#humanverse!au

When certain feelings get out of hand, how can you tell your best friend that you have feelings for him (without throwing a monkey wrench into your dynamics)?

Trigger warning for attempted suicide (and swearing courtesy of Al). 

“I don’t even know what to do anymore at this point.”

It was well into the fourth year, first semester at the local university, which normally meant it was crunch time: getting thesis plans together, working on the body of what the graduation candidates were going to be presenting in the next semester, everyone literally running on coffee at this point to stay awake—and alive.

But for one of the brightest minds in the Aeronautical Engineering department, there was something else bothering him entirely. While Ivan Mikhailovich Braginsky had one of the highest grade-point averages to ever cross into the Engineering department’s halls, he had other things on his mind…

He’d take to hanging around the top floors of the tallest buildings on the premises, staring into nothingness while his mind was relentlessly tormented by thoughts of rejection—and potential awkwardness, if it ever came to pass. While he’d confided in Matthew about the nature of his dilemma, he wasn’t exactly too sure on how he would eventually tell Alfred about what was on his mind.

To be honest, it’s been there since second year… but I don’t know how he’d feel about it. I mean, you rarely see… you rarely encounter individuals of my orientation around here. Everyone’s straight as an arrow. But I’m sick and tired of turning down so many girls, it makes me want to just throw up when I think about it… he thought, sitting down right on the ledge of the Engineering building’s tallest spire.

I know they made a game out of it, but even I’m just. I don’t get them at all. It’s so strange… he continued to ponder, taking a sip from the package he had—a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka he’d smuggled along with him.

He wasn’t aware that Matthew had noticed his little trips up to building rooftops in the evenings, and had secretly told Alfred about his odd behavior. What he knew, however, was that he’d told one that he was gay; but not the other. I’m not even sure how he’d react if I told him…that’s what I’m so afraid of… he thought, knocking back another long drink before closing his eyes for the briefest of moments.

“Alfred… how am I supposed to tell you that I… that I have feelings for you in such a way you’re not going to get weirded out by my confession?” he muttered to himself, hiding his face in his hands before taking another deep breath.  “M-maybe I shouldn’t tell you… because it’d ruin our friendship, and I don’t want that…”

He was completely oblivious to the fact that Matthew had trailed him when he’d snuck out of his dorm room that evening; and had called Alfred to come join him. While Ivan had a feeling he was being followed, his tormented thoughts had more than blocked out his instincts at that point.

“I… sometimes I hate it. I hate being…different,” he continued to himself, running his hands through his ash-blonde hair and wringing them afterwards. “Is it so wrong to be… to be this way?”

He then took another drink from the paper bag, before letting out another sigh. “Maybe I should just… fly.”

15. “Shhh, they’ll hear us.”

Ivan was just about to retire for the night when heheard soft, clattering noises on his window. Wondering what could be causingthe racket, he then pulled himself out of the comfortable bed and then lookedout, an eyebrow raised.

Another small pebble clattered against the windowand he then traced the trajectory of where the obstacle had come from, deeppurple eyes coming to rest on a shadowy figure down on the grass, waving up athim with an ever-mischievous look in the ocean-blue that was staring up at him.

“What… Alfred?!” he all but stage-whispered, openingthe window as quietly as he could manage. “What’re you doing here?” he asked asloudly as he dared; because he knew that his parents weren’t asleep yet. “Whydidn’t you call me?” he added, a bit of a cross look on his face.

Instead of answering, the figure on the ground beganwaving at him, first pointing at him, before gesturing down to where he was. Thesunny-blonde young man then repeated the gesture twice more, before seeminglytapping his foot in a mocking motion against the grass.

“Ch-chto?! You… you want me to sneak out?!” hestage-whispered, hoping that his voice didn’t carry too much.

A nod from the second figure.

“Are—are you crazy?! What if—“ he trailed off,before Alfred repeated the gesture rather insistently, before looking at awatch on his left wrist.

He then turned around for a few moments, an internaldebate raging within him—should he risk getting caught by his strict parents,or just go ahead and join his best friend of more than eleven years—well, hewasn’t sure if they were just that, or they were more than that at this point,the way he felt his heart race whenever the American would turn up at hislocker in school; or they hung out together during break time—or even spentmore time than what was normal doing normal, everyday things together.

After a few more silent moments of indecision inwhich he tried to calm himself, he sighed, before turning back around andnodding.

“Alright, but make it quick,” he muttered, beforevanishing into his room to grab a jacket and his wallet.

Expectant sapphire eyes then watched as the tall, ifsomewhat skinny Russian teenager shimmied down the pipe on the side of thehouse—Ivan’s room was conveniently located here, so it made sneaking out asimple matter—and in moments, his feet touched the damp grass.

