#counter argument: Nebula exists

[toastedclownery]

Oh my god. Ohh my god.

The mw episode 4 trailer

It's happening. It's really happening

- The backgrounds and the background character designs are sooo good. The colors and composition look nicer compared to the pilot too

- UGH Shrike has good intentions but he's honestly so stupid. How does he think that gambling to fix the Bucket is going to work 😭

- WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT THING SPEEDING PAST BEEBS

- Agent K and Disco Head and package mention hell yeah

-Also he brought up "Kitten" and "J.B". We can guess who those two are with Agent K being confirmed to be with DH

———

...Okay five sun time

- The subtle (and the not-so-subtle) quincunces. Can we turn those 45 degrees please

- The cosmic egg imagery 💥

- Okay I was thinking about Ajax' dialogue and it gave me an idea. First there was the mention of Beebs' mom just before the title sequence, which got a strong reaction from Beebs. This, paired with the father mention and the "mistakes are best left behind" line (which I think it's safe to read as Ajax calling Beebs the "mistake" that was left behind)

Did Beebs' family leave him behind? (or is that at least how Ajax sees it?)

Did... His mom leave him behind?

Where, at a crossroad????Someone has to be the one to pulverize Ricket

[innuendostudios]

New Alt-Right Playbook! This one's on spurious claims and how they don't even need to be ARTICULATED to follow you around.

If you wanna keep this series coming out (and maybe help it come out a little faster) do please consider backing me on Patreon or subscribing to me on Nebula.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you are the kind of progressive leftist with a platform who gets a share of harassment - seasonal or perennial - from reactionaries. In this situation, you will, inevitably, hear one who positions themself as a reasonable moderate ask, “Why Don’t You Respond To Criticism?”

There’s a lot going on in that question, more than is obvious, and it’s worth understanding.

First is that the question is not only directed at you. It exists as a marker, showing up in your Q&A’s, comment sections, or Twitter threads, to imply to anyone paying attention to you that there is some wealth of legitimate criticism you have long ignored. There may well be a specific point this person is referring to, but it’s often left unspecified or generalized, so that the content - and the quantity - of the criticism is left to audience imagination. It is meant to publicly undermine your legitimacy.

Second, it’s meant to make you question whether there is some legitimate criticism out there in the din of people screaming at you. You’re not perfect, and a knock-on effect of being harassed is you get numbed out, unable to discern good faith from bad, often removing yourself from the streams through which your peers used to correct you because of the endless flow of garbage coming through those channels now. But the only way to verify the ambiguous claim that there is criticism worth responding to is to once again strap on waders and climb in, which is often what your critic really wants.

Third, the question isn’t really “why don’t you respond to criticism?” Odds are, you do respond to some criticism. People in your position are often addressing or pre-empting criticism all the time, arguably too much. No, what this nonspecific question is really asking is, “Why don’t you respond to my criticism?” They’ll let it sound like you’ve been ignoring everyone, but they mean “why are you ignoring me?” They are going to insist you owe them a response, that their critique, regardless of your opinion of it, is valid, and demands immediate attention. Odds are there are dozens of people saying the same, all at once.

Fourth, odds are good that you have, in fact, addressed their specific complaint, but not in a manner they will accept. This one person’s criticism is likely not unique, you may have covered it somewhere in your output purely because you know what kind of arguments are getting thrown at you and you want to cover your bases. There’s a decent chance your critic doesn’t actually consume enough of your work to have seen it. But it’s maybe even more likely that they are aware of your counter-argument - possibly one of your fans directed them to it - but don’t consider a response legitimate unless it is directed at the critic. Covering it in a different context or on a different platform doesn’t count. They are owed a statement they can respond to directly, because they want the argument to continue. Really, the question is, “Why don’t you respond to my criticism on my terms?”

Finally, even if you did respond to them by name, it’s likely your response would still be disqualified. If you were to summarize their argument in any way, they would claim you are building a straw man. If you isolated any specific critique, or pointed to the cruelty that accompanied it, they would claim you’re cherry-picking. You must, it seems, first present the criticism, full and unabridged, before you may respond to it. Which is to say: the only “correct” way to respond to criticism is to platform the critic.

