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furyfought · 4 years ago

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abernathy is a small town, surely you’ve met AGATHA KLEIN ; they can be a little IRREVERENT & OPPORTUNISTIC but have no fear , the TWENTY SEVEN year old definitely makes up for it by being IMPISH & SENSITIVE . most of the time anyway . they’re usually seen around KLEIN & ASSOCIATES, LLC , as a CRIMINAL DEFENSE ATTORNEY . you know, i hear they’re affiliated with the local mc, iron kings as an ATTORNEY . they’ve got this vibe of A HEART GROWN RAVENOUS, A CYANIDE CENTER ENCAPSULATED BY SACCHARINE FRUIT, AND A SOUL IN THE FORM OF A SCRIBBLE WITH FANGS going on , makes them easily recognizable.

loosely inspired by jennifer check (jennifer's body), wendy byrde (ozark), ginger fitzgerald (ginger snaps), elizabeth sloane (miss sloane), john silver (black sails), & BBHMM.

+ pinterest, stats.

hey, friends. i’m devin (or dev) & very tickled to be here. agatha’s a combination of two of my favorite muses, and i can only hope that you’ll love her as much as i do. 🤎

"𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒. 𝐍𝐎. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓."

agatha’s story isn’t one that she likes to tell anymore. she feels it’s useless: to be defined by the actions of others, to attempt to battle the preconceived notions that run rampant regardless of what one says or does. she doesn’t want to beg for understanding anymore, or to claw her way from beneath the filth she’s made of her life. all that most know is all that she can bear to have known. the rest? it’s confetti; a meager concession in a game of chess. if you know her, is that a fact or a weapon to be used against her?

when it comes to the stories that can be told, however.. perhaps the most important is background. agatha’s an abernathy native: raised in grandiose park, flew the coop for college, only to settle back down in bordeaux apartments. klein & associates, llc. has been in her family for generations, each forefather serving increasingly questionable clients. agatha’s life, like that of many kleins before her, was already planned before she’d ever even been a thought in her parents’ minds. under her mother’s rule, there wasn’t any room for straying from that path. agatha would be smart; she would be clean; and she would be, without fail, someone. in other words, she would be her perfect replica. imagine the disappointment when agatha was anything but.

agatha’s childhood can be summed up by three things: a door slammed shut in her face, an ear-piercing howl, and the chronic longing to go home — wherever that was. it’s another thing she doesn’t talk about, another thing she tries not to think about. those three things have followed her into adulthood, but they’ve taken different forms now. no longer is agatha a child screaming her throat raw — no; now, she cries out in other more productive ways. if you were to ask her, she’d tell you that she’s a woman grown; the past is behind her, buried in the sand where it belongs. the truth is trickier, less absolute. agatha is a child in the form of a woman; forever in the midst of a metamorphosis, unsure if for better or worse. she lacks foresight & lives largely in the now. she can’t imagine a future for herself and her choices in life reflect that.

agatha succeeds because she’s pretty, powerful, and convincing. wherever she falls short, her father is sure to more than make up for it. it’s amazing what people will do for the right price, and when they want to keep certain secrets from ever seeing the light. nepotism & immense privilege have done wonders for her, but she does.. actually work hard, too. she has an incredible memory & is really good at digging for more information & making her case. if she tells you that she’s going to do something, then she’s going to do it right no matter what. she’s dogged in that way, blinded to the outside world by her stubbornness. she works long hours & values her career above all else. she thinks it’s the only sure thing she has & views it as the one stable, secure thing in her life.

agatha is lonely to the point of defect. she lacks a sense of security in her life, which is why she’s so career-focused. she genuinely thinks that the only person ever looking out for her is her dad. she becomes very predictable once you realize that she will always pick the winning team; that she will forever follow the money; and that she is always going to make the decision that most benefits her. that isn’t to say that she doesn’t have any friends omg, but.. she doesn’t really trust easily. if she trusts you and considers you near and dear to her heart, then she’ll choose you. but until she has that reassurance? you’re on your own, bro.

but like.. you literally would not know that unless you got burned by her. agatha is really good at listening and really good at playing parts for people. the thing with having no story is that she’s free to create her own. if you need a hero, she can be that. if you need a villain, she can definitely be that. she’s eerily good at getting chummy enough to make people think she’s close, only for them to realize.. they don’t actually know anything real about her? fun stuff.

i think.. her entire life is a vie for power while also wanting to let go of that desire while also being afraid of what might happen if she were to let go of that desire. she’s not tht bad. she can play decent, be a guy’s guy. and she does come off tht way. it’s jus.. underneath there’s tht like .. tht rot tht she can’t scrub away. n it rears its ugly little head smtimes. but. :^) she can be cool n shoot the shit u kno.. heheh.

anyway.. lighter stuff<3 puts the gaslight and gatekeep in girlboss. talks just like her daddy, except for when she’s in the courtroom. egocentric without ever meaning to be. (spoiler: it’s a smoke screen.) she can, must, and will find a way to twist your words into something she can make sense of. believes in mixed drink supremacy. will absolutely smoke all of your weed + play dumb about hogging the blunt. plays dumb a lot actually, until it’s time to be smart. she’s touchy-feely, but freezes up whenever someone touches her. stares — a lot. can’t ever be the person to pick you up after a rough night out, because she’s likely there with you egging you on to do one more shot. every event is a tits out event / she has to be the most overdressed person in the convenience store at all times. can, must, and will be your unsolicited sugar momma. YOU SPIL-DBFDHFDJHBF LIPSTICK IN MY VALENTINO WHITE BAG? energy. thinks everything is a competition because it is. if she loved you once then she loves you forever. thinks going 20 over the speed limit isn’t speeding, actually. a bit of an emotional anarchist. can’t actually take what she’ll dish out. teases u if she likes u. teases u if she doesn’t like u. doesn’t care abt the feud as long as she’s gettin’ tht shmoney. big fan of an emotional sucker punch.

"𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋." + below are some ideas open to any & all muses no matter the age, gender, affiliation, etc !

i’ve left how she got involved with the mc totally absent from this intro bc i was hoping to plot it out! i’d love it if someone wanted to be her “in”. could be they were a childhood friend in need of help, a client she got close to, jus smth tht happened by chance.. whtever we come up with works! <3

if anyone needs an evil ex gf .. She’s Here. she will lie, cheat, scam, trash yr car, empty yr bank account.. whtvr you need, baybee<3

conversely.. not-so-evil ex gf? agatha can be nice & caring without there being a catch sometimes. maybe they still talk. maybe they’re friends. u tell me.

fwb / ex fwb? she do be sending them ‘u up?’ texts.

someone tht agatha only got close to bc she wanted them to testify/be a character witness in court oopz<3

omg actual friends pls.. ppl tht Know her. tht See her. ppl tht she cares abt n would actually do anything for. friends!!!!!!!!!!!!

agatha has “get off my lawn” energy so i think it would be very funnie if someone needed a place to crash n she let them stay at hers thinking it was temporary n then they jus.. did not leave. n she’s like 🤨 hello?

an almost smth? anything weird n awkward n unspoken tht maybe fizzled out or maybe still lingers under the surface?

agatha doesn’t have a budding drinking problem but if she does no she doesn’t but if she does then<3 drinking buddy? someone that she’s gotten into questionable shenanigans with? poor bartender tht has to deal w her trying to “help” them as she waits for her uber to come? the possibilities are endless.

agatha’s all bark n very little bite but i still think it’d be funnie if she had a hateship. jus putting tht out there<3

if yr muse wnts an ego boost via unrequited crush.. lmk. i’m willing to hulk smash all of agatha’s dignity jus for u.

omggg a dealer? >.> who said tht omg #hacked..

on n off again thingz? lorde wrote tht "i am my mother's child i'll love you til my breathing stops / i'll love you till you call the cops on me" line abt her</3

budding friendships!!!!!!! ppl tht she goes to pilates or yoga with; people she gets brunch with; ppl she keeps running into n its like heeey u :); little platonic crushes jus . all of the cute platonic thingz tht make her go wtf is this 🤨.

i mean.. if anyone wants a sugar momma.. I MEANNN..

college friends!! law school friends!! ppl she met over the summer while interning somewhere!! i left tht purposely vague, hint-hint.

tinder dates gone wrong. ghosted tinder dates. tinder thingz.

agatha’s been attending galas / banquets / office partiez for ages now so if anyone wants to be her plus one or her lil fake date... :^) could be cute. cld be angsty. world is our oyster.

speaking of which.. coworkers n maybe even a lil personal assistant would be so sexie.

