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emilia3546 · 3 years

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Shadowsinger Part 21 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*

Masterlist with all previous chapters

*****

Gwyn shuffled on her feet, readjusting her skirt, and silently cursed it for being in the way, she could still fight, but not as well as usual, and she'd lose precious seconds reaching for the dagger sheathed at her thigh. Azriel stood beside her, his shadows nowhere to be seen, either spread out around them to be unnoticeable, or hidden in the cloak around Gwyn's shoulders, her protests that she didn't need them having fallen on deaf ears.

"You okay?" He murmured, and she nodded,

"Just a bit nervous, I'll be alright once this first contact is over," because she could still fall at the first hurdle, Evanna had warned them that they would be scrutinized before being allowed in, even if they claimed to support the Illyrian rebellion. She stifled a smile when Azriel squeezed her fingers, their joined hands hidden beneath her cloak, but it was still a risk, they weren't supposed to be in love, she was supposed to be what the Illyrian would expect of a traditional warrior's wife, and a traditional warrior would never display affection so casually, possession yes, but not affection. If he were in love with his wife, which was rare, he'd still only display affection in private, just to maintain his image, it was one of the more ridiculous customs, Gwyn never thought more of someone than when they allowed others to see their heart. The palace doors opened and Gwyn squeezed Azriel's hand back before letting go and reluctantly dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Gavin was it, of the Skybreath Illyrian camp?" A rather young-looking man shouted from the open door,

"Indeed," Azriel replied, not shouting, but clearly making himself heard, "And my wife, Amirah," Gwyn suppressed a smile at the sound of the name that Azriel's mother had chosen, what she would have named him had he been a girl.

"We have no records of others from your supposed camp," the man's tone was low, dangerous,

"That's probably because they're all pathetic cowards who fear the repercussions of standing up for our people, ask anyone you want, I can wait, I've waited long enough for this chance, don't be the reason I lose it," Azriel matched the man's tone, but without shouting, he sounded altogether more dangerous, and Gwyn almost looked up at the feel of the man's gaze on her, fighting to keep her eyes lowered, her attention on observing the guards, the way their protocols were carried out.

"Fine. If we find out that you're lying, you're dead,"

"Good luck with that," Azriel's hand warmed her lower back, "Come on, I'll see who's made it here, then I want to find a bedchamber readied for us," Gwyn forced herself to start forwards, her bones screaming out at her for pretending to be afraid of him when she nodded, but stayed beside him when a guard moved towards them, pressing into his side at the first attempt to grab at her, "What?" Gwyn kept her frightened gaze on the guard, "Get your filthy hands off my wife," he snarled, an arm wrapping around her waist, reassuring for Gwyn, she was doing well, but to anyone else it was a display of possessiveness at a threat. "She stays with me until we reach our bedchamber, I like to know where she is, who she's with." He didn't even bother to veil the threat in his eyes when Gwyn looked up, keeping the guise of fear as she pressed against him, shying away from the guards, and allowed her gaze to dart around, marking who they were, how many of them there were, where they were posted, how alert they were. She ducked her head, following Azriel as they were led through the palace. It was just as they'd expected, with no-one taking notice of Gwyn, except to occasionally ask Azriel who she was, and then to ignore her and speak only to him, allowing her to memorize the palace, its routes, its staff, all while pretending to be quiet and unassuming.

She didn't want to watch Azriel walk away once they'd reached an empty bedchamber, didn't want to see him walking towards the enemy, all it took was one Illyrian who was high enough rank to have seen him, all it took was one recognition, and they'd try and kill him. Still, she couldn't tear her gaze away, only just remembering to make it appear that she was scared for herself, and wanted his protection, not that she was worried for him. Once he'd vanished from sight, Gwyn shot one more frightened look at the guards in the corridor and bolted herself inside the room.

Right, she did have to get the room set up, no-one was coming to do that for her, but that would take maximum half an hour, it wasn't like they exactly had luggage to unload, and then, it was a little after midday now, she'd have a few hours before dinner could be expected. Still, she was stuck in this room for now at least, she could make the most of it.

The notebook tucked into her gown wasn't big enough for every detail, not if she wanted it to last long enough, but she noted down all she'd picked up on guard movements, positions, who was alert, who was bored. It wasn't enough, she'd make a point to have Azriel find some other females to 'keep her from boredom' who she could help with palace tasks, laundry, cleaning, the Illyrians made their females do the chores at home, why not here? She'd be all over the palace that way, easily able to pick up information, it'd hopefully make their stay shorter, hopefully help with preventing a full-on civil war.

*****

Azriel couldn't dare glance over his shoulder to Gwyn, where she was undoubtedly waiting by the door to their bedchamber, even with every part of him screaming not to leave her with those people, to go back to her. He listened to what the male beside him was saying, he'd seen him before at Ironcrest, from a distance, and he was probably the highest-ranking males here, being involved in training and organisation of Ironcrest's warriors, he could be a headache later.

"Where did you find her?"

"Find who?"

"That pretty little wife of yours, I must say you're a lucky male with that one, I'd love to know what she'd feel like on my-" the male didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, breaking off with a choked gasp as Azriel slammed him against the wall, a hand curling around his throat, pure death shining in his eyes. "Whoa, calm down, I'm sorry, I wasn't gonna do anything,"

"I sure as fuck hope not," Azriel snarled, still not releasing him, fighting the urge to end him then and there, unable to shake the image of the last male who'd thought such things about Gwyn. "Touch her and it'll be last thing you ever do," the smaller male paled at the threat,

"I swear, I won't, I was saying she's beautiful," she was beautiful, but the way he'd said it, it wasn't a compliment, if Azriel hadn't reacted, maybe he would have tried something, gods, maybe someone else would. He wasn't supposed to care to like that,

"She's mine, understand?" He added, covering his tracks, the reaction was supposed to just be possessiveness, not him actually caring for her wellbeing, he wasn't supposed to be worried about that.