And there are dozens who expect this of you. Who will tear into you for not addressing, in meticulous detail, every single critique they’ve ever tossed your way, and, in the same breath, make fun of you for talking too much. Because they don’t want to move on from “Why Don’t You Respond to Criticism?” As a rhetorical tactic, it’s pretty ace. To announce, before the argument is even stated, that it is thus far undefeated? ::chef’s kiss:: Because any response you make will keep the focus on you and not their argument. “It’s not worth responding to.” “Well why should The Accused get to decide what is and isn’t worth responding to?” “I have responded, repeatedly.” “Well why didn’t you respond in this particular way?” None of this looks at whether the argument had any credibility to begin with, only at whether your rebuttal is following procedure.

Take, for example, the hypothetical criticism that you should not listen to me because I am just four eels in a trenchcoat. How would I respond to that? What can I say that isn’t exactly what four eels in a trenchcoat would say? “I’m not even wearing a trenchcoat”? Well, the first thing four eels would do when people start to catch on is wear hoodies. Show my birth certificate, saying I was born a single entity to a human mother at a weight four newborn eels wouldn’t add up to? Well, did that work for Obama? Or did the guy saying the birth certificate was fake get elected President? And, of course, anything I have to say about how fascism has evolved on the social internet is suspect if I can’t even prove I’m human. What do fish know?? We stayed at war with Iraq for seven years after the government announced the Weapons of Mass Destruction we were looking for never existed, and some people, to this day, still think we found them. What hope would I - a warm-blooded mammal who would make very mediocre sushi - stand in the face of that? [bell chime]

So, if you ever see this claim out in the wild, “why haven’t you responded to _____,” ask: do you know what _____ is, do you yourself agree it’s a valid question, and are you sure it hasn’t already been answered? And don’t repeat the question unless you’ve got three yesses.

[manatehispants]

Merry Christmas, Angel

Christmas! It’s without a doubt Aziraphale’s favorite holiday. Sure the humans have dates, times, and much of the true history behind the holiday wrong, but oh how the angel still loves this time of the year! The way the holiday lights lit up every corner, all the people smiling as they passed by different shops trying to decide on gifts for their loved ones. The treats and new meal ideas that came out each year. New flavors of hot chocolate was always a highlight for Aziraphale. Oh and the Christmas music! The way fresh snow sparkled in the early morning hours before humans had a chance to walk around in it. There was just so much to love about this time of the year, but what they loved the most was love and compassion that came out of human kind during this time. Everywhere they turned Aziraphale could see humans helping one another in some way. It was so beautiful. It was the day before Christmas now and all month......Yes, you heard right......Month Aziraphale had been driving Crowley up the walls with what the demon felt to be stupidness.

Every year it felt as if Aziraphale found a way new way to be even more obnoxious about one of the most meaningless holidays to ever exist. What in the name of Satan was so wonderful about Christmas? How could the angel not see that all this time of year is, is an excuse for people to buy some cheap gifts and pretend to give a damn so that they can feel good the rest of the year about not caring at all? All is Christmas is, is a show of who can present the most fake face of compassion to the world. The weather is too cold and everything has a disgusting smell of peppermint, cinnamon, pumpkin spice, or pine needle to it. Seriously, why did humans have to put these sickening flavors into everything? It showed a real lack of creativity when it came to food and drink if you asked Crowley. Not that anybody has asked their opinion on this in years now.

Aziraphale was putting some final Christmas touches on their bookshop and once again redecorating the tree they had set up in the back of the shop. They had a piping mug of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon in it on an end table near his white as snow loveseat. It’s a loveseat that still looks almost new, but they have had it for well over sixty years now. The tree was a stunning almost seven foot tall tree. It was an impossibly beautiful green with unnatural white tips at the end that made it appear as if fresh snow sat upon the tree. It was decorated in a way that Martha Stewart herself would have been jealous of and would easily put Macy’s displays to shame. A smile played on their face as they yet again rearranged some lights on the tree as classic Christmas played throughout the store. Their mood was so uplifted by this all that they had almost forgotten Crowley was refusing to stop by tonight for a gift exchange. Not unusual for them at all. Crowley was a known Grinch around this time of the year. Well, any time fo the year really. They are a demon and it can’t always be helped. This was something Aziraphale had to constantly remind themselves of and avoid taking any of it personally.