#abernathyintro #omg arriving unfashionably late thirty yrs later. >.>#[vine vc] heeey.. . ..#nt rereading this. simply not strong enough. if there r errors then no there aren't<3

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golden-pickaxe · 6 years ago

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Odal - Part 12

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 3669

Warnings: none, a bit of violence maybe? not much though

[All Parts Here]

A/N: This was kind of hard to write, and I thought about splitting it up. But then I did not want to post two short chapters instead of one, so yea. Also, thank you all so much for all your positive feedback and all the likes, you have no idea how much that motivates me and makes my day better!))

[Playlist] - Especially this one, in this particular version: Einar Selvik - Völuspá

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tags: @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23 @hallowed-heathen @twilight-loveer

You did not sleep very well that night, tossing and turning on your furs until the early hours of the morning. You already faintly heard the birds, when you were finally drifting off, your dreams hunted by shadows and smoke you could not look through. Your sisters did not wake you up, and so when you finally awoke the sun was already high in the sky, the noise of the camp muffled by the tent you were in.

You got up with a groan, before angrily starting to comb and braid your hair, before you put on fresh clothes and washed your face in a small basin of cold water. You were not quite sure why your mood was so darkened. You knew you should be glad, that the change that Ivar would bring was not all bad for you, and that he was really part of your fate in some way, but it was still all too vague to make you happy.

You knew about the circles of life, and of destruction, of rebirth and renewal. Just as the year changed, the world did, and so would your life. But even if there would be something bright and beautiful at the end, you grew scared of the in between.

You entered the courtyard of the villa deep in thought, ignoring the world around you. The smell of the midday meal, that was probably currently in preparation, reached your nose, but you pushed your hunger down, walking on. Suddenly though, a small piece of wood hit the side of your head.

You flinched back, blinking confused at the object now lying at your feel, until you looked up to see who had thrown it at you.

Your eyes met Ivar’s, who was sitting on the back of his chariot.

“I called you!” he said, an equally grim expression on his handsome face. “You did not react.”

“Still no need to throw stuff at me, prince.” You huffed, picking up the piece of wood quickly and throwing it back at the man. Ivar raised his hand in defence, deflecting the small object with his leather bracers.

He seemed to be far more surprised than angry by your action, biting his lip as if he tried to supress a grin.

“Who’s the one who managed to ruin your day already, Y/N?” he asked, tilting his head, his lower arms as so often resting on his legs as he leaned forward.

“My norns.” You spat out. “They are shit.” You raised your arms, resting both of your hands in your neck.

Ivar raised both of his eyebrows at your words, shifting a bit to the side and patting the wagon floor next to where he was sitting, and invitation to join him. You let out a deep sigh, for a moment not sure if you should really sit down next to the root of your problems, before you shook your head, walking over to him and dropping down beside him with a huff.

You were painfully aware how close the two of you were, your legs almost touching, though it felt as if Ivar did his best to avoid this.

“So what did your norns do, exactly, to make you so angry with them?” Boneless looked at you, and you could not tell if his expression was mocking or not. You mustered his blue eyes, before inhaling sharply, turning your gaze from him and towards the courtyard.

“They decided to give me signs, that I don’t know how to interpret. It drives me insane.” You admitted, your hands absently pulling a loose thread at the bottom of your tunic.

Ivar chuckled.

“Don’t put too much meaning to those signs.” He said, causing you to look at him again, slightly surprised. His expression was still not really mocking, even if it was a bit amused.

“What?” you asked, frowning, but the man next to you just shrugged.

“My mother had incredible foresight. Some called her a volva. She knew many things before they happened, and had dreams of fate and prophecy.” He explained. “Before I left with father to go to England, she dreamt that I would drown in a storm. There was indeed a storm, but I did not die.”

You chewed your lower lip, listening to his words. That his mother had been gifted with seidr was a rumour you had heard in Kattegat. However, it did not really do much to reassure you, hearing that she was wrong.

As the man had said, there still had been a storm, and his father ended up dying in the snake pit.

You were pulled out of your grim thoughts, as suddenly you left Ivar’s warm hand on yours. You looked down at his fingers, slowly stroking over yours, before your eyes wandered back to his face. His expression was soft, careful.

“Sometimes fate tricks us. We never learn the true meaning of the signs until what is foretold comes to happen.” Ivar smiled gently, apparently trying for it to look reassuringly.

“I..” you started, but stopped, when you noticed Ubbe walking over the courtyard, approaching Ivar’s chariot. The hand of the dark-haired prince left yours, and his usual angry demeaner returned to his handsome face as his looked up to his older brother.

“What is it?” he hissed, his eyes burning.

Ubbe looked from him to you and back, a knowing expression in his face, before he spoke.

“Bjorn has accepted the king’s offer. He’s about to sign the land over to us.” He said, looking a bit weary.

“And?” Ivar had noticed his hesitation too, tilting his head at the other one. Once again, he looked so much like the serpent from your dreams, it stung your heart.

“King Ecbert’s terms were that he can decide the manner of his own death. He wants to kill himself.”

There was a moment of silence. Your eyes slowly turned to Ivar, whose face reflected the storm that was now raging inside of him. His nostrils flared, his fingers twitched, and you were sure, if he had the king, or possibly Bjorn in front of him now, he would crush either one with his bare hands. He looked angry, murderous and betrayed.

“We should go, Ivar.” Ubbe said, his voice firm and calm. You guessed that he was used to this, used to be the voice of reason in his younger brother’s ears. He then shot you a glance, as if he thought about telling you to leave, to get away from Ivar.

Ivar pursed his lips, but finally nodded, ignoring the offer of his brother to carry him into the villa, and instead slid off the chariot, starting to drag himself over the ground, not looking back at you. You did not move, just watched him, until the two brothers had disappeared through the gates of the villa.

With a sigh you looked at your hands, before you pulled out your dagger. You hesitated for a moment, but then used it to carve the word Urð into the wooden side of Ivar’s wagon. Fate.

After the land, which was somewhere even further south than you were now, had been signed over to the princes, and after the death of Ecbert, there was a great feast prepared. The sons of Ragnar took seat on the tribune in the centre of the courtyard, while you and all your sisters sat together with Hrafnkell’s men a few tables behind the king.

This was it, the final feast, before it was decided what you were to do now. Summer had come to an end, and you soon had to leave, if you wanted to get home before the first frost set in.

“Now I have to return home to my wife.” Hrafnkell’s mood seemed even worse than yours, as he chewed on his food, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes. His face reflected how much he dreaded to see the woman again. “I wonder how often she will hit me this time.”

“Does she always hit you when you are away?” Asta asked, her voice laced with concern.

“The longer I’m away, the more ways she dreams up in which I wronged her. The only wrong thing I ever did was marrying her in the first place, if you ask me.” He shook his head.

“Why don’t you divorce her, if she treats you so badly?” you asked, wiping your mouth and taking a sip of your ale.

“She has threatened to hurt our daughters, if I do. And I don’t want Solveig and Embla to suffer for me. They are my light.” Hrafnkell brushed his hair out of his face, to scratch his forehead, revealing the large scar covering his skin.

You felt pity for the man, whom you considered a friend, and hearing him speak like that truly saddened you. He had been very young when he had married his wife, stupidly in love with her pretty face, and too happy to think clearly when she had told him she was with child.

After their second daughter had been born, it had all changed.

At first, you had thought that he was just one of these men who always talked badly of their wives with no truth behind their words, but after you had met Gunhild, you had understood that this was not the case.

“Then we should take them to our farm.” You suggested, a bit without thinking.

“You don’t know what you are saying.” Asta threw in and frowned at you, but Hrafenkell just stared at you with the first spark of hope in his blue eyes that you had seen all evening. Despite his scar and sadness, he looked still so young, and though your sister always called him ‘old man’ you knew that he was maybe one or two years older than her.

“Would you do that for me? Take them in, and hide them from their mother?” he asked, looking from one of the six of you to the other.