"Yeah, I got it," the other male was still panting when Azriel released him, "Sorry, dude, I didn't mean it like that,"

"Yes, you did, but I'm a merciful male, if you never speak of her like that again, I'll let it slide, she is beautiful, but she's mine." The male nodded,

"Noted," and took a deep breath before continuing to explain the set-up, "You're the only one from Skybreath, bunch of cowards, so we'll probably attach you to another camp, for numbers' sake, those bastards do have the advantage in that department, and they have the High Lord, and 'High Lady'," he snorted at the mention of Feyre, "But we can trust the humans to help with that,"

"How? They're fucking powerful,"

"Yeah, but they're just as susceptible to ash and faebane as the rest of us, I'd wager that they're not still taking that damned antidote. Then again, the higher-ups think we could simply kidnap their son and use him to get them to give in, but I'd like a good fight anyway, and y'know someone might end up just killing the brat, then we'd be in deep shit." Oh yes, if they harmed one hair on Nyx's head, Rhys alone was likely to simply mist the entirety of their armies before any battle, and that was if he were safety returned, at the latest, the day after he was taken, if it were longer, or if Nyx were harmed, there would be no safe place in this world for those responsible.

"Probably a bad idea that," Azriel mused,

"I'd reckon you're right, the bleeding hearts want to regain our loyalty, they'll just try and obliterate us if we hurt the boy," Azriel grunted in agreement, dropping the conversation when they turned a corner, the corridor opening into a wide chamber, filled with brawling Illyrians, a temporary training ring, not bad. He ran his gaze across the crowd, there was no-one likely to recognize him, but he still wouldn't draw attention to himself, even if wearing two siphons might do just that, but he couldn't risk it with only one, not with Gwyn here as well. He nodded a quick greeting to anyone who bothered to acknowledge him, his mind still racing. He'd have to find a way to make sure that Gwyn wasn't ever left completely on her own, if just one other male had a similar thought to the one beside him, and if he wasn't there, if she couldn't get her dagger drawn in time, he didn't want to finish that thought.

The Illyrians were well organised, not to the same degree as the loyal armies back home, but they could present a threat, especially if it was true that they were to be armed with ash and faebane. The leaders eventually decided to attach 'Gavin' to one of the smaller camps, where he'd be able to adjust more easily, where, Azriel noted with a hint of satisfaction, it would be easy to gain their trust. He made his way across the room to where his new 'comrades' were taking a break,

"Hey look, looks like they've given us the latecomer," Azriel's attention snapped to the male who'd spoken, dark hair cropped close to his skull, blue eyes, that was rare for an Illyrian, he smiled and offered his hand, "Nathan," Azriel took the proffered hand,

"Gavin, from Skybreath,"

"Oh, I was wondering if anyone would bother coming from Skybreath," Nathan chuckled, "Braver than the rest then?"

"Or more stupid," Azriel chuckled, "I've been waiting a long time for this,"

"As have we all, brother," Azriel resisted the urge to snap at him not to call him that, but forced himself to smile, to join in the conversation, and to not beat the shit out of all of them when they reclaimed a spot in the training ring. "How the fuck did you get your hands on a second siphon?" Nathan's observational skills left much to be desired, but it was wishful thinking to hope that he wouldn't notice at all, especially when Azriel had just pinned him to the mats.

"I needed it,"

"Fuck. We got a powerful one here, boys," chuckles surrounded them, and Nathan rolled his eyes as one of the others drawled,

"We know, idiot! That's why you're the only one stupid enough to fight him," another male laughed,

"He's probably some high born lord, or something,"

"Are you?" Nathan's eyes were shining with curiosity, something fairly rare for Illyrians, but he did seem young, untested, perhaps he had no idea what he was getting into, but Azriel had learned the hard way not to bother with the benefit of the doubt,

"Not really, my mother died a while back, and my father was your bog-standard warrior, nothing special really, he got killed in a border dispute a few decades ago, guess I just got lucky, the Mother likes me maybe," he shrugged, "It certainly helped on the way over here, since no one else came with us, it was just me and my wife, and she's not much help with fighting, y'know," chuckled from everyone, including Nathan,

"She clipped?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course," Azriel's temper flared up again at the approving nods from around him, only Nathan looked uncomfortable,

"You did it?"

"What? No, when she was young, like everyone else, but it did mean that I had to carry her here, which was a pain,"

"Still, bet you found a good one, being all powerful and shit,"

"Yeah, I'll have to go fetch her before we leave for dinner, I left her in our bedchamber, she'll want food," each word hit him in the core, even if none of it was true, the idea that this was normal to these people made him want to scream, but he guided the conversation back to the war, to what he needed to hear, even with his mind continually drifting back to Gwyn.

*****

Footsteps outside had Gwyn shoving the notebook back into her dress,

"Amirah!" She rushed to the door, keeping her eyes down in case Azriel wasn't alone, he wasn't, and someone let out a huff,

"Shit, how the fuck did you leave her all day?" One of the males beside him chuckled, "We'll see you in a bit," Azriel nodded and stepped past Gwyn into the room,

"You okay?" She mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear, and he nodded,

"I hate this, I have to pretend that I'm not hopelessly in love with you," Gwyn's stupid, faithless heart fluttered in her chest at those words, ignoring the way Azriel's eyes were dark, tired,

"Hey," she muttered, "It's okay, I know it's not true," Azriel's head snapped towards the door,

"Shit," he muttered, "They're still there, they're listening in, they won't have heard, but," Gwyn narrowed her eyes, and her eyes widened at the realization,

"They want to listen?"