The Serpent of Eden wasn’t as far off from Aziraphale was one might think they would be tonight. They weren’t off on Ring Nebula like they had sarcastically told the angel they would be. This had earned Crowley an annoying side comment from Aziraphale about how they should take their attitude and go off to Crab Nebula instead. Not at all funny though Aziraphale thought it to be a real “stitch”. But, no, Crowley wasn’t off on some Nebula. They were still very much on Earth. In fact, they were only kiddie corner away from the bookshop at a small pub attempting to drink as much of the bar as possible. They felt oddly......bad (and not the good kind of bad!) about raining their misery down on the Angel’s stupid parade of cheer of Christmas by refusing to be part of it. They shouldn’t feel bad about it. Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other for over six thousand years and every year its the same when it comes to Christmas. Why should this year be so bloody different? What because they saved the world together and finally established that they are......”friends” Crowley is expected to stop being a demon and give a damn about a holiday that only reminds them of how much they lost in their fall?

Christmas and all the praise to Heaven felt like an ice cold slap to their face every year. Why Aziraphale didn’t understand this frustrated Crowley to no end then again could they really blame the Angel for not understanding something that has never been told to them?

“You never open up about your feelings.” That was one Aziraphale’s new complaints now that the two had saved the world and no longer worried about being on one side of the another of a Holy War. Again, Crowley wasn’t quite sure what it was Heaven’s most ineffable angel expected. What made them think that Crowley was going to change their behavior of over six thousands basically over night? And why should they talk about their feelings? Both had been doing just fine before the whole end of the world thing without talking about them. Why was Aziraphale trying to fix something that wasn’t broken and why was Crowley sitting at the bar feeling guilt for it? The silver tongued demon downed their......who even knew what number whiskey as they slouched almost comically low in their chair.

“I don’t feel bad. They should feel bad. Their the one shoving this crap down my throat! I’m only trying to some drinks and cause some mild chaos. That’s all.”

The now rather intoxicated demon said to the empty chairs at their table. The ever present sunglasses fell down the bridge of Crowley’s nose. Taking their index finger they pushed them back. They clamped one hand on the back of their chair and slid themselves back up into a straight sitting position. Somehow their glass of whiskey was once again full. They stared at the glass had they refilled that through their powers or had the bartender stopped by and refilled it? It was that stage of the night that Crowley had now become so intoxicated they weren’t sure what the answer to this was. Whatever. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that it was full and that they definitely did not feel bad leaving the Angel alone on Christmas Eve. Crowley picked up the glass, putting it to their lips they downed the liquor rather enjoying the way it burned down their throat and warmed their insides.

“They only asked me to join to be polite ya know? They don’t really want me there. Their happier on their own......Spending Christmas Eve......Alone......”

Crowley trailed off. The mental image of someone who so dearly loved the company of people they cared being alone on a holiday they considered so important bothered the demon. It made  their whole itch and their skin crawl. Crowley’s face scrunched up as if they had bit into the world’s most sour lemon. They already knew they would be getting no peace of mind no matter how drunk they attempted to get. No, the only way they were getting any sort of peace tonight was by doing the one thing they swore they didn’t want to do......Spending the night with Aziraphale and letting the Angel have their stupid oh so pointless holiday cheer. Crowley pushes their chair away from the table. They purposely scrapped the chair hard against the floor while doing this making sure the whole place could see, hear and feel how much they despised what they were about to go do. Letting out a dramatic groan Crowley rose to their feet. They didn’t walk out of the bar, but rather did an almost stumble like dance out of there.