Hallgrim was the first to nod and speak up.

“Only few know where our farm is, and Embla has often asked about the animals when I saw her. We can take them in the night, and keep them save.”

“But would they want that? Our mothers wound never agree to take any girl in, if it was against her will.” Asta reasoned, her eyes studying the man in front of you.

“I think they would. Both of my girls love all of you, you know that. And they suffer almost as much as I do.” Hrafnkell looked down at his plate again, and you could see how much, in this moment, he seemed to regret not being home to care for his daughters. You also heard the words he did not speak, that he suspected his wife to hit them too.

Gudrun opened her mouth to say something, probably wanting to agree with Hallgrim, or offer her support, but her words were interrupted by the sound of a horn being blown. The conversations around you started to die down, and everyone’s attention turned to the table of the five princes, where Bjorn, sitting in the centre of them, stood up from his seat.

You shifted a bit, and sat up straighter on the bench you shared with your sisters, to see him better, as the oldest of the sons of Ragnar started a speech about your victory, about how you had taken revenge and defeated the two English kinds, and how you had acquired land to settle and farm.

He was truly an impressive figure, tall, strong and intimidating. You knew that you would never want to face this man in battle, and almost felt pity with the Christians he had slain. Almost.

Finally, he added, how he would go back to the Mediterranean sea.

The more he spoke, the angrier Ivar seemed to become. As soon as Bjorn had finished to talk, the youngest Ragnarsson started his own speech.

“I will be here.” He started, turning his whole body towards the feasting warriors. “But not to settle down a plough.”

You leaned forward a bit, resting your elbows on the table in front of you, watching him intently. His words were like honey on your soul, completely catching your attention. His brothers looked annoyed and angry, but Ivar turned even more, mustering the crowd before him.

“Who want to be a farmer now? Hm? We have a great army, and we should use it!” his hand hit the table, his proposition like music in your ears. You felt Hallgrim stiffen next to you and shifting in her seat, a quick glance at her face showing you that in contrary to you, she really did not like what Ivar was saying.

“There are many other places that I want to attack and raid!” he continued with a smile. “And those of you who feel like I do, you should come with me. And those of you who don’t, ask yourself.. who can stand in our way now?” he yelled the last words, most of your fellow warriors breaking out in cheer.

You could truly not bring yourself to supress the broad smile that was forming on your face, when you turned to your sisters.

“I told you it is not over yet!” you said to Hrafna, squeezing her hand for a moment across the table, who just nodded with an amused expression in her face. There was something else too, but you were too excited to care.

“I will go home. I don’t want to raid, nor settle here.” Hallgrim shook her head, running one of her hands through her short hair. It had grown a bit since you had arrived in England, and was covering her forehead.

“Why not settle here? The land is fertile and far more forgiving than back home. Frey had blessed this soil, I thought you would be the first to want to claim it.” Yeva tilted her head, but you could not tell if she was serious of making fun of the older one.

“Make a home here, just to be slaughtered by Christians? No, thank you. I prefer people being honest about their intentions, not preaching peace and stab you in the back.” She huffed. “Also, someone has to care for the farm, you can’t just leave out mothers alone, now that they are getting old.” The woman drained her cup, wiping her mouth. “I’m sure others will go back too, and I am going to join them. You can stay, I do not care.”

You clenched your jaw slightly, not liking what you were hearing. Of course, your sister was a free woman, and free to do as she wanted, but the thought that your band of shieldmaidens would break apart did not sit well with you.

“And what about you, Yeva? Gudrun? Asta? Do you also want to go home?” you asked, looking from one to the other. You did not bother to ask Hrafna, as you already knew what her answer would be. She would go with Halfdan, and you bet that the battle-hungry man would not just return to Vestfold.

“I will not part with you. Where Hrafna is, I will be too.” Gudrun smiled faintly.

“I think I will stay too. If you will, that is, old man.” She turned her face to Hrafnkell, who simply chuckled.

“Well, if Hallgrim promises to take care of my daughters, I will stay.” He said, his eyes wandering to said sister. The woman nodded.

“Of course, I will. They will be treated like family, just as you are.” She said with a smile on her face.

Yeva groaned, drinking from her cup.

“Well then, I am not a farmer. So I will stay too, if all of you are staying.” She rolled her eyes, but you had to laugh.

With a grin on your face, you started to speak, wanting to tell your sisters how happy it was that at least your five stayed together, but Ivar at the front raised his voice again, causing you to turn his head towards him once more.

“Who among you will follow me?” he asked, slowly raising from the table, his hands supporting him to not fall over. “Who will follow me into battle, for the love of fame, and for the love of Odin, the Allfather?”

A lot of the warriors, far more than you would have expected, considering how feared Ivar was among them, shouted in confirmation, you among them, as you clutched the Gungnir pendant around your neck.

Ivar grinned broadly, sitting back, a very smug expression on his handsome face, as his brother Sigurd started to talk to him.

You turned your face back to your sisters, briefly meeting Gudrun’s brown eyes, who mustered you with a knowing smile. You just rolled her eyes at her, kicking her leg under the table, and hiding behind your cup.

The tables located closer to the princes started to laugh, catching your attention once more. Sadly, you were too far away to hear their conversation.

“Well, maybe that’s because you’re not.. really a man.” Now that, you heard. And that also wiped the smile right off your face. Your mouth opened in disbelieve, and you sat up once more, looking over to the tribune the princes were sitting on. “Are you, Boneless?”

Ivar’s face was drained from expression and colour, and he averted his blue eyes, not saying anything. It was as if Sigurd’s words had hit a nerve, and you had to swallow as you had never seen him like this, had never seen him so hurt that he could not even throw an insult back.

Your eyes were fixed at the youngest son of Ragnar, but were finally pulled away from him, when your king stood up, raising his cup.

“I would like to stay, but I have other plans. Skal.” He said nodding to the princes. You knew what his other plans might be. Probably still following his dream to become king of all Norway.

But Harald would go back home, and so Hallgrim could travel with your king back to Vestfold. At least you knew her journey was safe, as much as it hurt you seeing her depart.

Halfdan next to Harald stood up too now, leaning forward and bracing himself against the table in front of him with both of his arms.

“As for me.. I want to go with Bjorn. I want to see the Mediterranean.”

Bjorn jumped over the table to go to Halfdan, and to address the crowd once more. You, however, did not really pay any attention to him your eyes wandering over to your sister, who sheepishly looked down at her cup.

“Did you know of this?” Asta was quicker to ask than you, frowning.

Hrafna sighed, but finally nodded.

“Yes, I did. We talked about it already. I will go with him.” She said.

“Then I will also go.” Gudrun’s eyes were pleading, but the red head just turned to her with a sad smile on her face.

“You have to stay with the others. I can’t promise to keep you safe there, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Gudrun just shook her head, tears forming in her warm eyes.

“Hrafna..”

It pained you to see her like this, almost as much as it pained you to hear that the other one was leaving. The two of them were so close, never fought, and always had each other’s backs. You also were sure that Gudrun was the only one knowing what truly had happened to Hrafna, and she had never told anyone.

The princes started to fight and shout at each other, but frankly, in this moment you did not care for it. Hrafna was sailing away, not even bothering to tell you beforehand, leaving Gudrun behind, and Hallgrim was going back to the farm on her own. It just did not feel right.

As long as you could remember, as long as the lot of you could wield a sword, you had always gone to battle together, and fought at each other’s sides.

“Why have you not told us before?” Asta asked, her face and voice full of hurt.

“We.. we were not sure when we would depart. Halfdan has also not told his brother, we thought we would return to Norway before Bjorn would sail away again.” The red head chewed her lower lip, looking down once again. “I am sorry.”

You knew, for her it was always hard to deal with emotions, and she had always been horrible at comforting people. Now, with her heart belonging to a man she wanted to explore the world with, with Gudrun crying next to her, and the rest of you not hiding your disappointment, you saw her struggling.

“Ivar! Ivar!” Ubbe’s panicked scream made everyone of you look up at the table of the princes once more, your eyes going wide in shock as you saw Ivar’s outstretched hand, and his axe sticking out of Sigurd’s chest.