"Moan, now, or they'll think something's up," he was right,

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, a feeling of true fear descending upon her, they'd gotten in, gotten embedded and he stupid, foolish fears were going to get them discovered, gods she was really useless,

"Hey, Gwyn," Azriel tipped her chin upwards, swiping his thumb across her cheek, "Just make any sound, you can't do it wrong, we don't actually need to do anything, just make them think we are,"

"But why? I don't get it,"

"They're all horny shits, and they've seen how fucking gorgeous you are. I've been away from you all day, they'll expect me to want certain things upon reuniting with you," oh, she knew what he meant, but just one day? That was surely excessive, but she nodded, and kissed him gently,

"I don't think I can just do it on command, kiss me, and then we'll see," she looped her arms around his neck, and did moan at the first brush of his lips against her neck, her head falling backwards so that Azriel had to hold her up, she moaned again, and he groaned at the feel of her lips against his, deliberately chucking his jacket aside so it made a loud thunk on the floor. Gwyn pressed her fingers against Azriel's lips, waiting, footsteps, they were really alone now,

"I'm sorry about that," Azriel muttered,

"What are you talking about? Kissing you is wonderful,"

"But I don't want you to think that you have to, even if it's for keeping our cover,"

"I didn't, it was just a chance to kiss you, and it was helpful to convince those others, but if I didn't want to I wouldn't have," she chuckled, "Are you sure you're okay?" Azriel collapsed onto the bed, dragging her with him with a yelp,

"I'm okay, just worried,"

"Worried?"

"About you. One of the males who showed me around made a comment that I didn't appreciate, and I doubt you would have done,"

"Did he seem like he wanted to act on that comment?" Gwyn stomach churned, and she glanced around the room, marking the locked door and windows. Azriel stiffened, realizing that she immediately knew what he was referring to,

"Not once I'd dealt with him, but all takes is one, I don't want you to have to deal with that, especially when I can't be with you, you might be on your own and," he took in a deep breath, "I just worry about what could happen if someone tries somehting,"

"I'm never on my own, Az," a shadow danced around her, "If I need to, I can fight with or without my dagger, and I want to find out what the other Illyrian females are doing here, there must be others,"

"There are," Azriel admitted, "They do the chores and stuff, help making and adjusting leathers and armor,"

"I can do that," Gwyn said, "It'll give me a chance to speak to them, to learn things that the males might overlook, and to simply be in the palace, invisible. I can 'get lost' and find my way to restricted areas, the queens' offices perhaps," Azriel pursed his lips together, but she was right, she knew he was, and no matter how much he wanted her to be safe, he knew that too,

"You're right, I know that, I just wish you didn't have to do it by yourself,"

"I know, but that's going to be how we have to work here, now," she twisted in his lap, "Tell me everything you found out today."

#fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth berdara #Gwyn acosf #gwynriel #Gwyn #Azwyn #Azriel

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illuma-can-you-not-i · 4 years

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Every time Sojiro Sakura was the entire Phantom Thieves' Dad: Ryuji

It was a slow development, but it was just as awakening as well whenever all of the teenagers started calling Sojiro 'Dad' every now and then. He couldn't lie and say that he didn't enjoy it. He just didn't enjoy the fact that these kids had such hard lives that they relied on him for their emotional support and comfort. But they trusted Sakura enough to look for it from him. And he was grateful for that.

And today looks like it'll have one of those moments.

A Sakamoto entered LeBlanc, gaze fixated on the ground. Tear streaks were visible against the cold air of the late night. "...Hey Dad.", he muttered softly, holding his right hand tenderly as he continued to stare at the wooden floor, only occasionally glancing up. Sojiro knew that posture by now: he was ashamed of something. "What happened?", the man asked, already reaching for the first aid kit. "...I...messed up. I messed up bad.", was all he said before holding out his hand, which had blood coating the knuckles.

Sojiro guided him to a booth, where the teen took a seat while Sakura cleaned and bandaged the hand. It was scraped decently enough to continue bleeding and bruised pretty good. The room grew in silence as he worked. Ryuji avoided eye contact, wiping away his tear streaks with his other hand. "All done.", Sojiro announced, only getting a nod from Sakamoto in response. "So, I guess you should tell me what happened?", the man prompted, taking the boy's chin so that they would finally make eye contact.

Sojiro had never seen a teenaged boy look so broken.

The blonde jerked his head away, before finally speaking up. "He came back.", he muttered. Sojiro's eyes widened significantly, clearly displaying his sympathy before his expression morphed into one of disgust. Ryuji's biological father was a man he despised despite having never met him.

"He showed up at our doorstep, right at dinnertime, practically begging Mom to take him back. Despite the fact that, well, y'know, he was the one who left us. But he still was making all these empty promises about staying true and clean and sober and...hahaha.", the teen chuckled without humor. "We knew he was lying. It was plain as day that every word that he spoke was as much shit as he is. But the benefit of the doubt was still there. So Mom gave him a chance: she invited him to join us for dinner." Ryuji inhaled a shaky breath before drawing out a long sigh.

"He lasted an hour before demanding sake. And started shouting... unsavory things at Mom after she informed him that we've had a dry home since he moved out. He was about to hit her when I stood up for her.", the teen continued, looking off into the distance. "He got a hit on me before I punched him in the jaw." "And that's where your hand got hurt." Ryuji just nodded in conformation. "I pretty much pushed him out and locked the door. Didn't head towards here until I was pretty sure he had left."

Sojiro nodded in understanding, barely picking up Sakamoto muttering an "I'm sorry." The man tilted his head in confusion. "What for?"