Now, had the demon been a tad less drunk it would have crossed their mind to do what they always do when too drunk and make themselves instantly sober up. Instead they remained drunk as a duck and just barely managed to make their way to Aziraphale’s shop without falling down. Through the shop windows and door Crowley can see the soft glow of lights. The outside is covered with different arrangements of Christmas decorations and the demon can already smell that sickening Christmas scent they so hate. It’s making them wish they had stayed back at the bar. In fact, Crowley even looks over at their shoulder and back to the bar almost longingly. It would be so easy to go back there. Easier thing in the world Crowley tells themself, but then that pesky image of Aziraphale alone for yet another Christmas comes to their mind. They scowl.

“Aziraphale should be fine! They have hot chocolate and a tree. I know they do. They called me five times to tell me about it!”

Crowley said out loud looking at the sky as if they were attempting to be plea their argument to God. Beg the All Mighty to take their guilt away and let them go back to the bar in peace. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen. Crowley lets out a sigh of defeat and opens the door to the bookshop. Aziraphale always leaves it unlocked when they are there though Crowley had warned them time and again to lock it after hours. Damn Angel was way too trusting of humans following the rules and not entering their place of business because “The sign says closed”. You’d think they would have learned better by now. Crowley shakes their head as they entered shop. They have to hold onto different counter tops and shelves for balance as they walk towards the back.

“Angel! You left the door unlocked and now you got a demon in your shop!”

The cold breeze and sound of the bell above the door had been dead give aways somebody had entered the shop. Aziraphale was curled up on their loveseat reading their latest find. A rare book that dated back to the seventeenth century it was writing entirely in Latin. Looking up from their book Aziraphale was going to call out that the shop was closed when they heard a voice they knew all too well. A smile came over the Angel’s face as they placed their book down and got up. It was obvious from the way Crowley’s words had been slurred the demon was drunk, but oh!! That doesn’t matter at all! Not one bit! What matters is that they had cared enough to show!

“Okay, deep breath, Aziraphle. Don’t make a big deal over this. Mustn’t point out that this was kind of them.”

Aziraphale whispered to themselves trying to contain their excitement. They knew how much Crowley hated it when they point out the demon did something that was good. The last thing Aziraphale wanted to do tonight was make Crowley cross with them. But still! This was a big moment. It’s the first time in over six thousand years of knowing each other that Crowley has agreed to spend Christmas Eve with them.

“ANGEL! Did ya hear me? Don’t tell me you ate yourself into a food coma with all the sweets you’ve been baking up.”

It wouldn’t be shocking if the latter had happened. Aziraphale was infamous for their love of human treats and this time of the year they always had a habit of overdoing it. Since the start of December every time Crowley entered the shop there was some new assortment of Christmas treats laying out and along with a new recipe for hot chocolate. Although Gabriel was an insufferable jerk they may have a had a point about Aziraphale overindulging with human food. The smell of pine needles, fresh baked good and Christmas cheer was making the demon already feel annoyed. But then came Aziraphale from the back of their shop. The angel had the biggest dumb grin on their face as they walked towards Crowley arms wide open.

Crowley had a hand on the nearest bookshelf for support as they watched their life long friend. It was a struggle to maintain a grump exterior seeing the one being who Crowley Gabe a damn about so happy and knowing they were in part the reason for the happiness. It felt dare they say good? A chill ran down their spine. Nope! Demons don’t feel good! It most definitely did not feel good and wasn’t nice to see! Now, normally a small smile and nod of their head would have been plenty greeting from Aziraphale to Crowley. But today the angel was caught up in the holiday spirit and the kindness of Crowley being here. They did something they have never done before and usually wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. They wrapped their arms tightly around the ancient serpent and hugged them tightly. The gesture immediately had a sobering affect on Crowley. People didn’t hug them and especially not Aziraphale! Their whole body went stiff. A million and one thoughts raced through their head. What are they supposed to do? An angel hugging a demon......That can’t be good. They should shove Aziraphale away and earn the Angel never ever to do this again. After that the two should definitely never again speak of this moment. They will agree that during the holiday season they will now both stay far away as possible from each other and Crowley really will start spending the holidays on Ring Nebula!