You could only watch, frozen in shock such as the rest of the brothers, as Sigurd pulled the weapon out of his body, stumbling towards Ivar who looked just as unbelieving of the whole situation as you were. There was fear in his blue eyes, as his older brother raised the axe against him. But before he could smite Boneless down, avenge himself, he collapsed to the ground, where he lied unmoving.

“Brother will fight brother and be his slayer, sister’s sons will violate the kinship-bond. Hard it is in the world, whoredom abounds, axe-age, sword-age, shields are cleft asunder. Wind-age, wolf-age, before the world plunges headlong. No man will spare another.” Gudrun’s voice was weak, not much above a whisper, but you still heard her words clear as day.

“I see further ahead,” you added numbly, eyes meeting Ivar’s over the courtyard. “To the mighty doom of gods, of the victory-gods.”

**[ Völuspá, Stanza 44, 46 - Translation by Carolyne Larrington ]

#ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #ivars heathen army #odal

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bevioletskies · 6 years ago

Text

signed, sealed, delivered (i’m yours) [2/3]

summary: “Did you know Mister Peter has a big crush on you?”

“That’s not - that’s hardly appropriate conversation for the classroom, Clementine,” Gamora scolded. She paused. “When did you hear that?”

“Yesterday in his music class, when he told us,” Clementine said cheerfully.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like - ”

“He said, ‘I think Miss Gamora is real smart and cool and pretty and I like her a whole lot. Do you think she likes me, too?’. We said we weren’t sure,” Clementine continued, oblivious to Gamora’s incredulous expression. “I mean, you yelled at him real loud last week when he accidentally broke your pencil sharpener. But I think he did it ‘cos he wanted to talk to you.”

word count: 8k

a/n: Fic title is from the song Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) by Stevie Wonder.

ao3 | tag

Mantis quirked an eyebrow at the sights and sounds of her brother practically skipping into the kitchen, whistling cheerfully. “You seem to be in a very good mood this morning. Does it have anything to do with last night’s party?”

“You know I like to entertain,” Peter grinned, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and leaning against the kitchen counter. “You enjoy yourself?”

“Of course. But I want to talk more about you,” Mantis said slyly. “You spent over an hour with Gamora on the balcony. I saw you go upstairs with her, you know. At first, I thought it was for something else, but I did not think she would - ”

“Mantis!” Peter exclaimed, mildly scandalized. “I would never - ” she made a face “ - yeah, okay, you have a point. But no, it’s not like that.”

“Except I have never seen you grow so attached to someone so quickly before,” Mantis shrugged. “And you feel...excited. Like you are anticipating something.”

“She offered to look over my lesson plan when we go back to work on Monday,” Peter replied innocently. “C��mon now, I don’t got ulterior motives.”

“But you do like her,” Mantis insisted, tapping her finger against her temple. “You can’t lie to me, Peter.”

“We just...we talked about a lot of stuff. Felt like we both really needed a new perspective.” He smiled, shaking himself. “Anyways, what’re we doing today, other than cleaning all the crap people left around here?”

Come Monday morning, Peter was practically vibrating with nervous excitement as he approached Gamora’s classroom during his free period. He couldn’t help himself; there was something so inexplicably magnetic about her that made him crave her approval, her attention, not to mention the very strange and morbid thing they had in common, something that made him feel closer to her than he otherwise would. He could only hope that, in some small way, she reciprocated.

He knocked on her doorframe, peering inside the room where the kids were currently working quietly at their desks, poring over their textbooks. Many heads immediately shot up at the sound, and they all perked up at the sight of him. “Mister Peter!” several of them chorused happily.

“You’re bein’ nice to Miss Gamora, I hope,” Peter said half-sternly, wagging his finger at them. They burst into mischievous giggles.

“I’ve already given three detentions today,” Gamora said without looking up from her desk.

“It’s not even noon,” Peter said incredulously. “What’ve you kids been doing?”

Before any of them could respond, though, Gamora quickly stood and grabbed Peter by the wrist, yanking him out of the room. “Can we talk outside? Please?” A chorus of “ooh”s followed them out the door like they were doing something particularly scandalous.

Once they were in the hall, Peter furrowed his brow at her in worry. “You said I could drop by, right? I didn’t imagine that?”

“They have detention for asking me about the party. Did you say something about me being at your house this weekend?” Gamora demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

“I - well, yeah, I passed some of ‘em in the hall, they asked me what I did this weekend and I told ‘em. All I said was that I had a housewarming thing and I invited the other teachers,” he protested.

“We still need to keep our distance professionally, Peter, we can’t just let these children know every intimate detail of our lives,” she said, groaning.

“I didn’t think telling a couple of kids that having the faculty over for dinner at our place was a big deal,” he replied. “It’s not like I told them about anything we talked about. I didn’t even mention you specifically!”

“Just...be careful, okay?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There are still people out there, looking for me and Nebula. If the wrong person heard about us, puts the pieces together...the consequences could affect far more than just us.” She straightened up, brushing away nonexistent lint from her pants. “Besides, I’m fine with them thinking we’re friends, for the most part. But I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea being…?” Peter smirked.

“Don’t bait me, Peter, it doesn’t work,” Gamora said cooly, though she gestured for him to follow her back inside. “Pull up a chair and I’ll look at your lesson plan.”

“You got it, Miss Gamora,” he said with a wink.

From then on, they had an amicable, if a little unpredictable friendship in the works as the semester progressed. Gamora was wholly unemotional at times, especially when they were at work. They would chat at a polite distance in the teacher’s lounge, have professional back-and-forths during meetings, and she was definitely most reserved whenever students were around, though for good reason. Peter could tell underneath her acerbic demeanor, she was still looking over her shoulder for someone or something that could hurt her or her sister. At least Peter knew that he and Mantis, for the most part, were unambiguously safe.

When they were alone outside of work, which admittedly wasn’t very often, she seemed more relaxed, more prone to witticisms and biting remarks that made Peter laugh. Mantis helped, too, often inviting Gamora and Nebula over for dinner every now and then, preparing a hearty meal and indulgent dessert in contrast to their otherwise strict maintenance diets. Nebula would say practically nothing, even managed to wiggle her way out of joining them sometimes, but from what Peter could tell, it was real progress for her.

“Man, it’s really comin’ down hard out there,” Peter said one December morning as he trudged into the teacher’s lounge, shaking snow out of every crease in his coat and pants. “Surprised we still have to come into work. I bet half the school’s gonna be empty this week.”

“I’m sure most have already left on vacation,” Gamora replied, briefly glancing at him in greeting. “Mantis tells me you have plans for the students before we’re out for the year.”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ of incorporating some Terran holidays around here, maybe see if there’s traditions from other cultures we could add to the school calendar.” He plucked the year-at-a-glance calendar from the bulletin board by the door and sat across from her, his eyes scanning over it intently. His feet went up on the table; she promptly swatted him away. “I mean, we don’t got much here other than sports games and career day. We gotta get these kids more involved.”

“They already detest the idea of being in school, we don’t need to prolong the experience,” she countered.

“Which is why we need to make it more fun,” he insisted. “Events, games, contests, whatever it takes. Something real memorable.”

She looked at him curiously. “Was your mother a teacher?”

He paused, lowering the calendar away from his face to look at her. “No, she was a nurse, why?”

“You’re just very...passionate about all this. Making school not just a place, but an experience,” she commented. “I just thought it might have come from her influence since you speak so fondly of her.”

“I guess she sorta does, in her own way. She used to invent all sorts of games to keep patients from thinkin’ about their problems, even for just a little while,” he smiled. “My mom was - or, still is - the most important person in my life. I wanna honor the planet we lived on together, the place that I came from. And we’ve got such a diverse student body here, all walks of life. It’d be a waste not to at least give ‘em a shot at feeling like they’re home, too.” He brightened. “What about yours?”

Gamora inhaled sharply. “Thanos...he didn’t just kill my parents. He destroyed the entire planet. Whatever is left of my culture remains in the records. I have no recollection of our traditions, personally. I was too young to hold on to them, too vulnerable and impressionable to remember.”

“Oh...geez, Gamora, I’m so sorry,” Peter said sadly, his shoulders slumping. “Mantis is sorta like that, too. She knows way more about Ravager culture than anything about her home planet. Hell, it always takes her a second just to remember its name. Me, I’m kind of a blend of both. Not the Celestial crap, but I got some of that Ravager blood at heart, y’know?”