“What is it? Why couldn’t it wait until morning?” heasked once he was close enough.

“Shhh, they’ll hear us,” was all the American wouldsay, before quickly taking his hand and dragging him along, raising a finger tohis lips for his companion to keep quiet as they shot through the back lawn.

For the record, Ivan was slightly exasperated—why couldn’tit wait until they met in school later? What was so important?

Not until they were several streets down from hishome did Alfred finally turn to face him, a blush on his cheeks. Ivan thenlooked at him, confused expression on his face, and was about to open his mouthwhen the shorter youth held up his hand to silence him.

“I’m going to let you know now, it was hell tryingto get out of my home, too. Anyway, I really can’t put this off until later… I haveto tell you, now.”

“Tell me what?” he asked, a perplexed expression onhis face, scanning Alfred’s face for any hints. “Is it too dangerous to talkabout over the phone—“ he began, before he cut across Ivan.

“Ivan. The reason why I couldn’t tell you over thephone is… well, you know how hard it is living with a bunch of homophobic relatives…”he trailed off, before taking a deep breath, and then blurting it all in onego;

“Ivan Mikhailovich Braginski, I’m in love you, and Ithink I’m terrified. Terrified, because what if it gets out? You know how it iswith my family…”

On the Russian’s part, his brain was trying tountangle the reason why he’d been called out at such an ungodly hour, at leastuntil he’d processed the words that Alfred had blurted out without taking asingle breath.

“I know it’s insane, I know I’m really fuckingpushing my luck here, but I—“ the American began to ramble before he wassuddenly enveloped in a pair of strong arms, hugging him very, very close. The faintscent of cinnamon hung on Alfred’s jacket as he bent down to whisper into thesunny blonde’s ears, “Alfred Fitzgerald Jones… there is no need to be afraid.”

“W-why?” he heard the muffled reply. Ivan wasn’tsure if his best friend was crying, or shaking, or trying not to throw up andpass out.

Set in the same au as Static. Part of a series. Yes, it’s another sneak peek!

Trigger warnings for angst and feels.

AU where Al is immortal, Ivan is not. Inspired by an anon received by @wavesofinkdrops. Only with much more angst. (Possible partner to Snapshots???)

—–

“Who are they?” A curious voice asks Alfred, who’s idly tracing the letters of his fallen team mates’ names etched in the black granite.

“Oh,” he began, not looking up as he traced his captain’s name slowly, fighting down the urge to scream. “They’re… they were good friends of mine. The other ladder companies said I was lucky to get away with my life,” he added with a dry voice, almost mocking. There was something… oddly familiar about his companion’s voice, but he couldn’t place it just yet.

Pairing: Russia x America, humanverse!au WC: 2,983 Inspired by: this Crossover with: The Fault in Our Stars Summary: It’s just a normal day for the rest of the world. For Alfred Braginski, though, it’s another thing entirely.

Even without his alarm clock going off, the slumbering sunny-blonde slowly clambered out of bed, rumpling his hair and stretching his hands over his head. Realizing that he’d taken off his prosthetic limb the night before, it was lucky he hadn’t gotten up entirely—otherwise he’d have crashed to the floor (and looked totally uncool; not to mention making his older brother worry about the loud noise he’d have caused) in a heap.

Fumbling around as he slipped the fake limb on the stump of his right leg, he then gave a few experimental kicks, before reaching for his phone and scrolling through the menus, until he’d reached the “Messages” and scrolled to a particular name, punching in a message as he did so.

“Good morning, Vanya~ How’s my beautiful sunflower today?” - sent 07:22

Once the message had been sent, he then lumbered off to the shower and proceeded to go through with all his morning rituals before picking out what he was going to wear today. It was a fine day, and just as he’d finished wearing his favorite Captain America shirt, two messages buzzed into his inbox. Reaching for his phone, he then scrolled to the recipients, and quickly shot off a reply to each of them.

As he’d finished dressing up, he then made his way down to the kitchen, seeing his older brother Matthew tucking into a piece of toast slathered with what looked like to be jam, reaching for his office coat and slinging it on himself.

“Hey, Al. Good mornin’. I’ll try to get home early tonight to make us dinner… Hopefully work doesn’t keep me too long again,” Matthew said his way, to which Alfred nodded.

“Mornin’, bro. I’ll be going out today too. Keeks already asked me to come over to his place, he said he’s gotten another new model kit he wants to throw together and he needs my help; and then after that, Nat’s invited me over for lunch at their place,” he replied, reaching for a piece of bread and lathering a generous amount of peanut butter on it. “If I take too long, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Matthew nodded, before reaching for his briefcase and then making his way to the front of the house. “Sorry, Al. I really have to go. They need me in the office,” he muttered around the piece of bread, before the sound of clinking keys were heard, followed by a slamming door. He then took his time with his breakfast before reaching for his phone again and opened it, sending a second message:

“I’m going over to Kiku’s place first.