But, the hug it feels so warm and damn it to Hell......They like this. How long has it been since Crowley allowed anyone at all near them? Have they ever allowed someone to be near them in this way? Crowley tried to think back and recall, but they can’t. Crowley swallows hard and slowly they wrap their own arms around Aziraphale. Their hands lightly pat the angel’s back. It’s an awkward pat and obvious that Crowley has never done this before or hasn’t in a long time. Now this is without a doubt the best possible gift Aziraphale could have got. They had fully expected for Crowley to pull away from them and complain about the hug. Aziraphale had even been preparing an apology mentally. There is a simple beauty in what is happening. Aziraphale gently pulls Crowley closer in. Crowley feels their body melt against Aziraphale. It’s the alcohol. They drank too much and weren’t thinking clearly. Once they sobered back up this would be one of those things the two never spoke of it at least that is what Crowley planned on. Against better judgement and everything being a demon tells them they lean into the hug. Their chin ends up resting on top of Aziraphale’s shoulder as they inhale deeply. Sugar cookies, pine needles and chocolate with a faint hint of sandalwood. All scents that Crowley claims to hate and now? They couldn’t get enough of it. Their nails dig into the absolutely hideous Christmas sweater Aziraphale is wearing. Crowley’s lips are almost against the Angel’s ear.

“Tell anyone about this and I am burning the shop to the bloody ground.”

Any other time the threat might have concerned Aziraphale, but they know Crowley would never do this. It’s a threat that is almost endearing because all it does is show that the demon trusts them. Crowley is letting them get close in a way they had never let anyone else get to them before. All the threat did was show this and show that Crowley also understood how much the shop means to Aziraphale. Slowly the blond haired angel lets go their dear friend. There is almost a sound of protest from the wily serpent, but pride manages to override their intoxicated state and they keep it in. Knowing someone for as long as these two have known one another you learn to read their unspoken words and you become aware of the movements they not only will make, but the ones they want to make. Aziraphale is all too aware that Crowley wants more and they be lying to say they didn’t too. However, now wasn’t the time.

“You’re drunker than I’ve seen you in years and you know very well if you did that I would never speak with you again.”

Aziraphale said with what was nearly a hint of amusement. There was no hint of the start of a lecture in their tone of voice. That was what Crowley had come to expect from Aziraphale in moments such as these. Crowley lets out a laugh. They can’t even try to deny what has been said. Straightening up their sweater Aziraphale puts their hands on Crowley’s shoulders. Their bright blues eyes really are beautiful Crowley thinks themself. The eyes remind them of the oceans just off the coast of Greece. The water there has the same sapphire blue to them. They should really get back there sometime.

“Either sober yourself up or go sleep this off in the back.”

“What are you my mother now? I don’t need to sober up and demons don’t sleep. Not at all. I’ve been plenty more drunk than this before.”

Aziraphale doesn’t argue back. They only nod towards the back room. Crowley rolls their eyes, but listens and stumbles their way. Immediately the demon is sprawling themself out across the loveseat that only moments ago had been occupied by Aziraphale. Waiting till Crowley closed their eyes before they turned and headed back out front. Keep their eyes closed Crowley spoke up.

“Angel where are you going?”

“To lock up the shop so that you don’t give me more grief about it later on.”

Lazily raising their right hand in the air Crowley snapped their fingers. After doing this their hand dropped down to arm rest. Aziraphale didn’t even need to ask. They already knew what Crowley did. They had locked the door. Usually Aziraphale would have told Crowley that they are capable of doing something their self. Instead they only shook their head.

“Well, thank you. I suppose I’ll finish my hot chocolate and book now while you......Lay there and sober yourself up.”

“Angel.”

Crowley half mumbled and half slurred. The demon patted their lap. Aziraphale raised a single brow. They were tempted to miracle the demon back to sobriety at this point.

“Come here.”

The angel face turned bright red. They were glad Crowley still had their eyes shut and they couldn’t see the reaction Aziraphale was having.