“Roguish, unrefined, arrogant? I see it.” She smirked weakly over the rim of her coffee mug, still affected by her memories.

“Hey,” he chuckled. “Also, that reminds me - I never asked you about what happened after you got picked up by the Nova Corps.”

“This isn’t the time or place for that kind of discussion, Peter.” She got to her feet, moving to leave the room. He inwardly cursed himself for asking - though he’d mostly gotten used to conversations with her, it sometimes still felt like he was feeling around for an explosive, and didn’t have the foresight to know he’d gotten there until it was too late.

“Will you help me plan something, though?” he called after her, relieved to see her pause in the doorway. “Don’t have to be big, just somethin’ special. For the kids.”

She did a quarter-turn, her expression decidedly neutral. “Fine, as long as it doesn’t take too much of my time. I’m assuming you’ve recruited Mantis as well?”

“Gotta get the dream team together!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in celebration. “This is gonna be great, you’ll see.” ______

As expected, Mantis immediately went into a high-energy frenzy the moment Gamora mentioned Peter’s idea offhand during their lunch break, her eyes bugging out of her head almost comically at the word ‘party’. Gamora was mildly concerned she was about to burst a vein. “We will give them a winter break send-off they will never forget!” she had declared.

Gamora didn’t return home until late into the evening since Peter and Mantis managed to convince her to stay behind to talk about their ideas (and they were certainly full of them). She set the take-out bag on the kitchen table, glancing around curiously at the utter silence. “Nebula?” she called. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re late.” Nebula emerged from a shadowy corner in the sitting room, her head bowed.

Gamora frowned. “I texted you, didn’t I?”

“It was just an observation,” Nebula said defensively, plopping down into a chair without much grace. “You spend nearly every waking hour in their presence instead of leaving that place the moment you can. You seem to actually like them.”

“They seem like honest people. We don’t get much of that, being who we are.” Gamora began pulling out cutlery from the kitchen drawer, pausing in realization of what Nebula was actually trying to get at. “Is there a problem?”

“You trust people far too easily, sister,” Nebula said, slouching back. “Someday, it will be too late.”

“And they say I’m dramatic,” Gamora snorted, moving to join her sister at the table. “Do you feel I’ve been avoiding you in favor of their company? Is that what this is about?”

“Don’t bother psychoanalyzing me, you won’t find anything of interest,” Nebula drawled. “You know I’m content to be home by myself. I prefer it.”

“So you’d rather live a life of complacency? That doesn’t sound like the sister I grew up with.” Gamora absentmindedly stirred her food, staring down at her plate without really wanting to eat; her appetite had rapidly declined. “I can tell you worry about me, about us. I worry about you, too.”

“Really? That’s a surprise to me,” Nebula said bitterly, stabbing her fork downwards, making an awful scre-e-ech across the surface of her plate. “You either shadow my every move or leave me behind when it’s convenient. It’s about time you pick one.”

“Then I choose to be a good sister...maybe even a friend,” Gamora murmured. “I just want you to be happy, Nebula, and I don’t think you can be truly content until you’ve found your purpose.”

“My purpose was to kill for him. Then we killed him. There is nothing left for me. No purpose to fulfill, no master to serve. So just drop it,” Nebula hissed.

“I don’t believe that,” Gamora said, vehemently shaking her head. “I’m not saying you need to work, the Nova Corps compensate us generously for our troubles. But there has to be more than you just sitting in your room, day and night.”

“Just because you’ve decided to become a social creature, it doesn’t mean I have to.” Nebula stood abruptly, snatching up her plate. “If you insist on continuing this inane conversation, I’m leaving.”

“Nebula - ” But she was already gone, stomping up the stairs with all the attitude and dramatics of a teenager who didn’t get her way. Gamora sighed, running her fingers agitatedly through her hair as she took her first bite of her now-cold dinner. It was an awful train of thought, but she couldn’t help but think that this - this back-and-forth, this animosity - was exactly why she spent more time away from home. No, not home. Just a house that they happened to live in.

She kept quiet about her issues with Nebula over the rest of the week while she, Peter, and Mantis continued to work on planning the festivities for the last school day before winter break. Then came Thursday night, and Gamora found herself sprawled across Peter and Mantis’s living room floor, a soft song crooning in the background while she painted some banners despite her lack of artistic ability. “How do I let you two keep talking me into these things?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“We were just too charming and you couldn’t help yourself,” Peter said with a wink, walking in with a bowl of snacks. “Too bad Nebula didn’t wanna join in, we could use an extra set of hands.”

“Nebula doesn’t exactly...help.” Gamora hastily straightened up.

“You said she does not do much of anything.” Mantis entered the room next, also hauling an entire tray of food that made Gamora’s stomach hurt just thinking about it. “How does she not get bored all the time?”

“Boredom is a comfort for us. Boredom is far more preferable compared to what we’d suffered before,” Gamora said. She had told Mantis the story she’d told Peter not too long after their housewarming party. “You must have felt the same way after...your incident.”

“I suppose,” Mantis said quietly, sinking down beside her. “But I like to distract myself after bad things happen. Then I do not have to think about the bad thing as much. Then, eventually, I do not think about it at all.”

Gamora glanced at Peter, who merely shrugged. “Music does that for me,” he added. “It’s all I had when my mom was in the hospital, and it’s all I got left of her.”

“You have your memories,” Gamora suggested before she could stop herself. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” She gestured around the room at the multitude of decorations, activities, and the like they had prepared in anticipation of the following day.

“Yeah, but...I dunno. It’s not like it’s gonna bring her back.” Peter smiled tightly, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go grab more stuff from my room.” Mantis’s gaze followed him worriedly up the stairs, turning back to Gamora with a melancholic smile on her face.

“It is so nice to have you here with us,” she said. “When we first met, I did not think we would come this far.”

“Neither did I.” Gamora picked at the lettering on the paintbrush, thinking back to her conversation with Nebula. “You were so persistent about it, I was...suspicious, almost. But now...I appreciate that about you both. Your tenacity.”

“We enjoy having you around,” Mantis said simply, though she smirked as she said it. “I think Peter is especially glad for it.”

“You’re both insinuating something that isn’t happening,” Gamora frowned, curling her legs up underneath her. “I know nothing of his history, but I don’t care to. Not when mine isn’t exactly...happy.”

“Oh,” Mantis said, brow furrowing. “What happened?”

Gamora turned away fully to dip her brush into the clear glass of water, watching intently as the colors swirled about, washing out of the bristles. “Let’s get back to work.” ______

The kids whispered excitedly to one another as they filed into their respective classrooms after the first bell, the chattering growing increasingly louder and louder until Gamora had to scold them into respectful silence. It was hard to get too mad at their enthusiasm, though, since the school had been transformed into something unlike anything they’d seen before - there was a banner hung across the front doors proclaiming the building to be a winter wonderland, paper-cut snowflakes taped up in every windows and illuminated with string lights, the red-and-gold ribbons twisting their way along the walls and pinned to the perimeters of every bulletin board. There was garland framing every doorway, jazzy music crooning through the building’s audio system, and fake snow artfully placed on the floor of every hallway (something that Yondu wasn’t fond of, given the startled shout and subsequent undeserved lecture he gave the janitor upon his arrival that morning). Last but not least, every student was given a name tag sticker of a holly branch and a small candy packet, with a promise that there were even more surprises inside.

“What’s going on, Miss Gamora?” one of the students asked, bouncing up and down in his chair. “Are we havin’ a party?”

“Of a kind. Now sit down,” Gamora ordered.

Then Peter’s voice crackled in through the speakers, startling the children. “Can we have everyone come down to the gym right now? We’ve got an awesome surprise for you!” Almost immediately, the entire class jumped out of their seats and went sprinting for the door, Gamora’s shouts of protest falling on deaf ears. She silently cursed Peter - and herself for enabling him - before following her students, trying her best to keep the chaos to a minimum as everyone poured out of their classrooms and into the hallway.

When she entered the gymnasium, she spotted him at the far end from the entrance, her heart drumming a little faster in her chest. She was oddly nervous about the ordeal, having never done something so...involved before. By contrast, Peter looked like he was in his element, waving his arms enthusiastically, urging everyone to come closer.