He said he got this new model kit, and he wants me to help him build it.” - sent 07:57

Once he’d made another peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the road, he then went to the front of the house, grabbed his own keys, and locked up before heading out to his best friend’s place.

Something I’m working on as a side project.

Warning for: angst. A LOT of angst. (And figure out what else warnings are there when you’re done reading it)

—–

Frantic ringing.

That was all Alfred could hear as he held tight to his phone, frantically trying to reach his fiancé.

“Come on, damnit, pick up. Pick the fuck up, Ivan… please!”

He’d already heard the yelling and screaming as several people he’d passed (who were running to safety from the North Tower) that those who were trapped on the higher floors had tried to make their way down, but the emergency staircases were unusable.

The horrible feeling of his stomach falling out under him threatened to make him collapse to his knees. He was exhausted from his evening shift but what other choice did he have? All of New York City’s firefighter teams were on high alert, and much as he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the day off, the unexpected news had all of their crew rushing back to the fire station mere moments after they’d clocked out.

“Come on.. pick up, please pick up!” He hissed, punching in the number again and hearing it ringing, ringing, ringing..

After what felt like an eternity the line went through, and with a mingled sense of fury and relief, he all but yelled, “Ivan! Love, please tell me you’re okay!”

The sounds he could hear from the opposite end, though, were discomforting. What was with that whistling noise?!

“Ivan? Van… Vanya?!” He tried, hoping he’d catch Ivan’s attention with his pet name. “Please, I-”

Due to circumstances beyond our control, we're here to give you a teaser of our entry for the @aphabriefhistoryoftime event!

Co-written by @huggiebird and myself, this is our take on the Hunger Winter of 1944 - 1945, leading up to the Liberation of the Netherlands.

The story is told mostly from Matthew and Lars' point of view, however there are other characters that'll make surprise appearances here! This is written from a humanverse POV / AU, just a heads-up.

Warnings for: sensitive topic content mentions of the racial discrimination against the Jews / anti-Semitism / Nazi hate / violence / strong language.

Main characters appearing: Matthew Williams (Canada), Lars van den Berg (Netherlands) [at least in this teaser]

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

Matthew; November 1944, Rotterdam.

The city is quiet where the wounds still lay gaping, fires long gone and skeletons of buildings still standing where the bombs had fallen four years previously. Some buildings had been demolished just after the Netherlands capitulated and lost the fight for its freedom. They would have been a danger hazard anyhow.

In the shadows of one of the still-standing buildings a lone figure lurked, dressed to look similar to the refugees that were wandering around the area looking for food to eat. Matthew had an idea that something bad was happening, but he couldn’t believe what he’d seen: families fighting over ration coupons; some had even resorted to breaking and entering other people’s homes to find something to eat. While his understanding of Dutch was mangled at best, from what little he could make out was that food in the city was running low, and ration coupons were becoming a precious commodity.

He’d lucked out a few nights previous and had come in contact with some of Het Verzet who could speak English--and from what he’d picked up--there had been a recent arrival of a small platoon of enemy officers who specialized in interrogation. That, and ration coupon hoarding was rampant among the residents of the city. Aside from that, Matthew had picked up information that the one he was looking for was within the city, but as to where exactly he was hiding, they had no clue--just that Lars was around somewhere.

And now he was here, looking around carefully, before quickly making a dash across the empty road to the shelter of the next building. He chose to move around when the sun wasn’t so high in the sky, because if someone like him (who stood out quite a bit due to his eye color and young-faced looks) got cornered for questioning, he was going to get arrested on the spot.

Pulling down the threadbare beret he had on, he continued to look around nervously--trying to check if there was anyone coming from both directions as he took sight of the next building he was going to be making a mad dash towards. He was just about ready to step out of his hiding place; only to hear a rather loud conversation coming from his left side.

Lucky I thought to check before running across… he thought as he ducked back into the shadows before another frown crossed his face--the language was German. He didn’t know if they were just normal enemy soldiers or members of that special squad who’d recently arrived in the occupied city. Either way, they spelled trouble and if he got himself caught, he’d get arrested--which was something he told himself would never happen. Once the loud conversation died away, Matthew then took a chance and peeked around the corner, watching the pair of soldiers disappear around another bend before making his move.

