for years, though he knew he’d never stand a chance with her.
Loki definitely had a thing for Sif for a long time. He’s being wishy-washy here.
Thor was her type. Blond, muscle-y, typical Asgardian male.
Loki’s type, when it comes to men, certainly involves muscles, just not the like, bulging bodybuilder muscles.
Which made her just like everyone else. Loki held out his hand and snapped his fingers shut, and the orb of light hovering over him snuffed out.
“Loki—”
“Good-night, Thor,” he said, his voice tight. Anger and resentment coiled in the pit of his stomach like a viper, slithering up his spine to the base of his skull so that it sat there, an intrusive otherness scratching at his mind.
Some purposeful snake imagery; and the use of ‘viper,’ which has connotations of treachery, was also deliberate.
As he laid down, he knew it would keep him awake, and that Thor probably wouldn’t be fooled by his stillness. He could cast an illusion, so that it looked like he was sleeping, and then leave his slumbering form here and roam the dark encampment, if he wanted to.
But he didn’t want to. He wanted to not feel like an outsider amongst his family and friends. He wanted ‘Asgardian’ to encompass his particular gifts too.
Loki is definitely arrogant about his abilities, which is an interesting thing to balance, since he’s also so deeply insecure. A lot of his bitterness comes from the fact that he knows he’s good at things, but they aren’t the right things. And even when they are the right things—like being great in battle—he doesn’t do it the ‘right’ way.
“Loki,” Thor said again.
He ignored his brother and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, Thor would have forgotten about this. Thor never had any trouble forgetting the things he said and did that wounded Loki.
This is true. Thor thinks before he speaks, but he also puts more stock in actions than words. Loki is the opposite.
That was a gift, he supposed, his face twisting in the dark. A very particular gift to be able to let go of words that hurt, one which he both hated and longed to have. Of course, Thor didn’t need to remember hurtful words, because the only person who ever flung any of them at him were Loki himself, and very little that Loki said was worth remembering in the eyes of his family and friends.
This is not true. Loki is being an unreliable narrator.
Fine. Thor would forget. Loki would try to, as well.
Thank you so much for asking!! 😄
Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut
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