“Absolutely not! You’re....INTOXICATED!”

Aziraphale said they last part as if they were one of the most scandalous thing in the universe. It earns them a drunken chuckle from Crowley. Something is frustrating and somehow also endearing. The angel moved over by Crowley to grab their mug before they can pick it up the demon had reached an arm out and wrapped it around Aziraphale. They pulled the other being onto their lap causing a fresh wave of warmth to come over Aziraphale’s face. Much to Crowley’s shock they didn’t pull away or fight this. Really, how could Aziraphale fight this? They’ve wanted to be closer to Crowley for many years now, but for one reason or another they both always pulled back.

“For Heaven’s sake, Crowley!”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer to him and the most protest the angel could muster up was a roll of their baby blue eyes. They could feel Crowley chuckling against their body. It was strange how shockingly well......Nice this felt. It shouldn’t feel nice. Aziraphale is an angel sitting on the lap of a demon! Nothing about this should feel good! But Aziraphale is realizing this is where they want to be more than any other place in the universe. Right here on Crowley’s lap.

“Promise to sleep this off if you stay put.”

Clicking their tongue to the roof of their mouth Aziraphale put on a fake what could almost be described as a pout. They lean back against the one being they should never be so close to and yet feel so right being near.

“You just said demons don’t sleep.”

“Demons also lie a lot. I’ll go to sleep.”

There are a thousand arguments and lectures which Aziraphale could come up, but instead they go silent. They find their head is now leaning against Crowley’s chest and they swear they can FEEL the ancient snake of Eden smirking.

“Very well, but only if you actually sleep.”

Another small laugh from Crowley. They pull Aziraphale closer. Both are cursing themselves for how right something so forbidden feels, but they aren’t only cursing themselves for that. They are also cursing themselves for not acting on this soon; for time lost and wasted.

“I need to tell you something.”

Aziraphale finds that their throat feels dry. Their nervous that at any moment Crowley is going to come back to their senses, push them off and leave the shop. Maybe this will be the thing that finally pushes their dear friend away for good. They don’t want to answer the demon. They are scared for the first time in a very long time that they may say the wrong thing. It takes effort on their part to make the words come out.

“Yes?”

“Merry Fucking Christmas, Angel.”

Blinking a few times Aziraphale opens their mouth to lecture Crowley on the language and instead they find themselves laughing out loud. They very lightly elbow the demon who’s lap they now occupy. Crowley let out a playful groan. One that sounds suspiciously more pleasure filled than playfully pain filled. Nope! Aziraphale was absolutely not going to think on that!

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.”

With this being said Crowley kept their word to their good friend. They immediately forced them self into a state of mimicked sleep. Aziraphale smiled as they felt Crowley’s breathing slow down into a peaceful rhythm. Like demons, angels too require no sleep and still, Aziraphale finds them self closing their eyes and dozing off too already knowing this will be the best Christmas they have ever had when they awake.

[teabq]

Endgame Meta Part 1 of who knows

Endgame did it. It made me come back on Tumblr again. My own fault for not cultivating a replacement blog but here we are.

I have Endgame thoughts! Many. MANY. This is part one of who the hell knows.

But first, warnings: Spoilers ahead! HUGE spoilers! Spoilers in every sense, by which I mean both revealing plot points and, separate from that, possibly ruining the film.

If you unreservedly loved Endgame, I recommend you don't read. Key word: unreservedly. If you found no flaws in the movie you don't need somebody harshing your squee by pointing said flaws out to you. Go. Keep enjoying. I genuinely want that for you.

Becaue here's the thing: Endgame is a magic trick. It looks AMAZING. It is so cool. I could write volumes about how good the epic battle alone is in terms of how many layers it works and how well it is handled. No joke.

BUT

Like a magic trick, if you figure out or accidentally get a glimpse of how it was put together, it's ruined.

This is why I don't want people who unreservedly enjoy the film to read this. I don't want to be the jerk pointing out the smoke and mirrors so it's no longer magical that the bird vanished from one part of the stage and appeared at another. I just want to be here for those who, like me, noticed that supposedly invisible string but still want to talk about the show anyway.