The teen exhaled, hanging his head in shame. "I know I'm supposed to try to keep myself in check just like we talked about, use my head before my fists, I just--" Recalling the recent lesson that was taught after Ryuji had gotten into a fistfight because someone was dragging his friends into the dirt, Sojiro remembered what was taught and sighed, using it as an interruption. "Kid, you did the right thing. If I were in your shoes, I probably would have done worse to him."

The blonde teen's head perked up in surprise. "The right thing? But what about--" Sojiro stopped the train of thought with another interruption. "I know what I said. Let me take this moment to revise that lesson: some people aren't going to listen to advice or think about you being merciful before they come after you. Sometimes, you just need to be tough and show that you aren't going to take any shit from them. But the important thing is to maintain your control. You did the right thing by only hitting the poor excuse of a man once to pacify him before kicking him out instead of continuing to beat him until you were satisfied."

Ryuji took a moment to process the words before finally understanding the lesson they carried. "Ok, I think I get that makes sense.", he responded, spirit brightening up a little. Sojiro smiled fondly, running a hand through the boy's hair. Sakamoto seemed to melt into the affection, just as Sojiro knew he would. The poor boy was so touch starved, Sojiro recalled him nearly crying after their first hug. "Your dye's starting to wash out.", the man thought aloud as he noted the sight of black-haired roots underneath the blond hair. "Oh yeah. I haven't dyed it since last year. May leave it this time.", the teen muttered, eyes shut while enjoying the comfort.

Minutes passed before the two finally conceded to the fact that Ryuji was going to have to go back. "What if he's there? What if he's waiting for me? He'll be...pissed...", Ryuji thought aloud, working himself up with nerves. "He won't do anything if there's a witness.", Sakura suggested with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "W-what? Oh no, I couldn't possibly ask you to--you've done more than enough...I don't want to cause you any more trouble.", Ryuji stammered as he got up. "And I don't want to send you off with the danger of getting yourself more hurt because of a good-for-nothing not getting what he wants. I'm not asking. Let's go."

Sure enough, their walk and subway ride was fortunate enough to be greeted by a drunk, middle-aged man who was very near screaming at the entrance to be let in.

"Hey. Kusoyaro.", Ryuji called towards the very drunk man in the entryway. "Well, well, look who it is.", the man sneered, clearly looking for a fight. Ryuji just dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Listen, it's been a long night, and I'm not known for patience, so I'm only gonna say this once."

Ryuji straightened up his posture for what looked like the first time, and his full height surpassed his father's by a near head. The teen straightened his shoulders, looking down on the man. "You get the FUCK off our property, you stay the HELL away from me and my mother, and if I catch you so much as glancing towards me, my friends, and my family, I will not be afraid to fight for them. Cause I know you can't go to the police, you lazy, tax-evading, sex offending, alcoholic money leech." The threat, which was made with an attitude Sojiro could only assume was the 'Skull' in him, was followed by the teen spitting on the shoe of the adult who had given him so much grief. "Get the fuck out of here.", Ryuji threatened in a dark tone, nodding his head towards the road.

After the man whimpered off, Ryuji huffed an exhale, returning to his familiar posture. The teen turned and smiled towards the Sojiro, before gently knocking on the door. "Mom?", he called out. The door couldn't have opened any faster.

Ryuji's mother, a tall, curved woman who wore her black straight hair in a ponytail, wrapped her son in the tightest hug possible. It was only after they pulled apart that she realized they weren't alone. "Oh! You must be Mr. Sakura.", she greeted. She carried an aura of kindness that seemed to radiate out of the house. Sojiro returned the smile and tipped his fedora towards her. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sakamoto."

"Oh, pleasure's all mine. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?", the rather beautiful mother offered, stepping aside to let the man in. Sojiro shook his head. "No thanks, I was just dropping him off." Ryuji glanced in between the conversating adults, before electing to go to his room. His mother's gaze followed her son until he shut his door. "I really appreciate what you're doing for him. This is the happiest I've seen him in years." Sojiro shrugged off the credit. "Well, it's not just me. His friends have likely helped more than I ever could."

"Well, how could I possibly repay you?", Ms. Sakamoto inquired, tapping her chin in thought. "Really, it's no trouble.", Sojiro responded with a slight shake of his head. "Oh, nonsense. Surely there must be something.", she insisted lightheartedly. "Really, just helping that boy out is more than enough.", the man tried to excuse, knowing full well at this point that it wouldn't work. She took the hint though, shrugging in resignation. "Ah well, I'll pay you back one day. Mark my words.", the mother remarked, making the two chuckle. "You have a nice one.", Sojiro called as he started to turn for his journey back. "You too!", she called back, waiting until he left the entryway before shutting the house door.

From his room, Ryuji eavesdropped on the entire conversation, before concluding that maybe his mom was hitting on Sojiro. But, out of all the prospects of a stepfather, Ryuji certainly wouldn't mind Sakura. Plus, he'd get a sister out of this. Even if that sister was Futaba. Maybe Futaba wouldn't mind having a stepmom.

Ryuji: Yo guys I just had the best idea.

#persona 5 #ryuji sakamoto #sojiro sakura #coffee dad #pure fluff #dawww #ryuji sakamoto mom #ryuji sakamoto dad #cursing #fatherson #platonic #affection

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pikapegasus · 7 years

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Forever, Best Friends, Me and You

"This wasn't really a thing when I was growing up, and I don't think it really counts as a holiday as much as Christmas or Easter or anything like that, but…" Peter smiles shyly. "I saw it on the calendar we bought, so I thought I'd do something for you, for us, to celebrate it."

Peter surprises Gamora with a new holiday he discovers during their stay on Earth.