Taking a deep breath, he then ran as quietly as he could across the open road, never mind the fact that the rubble clattered underneath his feet and made it to the security and shelter of the next building just across the street. Leaning against the wall, he took a deep breath and reached into the jacket he was wearing, before pulling out some crumpled paper he’d kept on him ever since he ditched his soldier’s uniform for the disguise he had on at the moment, and there was an address scribbled on it:

Davidstraat 64

Matthew had to find that street to find Lars’ house. He could do that. Possibly. Maybe. If he could read Dutch. Which he couldn’t.

He brushed a stray thought out of his mind; about how complicated it was being in another country that didn’t have English as its main language, but the name of the street stood out in his mind… was there something important about it? Either way, he looked around and continued walking down the street he was no, not realizing that he was headed towards the street he was looking for. He was so distracted by the sight of the ruined skyline he’d almost missed the next turn--and the moment he decided to take a rest from the walking, he’d come upon the street he was looking for!

Squinting as best as he could manage, he then crossed the street and read the unfamiliar letters, before taking out the piece of paper again and comparing it--he’d finally reached the place where the van den Bergs lived before moving across the ocean! Now the question in his mind: was the house still standing?

And for that matter, would he be able to find the one he was looking for in it?

Matthew then picked up the pace, counting houses as he went--his eyes shifting from side to side. If there was one thing that the Dutch did that he appreciated, it was having nameplates with the street name and the house number out on the front visible for anyone to see. He’d started counting numbers when he realized he was headed down, and eventually came to a stop in front of what used to be a bakery, with its front windows smashed in as well as a defaced sign. He didn’t know about it yet, but this was his first time seeing what he’d only read about before. Even if the words didn’t make much sense, he could tell from the way that the sign had been overwritten (and various other words added to it over time) it didn’t mean something good.

Reaching for the crumpled piece of paper he’d kept in the threadbare jacket he had on, he took a look again, and compared the words on it to the barely-visible sign that faced the street. His eyebrows furrowed at the vandalism that he’d spotted, almost overwriting and hiding the name and the number of the structure he was about to enter.

Davidstraat 64

What’s been going on here? he thought to himself as he hid the paper back in the pocket of his jacket and entered the deserted structure, minding the glass that had been shattered and strewn all over the floor. While the outside of the structure still looked respectable, the interior was a complete mess; more vandalism had been painted across the walls; most of the words looking similar to what he’d spotted outside. Matthew had only heard rumors about the persecution of the Jewish peoples in Europe, and he had no idea that it was actually this bad. He didn’t know yet that his brother Alfred would eventually be part of the companies that would stumble upon the horrors of the concentration camps sometime in the future, but from what he was seeing, he wasn’t liking it.

Why so much hate towards them? What did they do wrong, anyway? Matthew thought to himself as he turned to look for the stairs leading to the upper floors. Making sure to walk as carefully as possible, he eventually spotted a semi-smashed stairwell, with half the floorboards missing. Looking up, he saw that the ceiling, thankfully, was still intact. But could it hold his weight if he looked around upstairs? Turning to stare at the stairs once more, he began knocking softly against them before eventually picking out a pattern to climb up the half-destroyed steps, eventually coming up to what looked more like living quarters--since then abandoned and stripped down of anything and everything usable.

His attention was drawn to a dusty frame that had been knocked off its place on the wall, and he immediately walked over to it and picked it up, blowing off a layer of dust before using the underside of one of his sleeves to wipe it down. The portrait he saw in the picture very nearly caused him to drop said frame out of surprise.

Lars; February 1945, Rotterdam. SS detention facility.

Lars wasn’t faring much better than the local residents at the city either. The food he would get was sparse compared to the much larger rationed meals the SS personnel ate every day. They were purposefully not giving him enough, not so little he would die, but little enough to keep him weak and wanting... no, needing more. But the starving tactic was there to make him talk, and he’d finally broken. He had spilled names and information. He was defiant at first and refused to speak, but his hunger had won out.

Most of the people he talked about were still alive, he hoped; not knowing a handful had died from the famine and some others of his ‘circle’ had been captured and tortured. The rest were either in hiding or still fighting from the shadows, he had no idea anymore. Not that it mattered: if he died now, the SS would never know.

Lars felt as bad as he probably looked, face sunken- not as bad as other people hopefully- and he had been able to count his ribs the last time he was allowed to glimpse at himself in a mirror. He had no idea when the last time he saw himself in a mirror either. His clothes were many sizes too big now and they hung off of his frame like a sheet might if he were to stand and pull it around himself. His hands were thin and he had stared at his thinning hands for half an hour before the door opening shook him out of his thoughts once before, when the lack of food had started to affect him more physically.

He had been able to get up and throw a punch in the past, but now he could barely turn around in bed. Forget about getting up and escaping at this point. He was sleeping most of the time anyway, if someone was not asking questions or bringing him things that were supposed to be food. If someone didn’t save him soon from this hellhole, he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to his family.