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ivarthebonemearmy · 7 years

Text

Perhaps a year is all I need

Summary: What do you do when you are paired with the person you detest the most? Beatrice is a History major at Oxford University. She is a straight A student, but she cannot help but hate Ivar’s very existence. Fate likes to play tricks, neither of them have anything to lose if they choose to gamble. Or do they?

Word count: 1531

A/N: English is not my first language (it’s my third). This is my second fanfic that I will be writing for pure enjoyment, really. I love writing in Modern AUs. I am also not sure if I have correctly described the blood eagle, so apologize if it is incorrect. If people like it, I shall post part two. Will also be uploaded to Archive of Our Own (twentyonellamas). Otherwise, enjoy! I am extremely excited for this one.

Chapter 1

Everyone knew Ivar Lothbrok. If you did not, you lived under a rock or, perhaps, you simply did not care. However, even those who claim not to ‘care’ about Ivar were lying to both themselves and others. Oxford University was one of the most prestigious universities on the English soil. Its rich history along with a stunning location and high and well-kept reputation was what attracted thousands, if not millions, of applicants a year. Only the best of the very best got a shot at walking along the halls and sitting in classrooms where wisdom was gathered in an eager mind like a pirate gathered his jewels into a treasure chest to take away with him for as long as time would allow.

I come from a family of dropouts. My father, a local mechanic who struggled to keep his lips dry from the balm that was his evening bottle of whiskey, left school at only fifteen years of age. The reasons were unknown to me, though my best guess is his father forcing him to work as times were tougher and the need for money outweighed the need for education. My mother, however, loved being a housewife and saw no need for any sort of higher education, unless one wanted it. Her love was raising my three brothers and I, amongst getting involved with various kinds of charities and hobbies she has picked up along the way. Though her and I disagreed on one too many things, I could only hope to be half the person she is.

I was always curious. My cravings to know more were never fully satisfied. I read books and swallowed the knowledge in them in days or hours, always moving on to the next book as soon as I finished one. I wrote stories, fairy tales in which the princess was equally as strong as the prince, and I dreamed of castles and libraries as big as the universe itself. Needless to say, I worked my butt off to get here, though my thirst for knowledge deemed extremely useful in getting my (mostly) perfect score.

So, back to Ivar, the most notorious arsehole I have encountered in my life. Some men wanted to be him, some would give their own dick to see him eliminated from the ‘playing field’ and wondering eyes of their girlfriends, and some simply admired him. Women threw themselves at his feet, suddenly growing a cup size every time he was near as they pushed their chests out and squeezed their boobs together. Every single time I saw it happen, I was tempted to buy a bottle of bleach and drink it, or grab the nearest silver spoon and scoop my eyes out.

His family is one of the wealthiest families in the UK. His Danish origins and slight accent make him all the more ‘desirable’. When I started my first year, I hated him because I thought he got into Oxford thanks to the wealth and connections his family has obtained through generations. Now, however, I detest him because the guy is actually smart and with or without the connections, he could easily have gotten a place here. The fact that he is disabled, I was sure played into the picture, though yet again, it was not the case and I was wrong.

My hatred of him every single day. It boiled and simmered underneath my skin and fingertips. Every time I saw a girl dressed in hardly anything, dumbing herself down to impress him, I felt like shutting myself in a room and wait for the ultimate thing that awaits us all; death.

“Miss Laurie,” I heard the professor’s voice call my name. “Would you mind telling us what the famous death of a blood eagle, common in the Viking culture, consisted of?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, certainly,” I said. “The blood eagle was performed by slicing a person’s back open, I am guessing right down the center of the spine. The ribs were then broken and lungs were torn apart. The skin and ribs were spread out to imitate bloody wings. The lungs were draped over the shoulders and the flesh rubbed with salt.”

The professor smiled gently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of the nose. “Well done, Miss Laurie.”

As he continued the lecture of all of the various, and brutal, punishments throughout the history of different time eras and cultures, I felt my gaze drift towards the bottom left side of the room where he was. There was no notebooks, no pen or paper in front of him. Wanker didn’t even bother to bring his supplies, I thought to myself feeling the anger at his arrogance grow even more.

He slouched in his chair, his gaze set on the front of the class, his legs extended out long in front of him. Even with the attention he got, I can count the number of times I heard him speak to anyone, or reciprocate the interest they seemed to have in him, not including the times he got asked to speak in class, never getting a single answer wrong.

“Now, for this semester, there will be a need for you to work in pairs.” The class perked up at this, good friends looking at each other knowingly. Some dreading it already, I included. “Lucky for you, I have already prepared your pairs for you.” The class groaned at this, all the happiness seeping away from them like air from united balloons.

“Trent,” the professor started. “You will be with… Beatrice.” The pair glanced and nodded at each other.

“Lawrence, you are with Tom.”

“Jamie with Lisa”

As the professor continued on, fewer people seemed to be available. I took my bottom lip between my teeth and began to bite it nervously, my anticipation growing.

“Beatrice,” I perked up at the sound of my name. “You will be with.. Ivar.”

My heart stopped and I resisted the urge to groan in protest. In truth, I wanted to do more than groan. I wanted to scream, throw chairs and desks and demand the teacher to tell me that he is joking and he has mixed it all upon. Instead, I glanced towards him, only to find him already staring back at me. I nodded at him, mirroring the actions previously carried out by my classmates but was only met with a stoic, expressionless stare. Great. Just fucking great, I thought to myself.

“Now, before you get your knickers in a twist,” the professor began, “I will have you know that there will be no switches.” I felt the hope take flight and leave my body.” From now on, any assignments will be carried out with your partner. I have specifically taken my time to pick people that you are best suited with; character and abilities, similarities and differences.”

I held back a snort. I loved the professor, but clearing he is deeply mistaken and getting rusty in his old age.

“Now,” he began, glancing at the clock hanging above the door. “I want you all to sit next to the people you are paired with and simply talk and get to know each other. We are already three weeks into the year and half of you don’t even know each other.”

As the class began to shuffle, the sound of desks and chairs being dragged across the floor to fuse together. I sat frozen, as dread began to set itself in my bones. I glanced up to look at Ivar, but yet again I was met with eyes that were already staring at me. His gaze was expectant, as he inched his chin up and shot his eyebrows up to meet his hair. Arrogant prick, I thought to myself before remembering his disability and wanting to punch myself in the face for expecting him to move to me. I may hate the guy, but his disability I do not take lightly.

As I have fully gathered up my stuff, as slowly and as deliberately as I could, I began to walk towards him. I saw him follow my every move as if I now became the subject and he the student. The piercing gaze made my body tense and I almost forgot how to walk, thankfully avoiding tripping down the steps and making a fool out of myself. Not that I cared what he thought. Of course.

As I reached his desk, I suddenly felt awkwardness begin to seep in, though I pushed it out and jutted my chin up, making myself stand tall and proud. I set the bag and went to grab a chair and move a desk next to his (or at least as close as I could without being too close). As I sat down, I breathed in before extending my hand out to shake. “I’m Beatrice,” I said.

He glanced at my hand but made no move reaching his to meet mine. I let my hand drop numbly on top of the desk. I craved to scream out my frustration but thought the best of it. I could tell this will be a fucking joy, already. Let my agony begin.

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