Starmora Week 2017, Day 6: Holiday

(read on ao3 or ffn) // (read prev. starmora week works here!!)

Terran jewelry is bizarre.

Peter had suggested they shop around to "kill time" before regrouping with the rest of the team and Thor's team—the Avengers—later, and somehow that turned into him dragging her by the hand into random stores within the building.

(He'd called it a "shopping mall.")

It's a little crowded, but she hopes that only helps them in their efforts to conceal her very inhuman-looking skin. She keeps her hood up and long sleeves over her hands to minimize exposure to her skin—thanks to the oversized "hoodie" Peter had bought for her. There's text printed on it, too, and from what Peter can remember (and has reviewed since returning to Terra) of his native Terran language, it says something about New York, which is the city they're in.

Now they're in an obnoxiously, brightly colored store looking at strange necklaces and bracelets that, judging by the demographic of the other shoppers in here, are intended for young Terran girls.

"All these matching necklaces are so weird," Peter comments, eyeing them. "Weird in a good way."

"I can't even tell what they are," Gamora says, frowning at two necklaces that he picks out. Each necklace is a broken piece that when put together make a full shape, but she's not sure the significance. Each piece has a Terran word on it.

"It's a heart," he says, pushing the halves together. "See?"

"I don't recall that being what a Terran heart looks like."

"It's…metaphorical? I guess?" He shrugs, putting them back on the little bar rack they'd been hanging from. "I dunno. Never really thought about it before."

There are a couple other necklaces with strangely shaped pendants. Some she assumes to be different Terran animals, while others are completely lost on her.

"I think these are pieces of bacon? With mustaches and googly eyes?" Peter asks more than says, pointing at another set. "Man, and people have the audacity to say the '80s were weird? This is easily weirder."

"In a good way," Gamora says, echoing his words seconds earlier.

"It's not outright bad." Peter looks up at the ceiling for a moment, where there's music playing from speakers throughout the store. "The new music, on the other hand…"

She rolls her eyes, but before she can say anything, the Terran communication device in her front pocket (the only convenient part of this cursed "hoodie") makes a sound. She pulls it out and Peter looks at the screen.

"Rocket's calling," he translates after a moment.

"Thanks," she says, rolling her sleeve up to uncover her hand. She taps the screen to answer the call, then presses it into her hood beside her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, are you guys—soon—meetin'—Groot is—"

"Wait, Rocket, the signal's bad in here," she says, cutting him off. She glances at Peter. "I'll go look for a better signal outside."

"I'll be out in a sec," he says, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Once she's outside and Rocket's voice is clear, he groans. "Why do you two always exclusively kiss when comms are on? I hate you."

Gamora smirks. "What do you need, Rocket?"

Ten days and one nerve-wracking intergalactic war later, Gamora wakes herself up by sleepily rolling over onto Peter, bumping her head into his shoulder. He groans softly at the contact.

"I can never sleep in with you," he mumbles when she opens her eyes. He blindly reaches his hands down toward his legs, then lays a hand on her side, and groans again. "Right. No blanket for Star-Lord. Only for Gamora. Don't even know why I expect anything different anymore."

She pushes herself up, leaning over him. "You should defend yourself better."

"We can't all fight in our sleep, babe. I skipped that part of assassin training."

Despite her body mods, her body cries out in some protest at her movement, her (healing) injuries and sore muscles still making themselves apparent. Peter doesn't have any body mods, so she decides to take some mercy on him, pulling some of the blanket off herself to drape over him. He turns away from her with it, trapping her under the blanket with him.

"What else did you skip in assassin training?" she asks, settling her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his midsection.

"Hm, I guess everything that actually has to do with being an assassin," he says with a shrug. "Except I have a reputation for being a pretty good shot. And you definitely don't want to cross me when I've got throwing knives."

"Where did you learn how to throw knives?" she inquires, closing her eyes.

"From this other really cool assassin, y'know, they call her the 'deadliest woman in the galaxy.' I learned from the best."

"You'll have to teach me sometime."

He turns to her then, pushing himself up. She opens her eyes as he starts leaning over her. "I could start teaching you right—ow."

He quickly lies back down, rubbing his injured shoulder, and she can't help but laugh. He huffs at her laughter, rolling his eyes.

"Okay, fine, postponing that lesson until I'm not sore from getting a frickin' moon thrown in my face," he grumbles, tilting his chin up to the ceiling. "Damn cockblocker, even from the frickin' grave."

Gamora sits up, carefully stretching her arms above her head. Once her arms return to her sides, she sighs, sitting in silence for a moment before turning back down to Peter with a small smile. "He's gone."

Peter's frown fades at that, soon replaced with smile not unlike hers. He takes one of her hands in his, holding it between them. "Yeah, babe."

She squeezes his hand, then releases it, pushing herself up from the bed. Upon standing, she turns to their dresser, whose surface has quickly become a gathering place for their vast collection of things, from weapons to half-built bombs (confiscated from Rocket) to Terran trinkets they've picked up during their stay.

One of said trinkets is a small calendar that Peter had picked out. He'd explained how his mom had had one like this while he was growing up; each page represents one day, so someone must rip off the page of the previous day for the calendar to display the correct date.

The written Terran "English" is still just a cluster of nonsensical letters to Gamora, so she's not sure what the words on each page mean, but Peter had chosen this one for the pictures of famous Terran musicians. Part of their morning routine became Peter tearing out the previous day's page to reveal a new face which he'd then either explain to Gamora or, in the case of an unfamiliar face, they'd have to look up.

And after they defeated Thanos, there'd been a quiet transfer of power, because, shit, she's living days she never thought she'd live to see—a universe without Thanos—so each day suddenly holds more weight and significance.

She rips the old page out carefully, the small smile still on her face when she turns back to face Peter.