The students oohed and ahhed over the sight before them - tables covered in spreads of breakfast foods from all kinds of cultures, ranging from Terran classics like eggs in a variety of styles and generously thick slabs of toast, to hearty stews, cold noodles, and everything else in between. By Peter, there were tall stacks of plates and trays of cutlery, waiting for everyone to dig in.

Gamora joined him to help supervise, knowing he wouldn’t reprimand children who cut or shoved in line the way she did. “How early did you get here?”

“You could say I haven’t slept,” Peter admitted with a far too casual laugh. “Go grab a plate, I got this.” She frowned at his dismissal, moving quickly to get herself some food before returning with a defiant glare. “Man, now you’re temptin’ me.”

“What?”

“The food. Why, what’d you think I was talking about?” She wanted to wipe the smug look off his face, but her hands were too full.

“Communal eating isn’t common in all cultures,” she commented instead, her gaze traveling across the gymnasium, watching students point out dishes they’d recognized to their classmates, sitting together in large groups to socialize. “But looking at this...you would never know it.”

“Was that something your family did?” he asked.

She smiled sadly. “Hunger was commonplace on my planet. It was considered impolite to gather around a table if only one person could eat that day. In my family, that person was usually me.”

“Oh.” Peter bowed his head, unsure of what to say. It always seemed to happen whenever Gamora became oddly self-reflective for someone who claimed to keep her cards close to her chest. “So your parents…”

“I was their only child. We didn’t have much of an extended family, so if we only had enough food for one person, it went to me. Sometimes I could still feel my belly ache afterward, my head spin, but there was no use in complaining. I was grateful that they did such a thing, regardless.” She swallowed. “There are some students who still experience that now, you know. Maybe...we could make communal breakfast a permanent installation here.”

“We should,” Peter nodded, his eyes following one particularly gaunt-looking boy who was stuffing pieces of bread into the pockets of his bookbag. “And hey, this whole thing, all the stuff we got planned for today, it wouldn’t’ve happened without you. So...thanks, Gamora.”

“These ideas were yours and Mantis’s, I was just a helping hand,” Gamora protested, though her face warmed somewhat with pride.

“I just mean...look, I know what everyone thinks when they see me. That I’m just a kid who don’t got much ambition, just kinda goes around doing whatever he feels like. Right?” Gamora nodded slowly, albeit guiltily. “It’s sorta...true. I wasn’t great at studying, ‘applying’ myself, all that crap they tell you to do in college. I dicked around for a while, I was kind of an asshole when I was a teenager. But I’d like to think I’ve moved past that stuff ‘cos of the good influences I had in my life. My mom, Mantis...and you’ve been a big help, too.”

“With what?”

“With giving a shit.” He laughed. “I know, it sounds dumb. We’ve only known each other for four months, but I learned a lot about how to be a teacher...maybe even how to be a friend. I dunno, I guess I just wanted to say that I’m glad to have you around.”

She could feel her throat stick, though she suspected it wasn’t because of the food. “You really shouldn’t be.”

“Gamora, wait - ” And just like that, she vanished into the crowd.

The rest of the day’s activities went by relatively smoothly, though Peter could feel discomfort brewing in his stomach from his conversation with Gamora. He led a holiday sing-along in all sorts of languages (most of which he was admittedly terrible at) in his classroom, went into the art studio to watch Mantis show students how to make paper-cut snowflakes and douse them in unhealthy amounts of paint and glitter, and even swung by to see Rocket and Groot, two teachers he hadn’t spent much time with until relatively recently, attempting to teach the children how to make cookies.

“This is undignified. We teach science and math, for god’s sake,” Rocket complained once they had sent the kids on their way, Groot watching them carefully to make sure they didn’t burn or cut themselves in the process. “I got years of engineerin’ experience and here I am, doin’ a baking tutorial for a buncha ten-year-olds!”

“You never know, these guys could be future engineers,” Peter pointed out. “You could have a whole room full of geniuses!”

Rocket side-eyed him. “These idiots can barely tell the difference between a gas and a liquid.”

“They’re kids,” Peter exclaimed. “C’mon, Rocket, give ‘em a break. How’d you end up here, anyways?”

“Started off as community service for some of the bad shit me and Groot did when was younger,” Rocket said. “We were TAs at first. Then Groot got too attached to the kids, and, well...where he goes, I go. So we both got certified, and bam - been stuck here ever since.”

They watched in amicable silence while Groot gently patted the heads of every student who managed to roll their cookie dough into decent-sized balls, ready to be placed on the baking sheet. Peter smiled. “I can’t imagine Groot doing anything wrong in his entire life.”

“Decided to be friends with me. That’s when it all went sideways,” Rocket snorted, though something about his tone told Peter it wasn’t entirely a joke. “But you’re right. He’s good. He’s right where he belongs.” Groot looked over at them like he’d heard his name, smiling and waving cheerfully like they hadn’t seen in each other in ages. Peter and Rocket automatically waved back, Rocket scoffing with unmistakable fondness. “Anyways, how’s it goin’ for you, Quill? Did the brats break you in yet?”

“Not exactly the life I pictured living when I was a kid, but I’m liking how it’s going so far,” Peter shrugged. “I got my family, I got my music, I got enough money to live the life I wanna live...what else do I need?”

“More ambition, for one thing,” Rocket said, shaking his head. “You gotta think bigger, Quill! You don’t at least want more cash?”

“I’m good where I am. Aren’t you?” Peter countered.

Rocket sighed, his ears drooping as he did. “Yeah, who am I kiddin’. Who else is gonna hire me n’ Groot, anyways? We’re not exactly model employees. We ain’t model anything.”

“You’re decent teachers,” Peter offered. He smirked. “Or at least Groot is.”

“You’re an asshole, Quill, y’know that?” Rocket laughed without any real heat to it. A few students nearby gasped at his language. “Yeah, yeah, don’t tell the admin I said that, kids. I already got Kraglin on my tail for tinkerin’ with Ol’ Blue’s ship last month.”

Peter paused. “That was you? Yondu thought it was one of the older students!”

“Oh, man, what was the look on his face when he saw what I did to the engine?” Rocket was genuinely elated in a way Peter had never seen before, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “Did he start screamin’, like when his voice gets all hoarse and that vein in his neck starts pulsing - ”

“I think you might be the real asshole around here,” Peter said, shaking his head.

“You’re not gonna tell ‘im, right?”

Peter looked down at Rocket then, an honest, earnest expression on his face that betrayed his usual crass demeanor. “Nah. You owe me, though.”

“Thanks, Quill,” Rocket said, relieved. “Hey, so what’s up with you and Gamora? You seemed okay until this morning. Saw her run off like you told her you were diseased or somethin’.”

“She gets weird about feelings, I guess. All I said was that I was glad to know her,” Peter sighed. “Didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Guess I was wrong.”

“Aw, you’re such a sap,” Rocket teased. “Gamora ain’t the type to get touchy-feely, never was. The fact you and your sister managed to get her to say more than ‘don’t do that’ and ‘listen to me’ is a damn miracle.”

“I don’t wanna make her uncomfortable or nothin’.” Peter glanced briefly at the door, wondering if it would be too late to drop by and apologize before the day was over. “I was just hoping...I dunno.”

“Go talk to her, then,” Rocket insisted. “Though if you manage to piss her off even more…” He trailed off with a horrified shudder.

“Yeah, I…I should do that.”

Peter left for her classroom a few minutes later - he had briefly stayed behind to help out with a student who had almost set Groot on fire somehow, resulting in the usual panicked chaos that was commonplace for Rocket and Groot’s joint classes - wondering what he could even say that wouldn’t make everything worse. He was so lost in thought he barely noticed her standing in the doorway when he walked right into it, or more accurately, walked into her.

“Peter,” she growled.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. The kids pointed and giggled. It was then that Gamora felt a cold sweat of dread break out across her forehead, her head slowly tilting upwards to see the mistletoe hanging above them.

“What is its purpose?” she had asked him last night as they were organizing the decorations.

“It encourages the people under it to kiss,” he had replied with a salacious smile.

“That sounds like a horribly antiquated tradition. We aren’t going to have it, especially when they’re just children,” she had protested.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Peter, especially not now,” Gamora hissed under her breath, glancing warily over her shoulder at the wide-eyed children.