"I don't think I can get out of bed to see the picture, babe," he says playfully, still lying on his back. "I'm too sore."

He hadn't complained about such a thing yesterday, but, whatever, Gamora picks up the calendar and brings it over to him anyway. He holds the covers open for her so she can settle back in the bed. He covers her legs and sits up, leaning his shoulder against hers.

"Alright, let's see," he says, taking the calendar from Gamora's hands. "Ooh, Bono from U2. There's a couple of their songs on the Zune. I heard they're still making music, though it's probably not as great as their original stuff."

She eyes the small text on the bottom of the page, below the lines where one could write their agenda for the day. "What is that?"

"Looks like there's some holiday today," he says, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He reads it slowly. "Nat—National…Best—"

He cuts himself off, sitting up straight. She raises an eyebrow. "National Best what?"

"Crap, I forgot it was today!" he says, throwing the blankets off and jumping out of bed. She watches him tear across the room in a whirlwind, grabbing a shirt and pants from his collection of mixed dirty and clean clothes, throwing them onto the foot of the bed on his way to the bathroom.

"What happened to being sore?" she asks pointedly before he closes the door.

"I've been cured!" he declares, then closes it with a little more force than necessary. "Shit! That was unintentional, sorry!"

She rolls her eyes then, figuring she'll find out the reason behind his squirrelly behavior soon enough. She looks back down at the calendar then, staring at the text to attempt deciphering for herself. The words look familiar.

Huh. Two of the three words are the same as the ones printed on those weird necklaces Peter had been looking at in that weird store.

Completed morning routines and a hasty breakfast later, Peter leads Gamora to one of the communal areas of the Avengers Facility, pulling her to sit on the couch with him.

"We're having a movie marathon!" he says, throwing an arm around her.

She tilts her head, looking between the large screen on the wall in front of them (a "TV"?) and Peter's bright eyes. "That's what all the rush was for?"

"We're on a loosely tight schedule," he says with a grin.

(Did one of their translators just glitch?) "Isn't that a contradiction?"

"It's the truth," he says. "Alright, let's go!"

Hours later, they've watched a variety of movies and even some shows, too (they're like movies, except broken up into parts called "episodes," so they can't watch it all in one sitting—or so Gamora thought, until Natasha Romanoff walked by and told them all about "bingewatching"), and Peter's still bouncing in his seat with a big smile on his face. Her eyes follow his repetitive movements.

"Did you like them?" he asks. "I haven't actually seen all those movies and shows myself, so I wasn't sure what I'd think, but they sounded good."

"I liked them," she says, unable to contain her smile at his excitement. "That Disney person is very creative."

"Yeah, Walt Disney is the guy who started the company way back in the day," Peter explains. "But he died a while ago, so most of the movies we watched were made by other people who work for his company."

"I also liked the one about the students who were in trouble."

"The Breakfast Club is a classic!"

"I can see why."

His grin widens. "So, did you notice any similarities between everything we watched?"

"They're all Terran entertainment?" she guesses, eyebrow raised, but he shakes his head.

"Well, true, but, nope, I picked them all because they were about something similar. Like, had a similar theme."

She's not sure how two Terran animals befriending each other relates to a group of Terran students being stuck at school together, but Peter makes it sound like it's all part of some master plan he has.

"They all had something to do with friends," he says emphatically. "Y'know, friendship."

"That's…a common theme in Terran entertainment, from what I've seen."

"I mean, yeah, but it had a lot to do with the plots here." He bumps her shoulder. "Okay, time for our next activity!"

A brisk walk across the compound later, Gamora finds herself awkwardly sharing a seat with Peter at a table with some of the other Avengers. On the table is some sort of game, with a very detailed board unfolded before them. Peter enthusiastically places what appears to be a metal shoe down on the corner of the board, where there's a box with two large Terran letters printed in red.

"So that's 'GO'," Peter explains, pointing it out to her. "That's where we start. Every time we pass that spot, we get to collect $200."

Right. Dollars. Terran currency. She nods.

"Wait, we're letting Quill play on a team?" Sam Wilson, the "Falcon" (a Terran animal), says, looking at the other people at the table with a skeptical expression. "How come I don't get a team?"

"No one would want to be on your team," Bucky, the one missing his arm, says snidely, earning an eye roll from Sam.

"Be nice, we have guests over," Natasha scolds, setting down another piece beside Peter's. "Besides, between Quill and Gamora, they only have the reading level of a first or second grader. They're not a big threat."

"I'll have you know that I was a smart first and second grader back in the day," Peter insists, sitting back in their shared chair and wrapping his arm around Gamora's shoulders. "Don't underestimate us."

"I can always best you on the sparring mat later," Gamora adds, offering Natasha a smirk.

"I'm holding you to that," Natasha says.

Wanda Maximoff, who has telekinetic powers from one of the Infinity Stones, places a stack of cards on the board. "Shall we begin?"

"I'm ready to win," Peter says.

Predictably (at least, to Gamora), the two of them go "bankrupt"—lose—first.

"What the hell?" Peter groans, lamenting over their money-less side of the table. "I swear, the rules have changed since I played this game."

"Just be glad Tony wasn't playing," Natasha says, depositing the last of Peter and Gamora's money back into the game's box—the "bank." "He's scarily good at this game."

"He's a billionaire," Wanda reminds.

"He's an asshole," Sam says.

Bucky remains quiet.

"I thought we'd pull a win through the power of love and friendship," Peter says, dropping his head to the table.

Gamora lays a hand on his shoulder. "If we brought this game back to the Milano, we could probably beat the others."

Peter glances up at her then. "At least I can win my pride back that way."

Honestly, Gamora's not even sure what the holiday from the calendar even is anymore, because they've gone from movies to a failed attempt at Monopoly to a more tragically failed attempt at baking cookies—

"How is this harder than it was in the '80s?" Peter howls over the blaring sound of the smoke detector, Gamora opening all the windows in the kitchen as he fans the smoke away with magazines from the small, yet loud, device in the ceiling. "Why is this so freakin' complicated now?"

—to them retiring back to the couch so Peter can just braid Gamora's hair.

"Here's one 'friend' thing I can actually do without screwing it up," he mutters with a hair tie pressed between his teeth as he brushes out a stubborn piece of her hair.

"So that's what today is for?" she asks, resisting the urge to turn to face him. "'Friend' things?"

"Uh, forget I said that."

Later, he pulls out a wooden basket from an unknown location and fills it with snacks, drinks, and a blanket.

"We can't screw up a picnic!" he says happily, forcing everything to fit in an attempt to close the basket.

"What's a picnic?" she asks.

He somehow gets the lid secured, and then loops his arm through the handle of the basket, turning to her with a grin. "You'll see."

Apparently, a "picnic" is a Terran eating custom where one takes their food outside to eat with friends on a blanket. It sounds fairly uneventful based on its description, but it's a lot more enjoyable than Gamora had expected.

The Avengers Facility is in a pretty isolated area, surrounded by thick trees that remind Gamora of Berhert, the planet they'd crashed the Milano on just before the whole Ego debacle years ago. Since it's so remote, Gamora doesn't bother pulling her big sweatshirt on when they go out.

They hike through the trees for a while, Peter insisting that they eat at the "best" spot, which he insists will be recognizable upon first sight. They even see a few Terran animals in passing, before they scurry off into their homes underground, though Gamora has yet to see a "raccoon."

"We need to see one before we leave," Peter says, swinging their connected hands between them as they walk. "It's been three frickin' years, Rocket needs to see what I'm talking about."

"What about a 'trash panda'?" Gamora asks.

Peter snickers. "They're one in the same."

Finally, they come upon a small clearing, next to a small pond. There, a group of Terran birdlike animals sit in the water, one much larger than the rest.

"Oh my god, ducklings," Peter nearly squeaks, setting the basket down a safe distance away from the water. "That big duck is the mom. The babies all follow the mom around."

"They're cute," Gamora says, smiling a little at the sight. The yellow babies—ducklings—chirp at each other and their mother, swimming around in circles. The mother looks in her and Peter's direction for a moment, then returns her attention to her babies.

When Gamora turns back to Peter, he's already opened the basket and is pulling the red blanket out. He lays it out on the grass carefully, smoothing it over with his hands, before gesturing for her to sit. She sits on one end while he sits on the other, moving the basket between them.

He pulls out the different food and drinks he'd stowed away in there, splitting up the collection evenly between them.

"So, on a picnic, we just get to eat while we sit out here and enjoy nature," he explains, gesturing to their surroundings. His eyes fall on the ducklings again, and she can't blame him. "I used to go on them with my mom sometimes."

At the mention of his mother, Gamora's smile widens. She picks up a Terran sandwich and unwraps it from the plastic. "Thank you for sharing this tradition with me, Peter."

He just nods, unwrapping his own sandwich and taking a bite out of it. They eat in a comfortable silence, Gamora constantly switching her attention from Peter to the ducklings to the occasional sounds from the trees to the bright blue Terran sky, trying to take it all in. She's enjoyed their time on Terra, despite the circumstances, and feels more connected to Peter because of it.

(She wishes she could return the favor and take him to her home world, show him her culture, but it's impossible. At least they'll always have Terra—Earth.)

Eventually, they're down to the extra sandwich Peter had packed in case either of them got particularly hungry, but Peter separates the bread from it and starts breaking it into small pieces. He tosses some of the pieces into the water. A few other fully grown ducks had since joined the ducklings in the pond and swim toward the pieces quickly, bending their necks down to eat what Peter had thrown.

"Ducks like bread," he says, handing her the other slice of bread to pull apart herself. She mimics him, breaking it up, and adds to his pieces floating in the water. The ducks react the same way as they had to Peter's bread, hastily eating up the pieces.

They watch the ducks in silence for a few moments before Gamora turns to Peter. "What did the calendar say today was?"

The question's been lingering on the tip of her tongue all day, throughout their random assortment of activities, but she'd resisted asking it, worrying it would foil Peter's seemingly grand plans for the day, judging by his reaction to the date this morning.

Peter laughs a little, his smile apologetic. "I've probably been driving you crazy all day."

"Not crazy," she says, though, okay, she'd felt a little crazy at times, given the whimsical nature of Peter when it comes to planning: meticulous, yet laidback. "Curious."

He nods, then reaches into the pocket of his pants. He pulls out two chains—necklaces, she realizes, similar to the ones they'd looked at in the strange store—and holds them up, lowering the pendants into his palm. He holds his hand out between them for her to see.

"I got them while you were on the phone with Rocket last week," Peter says, almost shyly. "I know you can't read them, but…"

"They're the same words as on the calendar this morning," she says, glancing up at him.

She looks back down at the two pendants, which appear childish in nature, but much less so than some of the other necklaces they'd seen—like the "bacon" one. The pendants are silver, shaped like a flower with six petals. The designs on each are mirrored: a purple Terran bug called a "butterfly" facing right with small flowers printed below it on the left pendant, and a blue butterfly facing left with small flowers printed below it on the right pendant. There's a word above the butterfly on each.

"I picked these ones 'cause they're, uh, a little more subtle than some of those other ones," Peter says. "And they look less likely to, like, snap in half in the middle of a fight, or something."

Once she's committed the designs to memory, Gamora looks up and meets Peter's eyes. His face flushes slightly as a nervous chuckle escapes his lips.