“Wait, can we at least talk about earlier? Before we don’t see each other for two weeks?”

“There is nothing to talk about,” she said coolly. “And I heard Rocket was having troubles in his lab, so if you’ll let me by - ”

“I just came from there, he’s fine, Groot only got a little burnt,” Peter said, waving it off. “Come by my room before you leave, okay? I’d hate for you to be mad at me.” Behind her, the class crooned with delighted approval.

“This is exactly what I was talking about, Peter,” Gamora whispered, taking a step back so he would do the same. “And no.” With that, she firmly shut the door in his face. ______

Peter took what felt like his tenth lap around his empty classroom, hooking his fingers through the cabinet door handles along the way and rattling them to make sure they were locked, even though he’d done it three times already. His eyes roamed the rest of the room - clean whiteboard, chairs stacked neatly by the door, his bag sitting underneath the window, waiting for him to pick it up and go home.

“Mister Peter?” A timid voice came from the doorway. He turned on his heel to see Clementine, one of his fifth-graders, worrying at the shoulder strap of her bag fretfully.

“Hey, Clementine. You alright?” He gestured for her to come in. She took a few tentative steps toward him, her smile shy.

“I wanted to say thank you for the food,” she mumbled. “I know me n’ some of the others don’t have much where we’re from.”

“Where are you from?” He settled down on the raised steps, patting the spot beside him for her to sit. She complied, her head lowered so he couldn’t see her face.

“Foster home,” she said. “They treat me well and try to get me new clothes and toys, but they haven’t been doing so good at work lately, so there’s not a lot of money for anything.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Peter said gently. “If you need food, or if your shoes start to feel too tight, or you don’t have new pencils, you come to me, okay?”

“I’m not asking for help,” she insisted. “I just think...maybe we can have breakfast at school be a regular thing. For kids like me.”

“Yeah?” He smiled. “You know what, I was thinking the same thing. This might not be the best school on Xandar, but we still have some money set aside for situations just like this. I bet I can convince Principal Yondu to make it happen.”

“Thank you,” Clementine breathed, her large ice-blue eyes, unsettling at times, now softening with warmth. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mister Peter. I never thought much about music until you told us all those stories about your mom. And now, it’s sort of my favorite class.”

“That’s amazing, Clementine,” Peter grinned. “Glad I could change your mind. You remember your break assignment, right?”

“Find a song that makes me happy,” she recited, smiling brightly. She got to her feet, standing straighter than she had been before. “I’ll see you after break, Mister Peter!”

“You got it!” He waved as she skipped off with an invigorated bunce in her step. It was then that he noticed Gamora leaning in the doorway. “You always like to creep outside my room, don’t you?”

“Only when I’ve wronged you...when I need to apologize for what I’ve said and done. It’s not something I expected to happen so often,” she admitted, walking over to take Clementine’s spot beside him. “I shouldn’t let my impulse take precedence over my rationale. You were trying to be kind, and all I could think of was all the false niceties I’d been fed before. I suppose that’s where we differ the most.”

“What d’you mean?” He stared down at his hands, unsure of where to look.

“There are certain...concepts, I think, that we take to very differently.” Gamora smiled tightly. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to fight against what those six years had done to me, had expected of me. That I would become cold, distrustful, full of vitriol and spite. Then...it happened anyway. Those expectations, they dictated everything about me.”

“And me?”

“You defied your tragedies, recovered from them. You think yourself charming, romantic, sentimental - the hero of whatever story you’re trying to tell. And you have your issues, too, but they don’t exist in the forefront of your being. Not like mine. This...this isn’t me trying to say you haven’t suffered, or that my suffering justifies my behavior, but that this isn’t some magical moment in which we both find whatever it is we’re looking for. We aren’t going to be able to solve each other’s problems, just like that.”

Peter swallowed, sinking a little into himself. “You’re perceptive, y’know that?”

“I prefer ‘analytical’,” she said, straightening up. “Do you understand what I’m trying to get at, Peter?”

“The way I see it, you like to over-complicate things. And I like to over-simplify ‘em,” he shrugged, turning to look at her. “You find a million reasons why something won’t work. I just need one reason that it will.”

“There was a...language teacher here before. He had a talent for all sorts of topics - grammar, poetry, short stories, the like. But he had a particular affinity for analytical reading,” Gamora murmured. “We were...involved. He loved to tell me how I would read as a character in a story - the tragic heroine who overcame her past. But he was wrong. I never did. I still relive it, over and over again. It was his misunderstanding of me that ultimately ended our relationship.”

“Okay, I get it, I won’t try to put labels on you,” Peter muttered. “I mean, what do I know?”

“You’re more accurate than he ever was, actually.” Gamora shot him a small smile. “I like being friends with you and Mantis. It’s a comfort compared to every other relationship I’ve had in my life. But that doesn’t mean we need to fundamentally change each other’s lives to be...important.”

“Important, hey?” He cracked a smile of his own. “All that to say that I’m important to you?”

“Peter - ”

“I got it,” he nodded, the knot in his stomach slowly untwisting. If anything, he could appreciate her bluntness, though he was a little disheartened. “For what it’s worth, sorry if it felt like I was pressurin’ you to be anything, really. Holidays make me weirdly sentimental.”

“Speaking of…” Gamora got to her feet, gesturing towards the door. “If you’re ready to go, I have a few ideas for some events we could have in the new year that I could leave you with on the way out.”

He grinned, standing as well. “Walk with me.” ______

“You’re wearing holes in the carpet.”

Gamora turned away from the window, half-glancing over her shoulder across the room at Nebula, who was sprawled across the couch, her feet kicked up on the coffee table like the furniture was theirs. They were in a hotel in the heart of the city, surrounded by nothing but towering skyscrapers and the rush of life and sound bustling below. “They don’t usually take this long. What’s keeping them?”

“You ask as if they care to keep us informed,” Nebula said, rolling her eyes. “We are nothing more than a footnote in their agenda. I doubt they even remembered they were supposed to come back for us.”

Then, a knock on the door. Gamora smiled triumphantly, crossing the room to open it and greet the two Nova officers stood on the other side. “We’re ready for you,” one of them said, gesturing for her and Nebula to follow.

They went down the hallway into the largest suite on the floor, a room they’d never entered before, with high-vaulted ceilings and plush furniture, a contrast to the decent, but sparse-looking room they had been set up in. The most interesting thing in the room, however, was Nova Prime, sat on the fainting couch, with a spread of documents and files across the table before her, flanked by blank-faced officers. She barely glanced up when they entered.

“Sit,” she ordered kindly, but firmly. Gamora and Nebula sat opposite her in narrow armchairs, exchanging confused glances. “You’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Gamora said cautiously. “We haven’t seen you since we were children.”

“We’ve done these evaluations every year since we first found you. Every single time, we see improvements, setbacks, some drastic, some minor. All normal, all healthy. You’ve adjusted remarkably well compared to some others we’ve met with similar stories. So I thought I would go over your results and talk to you myself, and maybe...this could be the last time.” Nova Prime smiled.

“Okay,” Gamora nodded, swallowing. She could feel her heart beating in her throat.

“I’ll be blunt since I don’t think the three of us are the type to tiptoe around the subject. You two almost seem wasted in civilian life. You’ve got a lot of skills and knowledge that would guarantee excellent results in far more ambitious career paths. Teaching is an admirable job, of course, but I can’t imagine they appreciate your talents as they are, Gamora.”

“That’s...kind of you to say, but I have no desire to become an officer, or a spy, or whatever it is you think would suit me better. When I decided to become a teacher, it was because I wanted to be as far away from my old life as possible. I wanted to be a positive influence on children when I had none myself,” Gamora said.

“And I understand that. Your trauma has made those kinds of occupations and lifestyles unpalatable for you both. I thought I would just mention it, but we can move right along,” Nova Prime replied, her expression softening. “There haven’t been any incidents of any sort, violent or otherwise. You’ve been seeing your therapists when needed. It also says here you’ve made friends this past year, correct?”