"Apparently, today's national best friend day," he says quietly. "Which wasn't really a thing when I was growing up, and I don't think it really counts as much as Christmas or Easter or anything like that, but…I saw it on the calendar before we bought it so I thought I'd do something for you, for us, to celebrate it. I mean, obviously we're in a relationship, like, a romantic relationship, but you're still my best friend at the end of the day."

She stares at him for a few moments, turning his words over in her mind. The chatter of the ducks in the pond fills the silence between them, until Peter gestures back down to the necklaces.

"This is another, uh, Terran thing, I guess. Kids like to get matching things that say 'best friends' on them, so they can show off their friends to people, I guess…" He pauses. "I never really had anyone to do that with growing up—I was kind of the weird kid, I guess, not really popular—so, I thought it'd be kind of funny to do now. I guess."

He's deflecting, but she lays a hand over the one he's holding the necklaces in, as if protecting the two pendants from the world around them. That uncomfortable feeling of impending tears bubbles up in her throat, but she swallows it down, gathering herself with a small smile. "I love it, Peter. All of it."

He shrugs. "It's cheesy—"

"It's how I feel, too," she cuts in. "We were both alone, until—until this. You're my best friend, too."

"Seems I'm not alone at being alone," he says, referring to a line from a song that had recently stuck out to them from the Zune—something about it being too real (Peter's words). He smiles, and she pulls her hand away, taking the two necklaces between her fingers to study them. He leans closer to her, pointing to each one. "The one on the left says, 'best,' and the one on the right says, 'friends.' So when people see us wearing them together, they know that we—that we're together. That we belong together."

And they really do. It may have only been three (Terran) years, but Gamora feels as if a lifetime has already gone by just in her time with the Guardians, who fill her days with adventures and laughter and more than enough love to compensate for those dark years she'd spent under Thanos. Peter plays the largest role in it all, challenging her in new ways that ultimately better her as a person and showering her in endless affection and warmth and everything inherently good.

"So," Peter says, "do you want to be 'best' or 'friends'? Personally, I'd go for 'best,' because I think I'm the best at least a few things…"

She laughs, separating the two pendants so he can grab the "best" one. "Then I will be friends."

"That means you'll always have to stand on my left, so it makes sense to people," he says, taking "best." "Otherwise, we'll say 'friends best.'"

Not that anyone in the galaxy outside of Terra can read them, but, whatever, that just means it'll be their thing. Almost like a secret. Gamora smiles, curling her fingers around "friends" protectively.

"So today is best friend day," she says. "What did the rest of our day have to do with that?"

"We watched movies and TV shows about friendship," he says. "Then we played a board game, baked cookies—well, tried to bake cookies—and I did your hair, which is, like, total best friend material, and now we're on a picnic!"

She tilts her head. "This is what best friends do?"

"Uh, I may or may not have done some research on it beforehand to brainstorm ideas," he admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But the results were all sorts of weird. Free museum day? Apply for jobs together? Window shopping? We're a little limited here. Things were simpler back in my day."

"I had fun," she reassures him.

"I'm glad," he says. "I did, too."

He glances down at his necklace, then back up at her, holding it up. "Help me put it on?"

She nods. He hands it to her and turns away. She unclasps the chain and brings it around his neck, putting it back together. When he turns back to her, she mimics him, handing him her necklace, and he does the same for her.

Then they spend a moment looking between their matching necklaces. She smiles, finding his hand and intertwining their fingers.

"Ready to go back?" she asks.

"I'm mostly ready to go make the others jealous of our matching necklaces."

"I'm ready for that as well."

So maybe Gamora flaunts the necklace a little more than she'd intended (or expected) to.

Maybe when they return from their picnic, hand-in-hand, Terran flowers weaved into her braid (when they'd passed a field of them on their way back, Peter had insisted they stop so he could do it—part of the whole "best friends doing each other's hair" thing, supposedly), she walks with her head a little higher and the "friends" pendant swinging freely from her neck.

None of the Guardians can read it, so none of them really ask about it when they see her, but the Avengers each regard her with one, maybe two, curious glances, before remembering that the Guardians do as the Guardians please, which, in this case, is celebrating a hardly legitimate holiday by acquiring matching necklaces declaring their close friendship, so there's no point in asking, really.

(Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff compliment her on it later, though. Gamora later overhears them offer the same approval to Peter at the sight of his matching pendant.)

Maybe Gamora forgets to take it off even when she showers sometimes, because it binds her with Peter in a way she's never felt bound to anyone before. Without the necklace, she felt just as connected to him, but now, she can show it off to anyone and everyone by quickly pulling the chain out from under her shirt in tandem with Peter pulling his own out.

And maybe the day comes when they get new jewelry to announce their relationship to the universe in the form of two rings, and yet, Gamora can't bring herself to remove the necklace, instead opting to wear both. Peter teases her for it initially, but she quickly catches him doing the same.

The ring declares her wife, but the necklace declares her best friend, and somehow the two hold equal value in her heart.

//////////terran pop culture references included: the ridiculous best friend necklaces they sell at Claire's omfg, Bono (lead singer of Irish rock band U2), The Breakfast Club, The Fox and the Hound, Disney movies in general, "Seems I'm not alone at being alone" (a line from "Message in a Bottle" by The Police which i think kinda really sums up our beloved peter and gamora), aaaaand i think that's everything haha

oh and the title of the fic came from this song from pokemon, and the necklace that peter gives gamora is based on this necklace i have irl that i got in kindergarten (which is why it looks kinda rekt)!!!! (if the pic isn't coming up click on the empty space to zoom in/expand it bc deviantart apparently hates me lmfao)

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