“Yes,” Gamora repeated. “They’re mostly work friends, but Nebula and I have been spending time with them outside of my work hours.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nova Prime smiled. “You work, you socialize, you engage in self-care...and your transcripts, especially Gamora’s, they’re insightful. Your reflections are the kind of thing we like to see, though I hope you’re not getting too lost in your own thoughts.” Gamora thought back to two weeks ago, sitting beside Peter in his classroom, lying to him about how much he already meant to her in the last few months. She wondered if she should - or even could - keep up such pretenses forever. Then Nova Prime turned to Nebula, who was fixing her with a steely-eyed glare. “Do you feel that you’re unfit to work, Nebula?”

“I feel...that I am unfit to do anything other than what I was built for.” Gamora looked at Nebula in shock.

“You weren’t built, Nebula, you were made,” Nova Prime said quietly. “I’m not saying you have to live your life the way Gamora does or anyone does. But your sister has expressed concern over your wellbeing many times, especially during the last few evaluations, and I just - ”

“I would like to go one day without hearing about what my sister wants for me,” Nebula growled.

Nova Prime sat back, glancing over at one of the other officers, who wordlessly began to write something down. “Then I only have one more question for you both, and then we can finish up here. Are you...happy?”

“No,” Nebula said shortly. She stood and promptly stormed out. One officer moved to grab her, but Nova Prime silently held up her hand to stop him.

Gamora could feel pressure building in her chest, her breath coming in short. “Happiness isn’t as simple as you make it sound, Nova Prime. But if we’re speaking in general terms...I think I am. And that’s the best I can do for myself right now.”

“Okay.” Nova Prime’s smile seemed a little sadder now. “You’re free to go.”

“Is this the last one?” Gamora was almost afraid to ask.

“No, I...I don’t think so.”

Gamora returned to an empty hotel room, though she had a sneaking suspicion Nebula had gone downstairs to the hotel bar. She sat at the foot of her bed, ruminating over everything that had happened over the last few hours. The year’s end, while a time of celebration for most people, was a whirlwind of anxiety and emphasized loneliness for Gamora, knowing that their psychological evaluations were to be done. Between Gamora’s need for order and Nebula’s tendency for chaos, it usually took weeks for them to return to some semblance of peaceful co-existence. For now, it was like their childhood all over again - right at each other’s throats.

Then, she remembered what Nova Prime had said about her specifically, about letting herself get caught up in her own doubts. It sounded like someone else she knew. “Million reasons or one,” she whispered to herself, reaching for her phone.

“Gamora? Are you actually calling me, or did you mean to call Mantis?”

“I mean no offense to her and her abilities, but I’ve already had enough people telling me how I feel today,” Gamora said wryly.

“So then...what’s up?” She could hear the vague shuffling of Peter moving around, likely so he could sit. For a brief moment, she imagined him getting comfortable in the living room among the scraps of supplies she hadn’t managed to clean up before leaving his place a week ago. “And wait, what people?”

“Nebula and I are evaluated on a yearly basis for our psychological health, after everything that had happened to us. We speak to experts, let them poke and prod us like lab experiments. They asked about motivation...intention. Wanting to know that we think the way other people do, that we can still be a part of society like everyone else. I mentioned how I had a...friend, who said I tend to overcomplicate everything.”

“Sounds like someone important,” Peter teased. There was a pause. Somehow, it was like he could sense her glaring through the phone. “Sorry, yeah, go on.”

“You talked about how you’ve been learning a lot from me, but I haven’t put in the effort to do the same for you. So...I’m going to try and learn when I don’t have to think about every last detail, every single outcome. I don’t need to worry about what our students think is going on between us, or what people think when they see me and my sister in the store, or what my parents would think of me if they saw me now.” Ironically, she hesitated. “I decided I didn’t need a reason to call you. Other than the fact that I wanted to.” Gamora hugged her knees into her chest, feeling as if she’d said something extraordinarily intimate.

His breath hitched. “Okay. I like the sound of that. What did you wanna talk about?”

“Anything that will help me forget that my sister is fifteen floors below me, drowning in alcohol and self-hatred. That, if I go and try to talk to her, it will do nothing but make everything worse.” She sighed. “Tell me about your time with the Ravagers. Or maybe your time with your mother. Something...happy.”

“Oh, I got stories,” Peter chuckled. “You got time?” ______

The first day back felt strange, to say the least. A new year always implied new beginnings, and yet, Peter felt like nothing had changed. The weather was still bitterly cold, the door handles still squeaked, his boots still needed to be replaced, and his room smelled vaguely of cleaning supplies, just barely masking the smell of stale, poorly maintained instruments.

Stranger still, he found thirty sets of eyes following him across the room while he set his bag down. “Hey, guys, how was your break?” he asked, turning to look at them.

“Good,” they chorused.

“Mister Peter, did you have a good break?”

“Yeah, I did. Miss Mantis and I went on a little vacation together to a resort planet. Got myself a nice tan.” He held out his arm to show them, though he suspected they had something else on their mind. “So what’s with the funny looks? Did I forget to wear pants today?” Peter glanced downward, hopping exaggeratedly back and forth on his feet. The class laughed, but they were clearly still distracted.

“Some of the other kids said they saw you and Miss Gamora underneath the mis’letoe on the last day of school,” one of them exclaimed. “Is that true?”

Peter abruptly came to a stop, his feet slamming against the floor. “I wanted to talk to her, we just happened to be standing under it. That’s not...we aren’t...c’mon, guys, we got better things to be doin’. Grab your stuff and let’s start the lesson, okay?”

“Do you like her, Mister Peter?”

He ducked to start rifling through his bag for the handouts he was looking for, his back turned towards them so they couldn’t see the way his face was burning with more than mild embarrassment. “I said, let’s start the lesson.”

“So you do like her,” another student concluded.

“No, no I don’t,” Peter said far too quickly, straightening up. He sighed, rubbing at his temples. He was starting to see why Gamora was so against the idea of a publicly-known friendship. “I mean, I like her, she’s my friend and all...let’s not do this today, guys, c’mon. Take a handout, pass ‘em around, and let’s start with our break assignment. Anyone wanna share their song with the class?” The children looked disgruntledly at him, dead silence filling the room. “Anyone?”

“Did you find a song, Mister Peter?”

Peter threw his hands up in the air in defeat, settling down in his chair. “Fine, fine, I’ll start.” He reached for his Walkman and pressed play, keeping the volume low so they could still hear him. “So, while I was on vacation, Miss Mantis and I were talking about family. You know how we were both adopted by Principal Yondu, right?” They nodded, sitting forward eagerly. “So we thought of all the good times we had with him, and I also thought about my mom. All the fun and cool and wonderful things we got to experience together...and some of the things that we never will.”

Where were you when I was just seventeen?...searching for you in each and every dream...

I needed you those wasted years between...where were you all of my life?...

It wasn’t until Clementine approached him with a tissue that Peter realized he’d started to cry, his eyes burning hot with tears as they threatened to roll down his face. “Don’t cry, Mister Peter,” she said sadly. “Your song was s’posed to make you happy.”

“I am happy,” Peter promised, accepting the tissue with a grateful smile. “I just miss her, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry we asked you about Miss Gamora,” she continued. Clementine glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the class, who nodded in agreement. “We just saw you spending lots of time together and talking and stuff, and...we just always wanted Miss Gamora to have a friend. And now you’re here.”

“That’s okay. It’s good to be curious. Just not too curious, alright?” Peter squeezed Clementine’s shoulder before sending her back to her seat, wiping his eyes and nose in haste. “We all know Miss Gamora likes her privacy, so don’t go askin’ her, either.”

“Okay,” they said reluctantly, though their faces were brighter than before. Hopeful, almost.

Peter smiled. “Good. Okay, so who wants to go next?”

a/n: As I've said before, it's not a long-ish Peter/Gamora fic from me until I've taken a detour into Gamora and Nebula's relationship, too. This also somehow turned into my first Christmas-themed fic of the year, whoops! The next part will be focused on the spring semester and a certain end-of-the-year school dance ;)

Speaking of, the last part of this fic will be posted on the last Friday of November! The song at the end of this chapter was Where Were You All Of My Life by Bobby Vinton, which, pointless fun fact, I've been trying to fit into a fic since I was writing the second chapter of everybody wants to rule the world. Thank you so much for reading, comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

#starmora #starmora fic #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #gotg fic #myfic #myfic: ssd #marvel #i wrote this chapter in like five days #i've been so swamped with school and sickness lately that this was kind of a stress-reliever haha

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