If you're in that group, come on in.

So first and foremost the movie lies to us. The Avengers don't win.

I'm going to abuse the magic metaphor. You know that thing where a magician goes "Is THIS your card?" and you say yes because they're showing you a three of clubs, which is the card you picked from the deck.

Except this is a trick, and the magician is showing you A three of clubs, but it's not actually YOUR three of clubs, which is to say the card you personally put your hands on.

The Avengers' "win" is like that.

Back in Infinity War Strange and Tony have that well known conversation. Strange has seen 14 million plus possibilities. Tony asks in how many of those possibilities do they win. Strange says one.

Stop for a sec: what is "win" in this scenario? What did you, as an audience member, think Tony and Strange were talking about? I'm going to guess that you defined it as defeating Thanos, which is to say probably killing him and keeping him from his plan of using the gauntlet to destroy half the universe.

In Infinity War, what then happens is Thanos gets the gauntlet and destroys half the universe. Okay. But there's still a win out there, the movies tell us. Endgame is when they get their win. This is made explicit in the final battle when Tony asks Strange if this is that one time, and Strange later confirms it before Tony sacrifices himself. The one scenario where they won and they did it! All of the universe is back! Thanos is defeated! IS THIS YOUR CARD? HECK YEAH!

Only it's not.

To begin with, half the universe was still destroyed. Sure it was BROUGHT BACK, but five years of that reality still exist. Even if we allow for the MST3K principle of not worrying about how all these people are going to eat and where they're going to live in a world that wasn't supporting those resources for five years, this is still a problem. (For the sake of argument let's say Bruce, unlike Thanos, was smart enough to account for the resource needs, as well as the deaths that were an offshoot of the snapture such as people who died in car crashes because the drivers got dusted, and passengers who would've been out on the ocean in planes that are no longer there, and so on.)

That's because even with the practical concerns taken care of, the trauma is still there. The movie makes this explicit with things like Peter and Ned's reunion. Either Ned got dusted too, and they're both just so happy the other is alive again, or Ned didn't get dusted and he remembers having lost Peter for five years. (Assumedly Far From Home will explain this, we don't need to get into the details for the purpose of this argument, which is that Bruce's snap brought people back but didn't erase anyone's memories).

There is still catastrophic loss. People who were snapped missed out on five years. Kids grow up in that time. Pets die. Anniversaries come and go. It's a lot to miss out on.

Likewise those who weren't snapped had the horror of living through it. Some couldn't move on (the guy in Steve's support group) but others could. Tony can't be the only person on Earth with a five year old running around.

All of which isn't to say that bringing back the snapped wasn't a good goal. It's great. It's absolutely a positive. But it's not a WIN. Thanos wasn't stopped from doing the snapture. He did the snapture, and the Avengers scrambled to find a way to put things back. At best a fix, not a win.

But wait! You might say. That big battle! They defeated Thanos! Tony died to keep Thanos from doing the snap!

To which I say yeah: that's A three of clubs, not YOUR three of clubs.

The time travel in this movie is several essays long in terms of the issues, but for the sake of argument we're going to stick with what's on the screen. Which is that, for whatever reason or explanation you like, doing things to characters in the past does not change anything in the present. Which is why Nebula could kill her past self and still be alive.

The Thanos that they kill is past Thanos. It's not the Thanos who did the snapture. The Thanos that did the snapture was killed at the start of the movie. The Thanos at the end of the movie is, for all intents and purposes, a completely different character (again: Nebula killed her past self and is still alive. Killing past Thanos changes nothing about what happened from the snapture until now).

Sure, he wants the gauntlet and he's going to do shitty things if he gets it. I'm not saying he doesn't present a danger. But killing him isn't a "win." He's A three of clubs, not YOUR three of clubs. He exists for the sole purpose of giving an excuse for the big (again, extremely well done) battle to happen.

If you start to say "Wait, wait, that's not true! He's totally part of that win Strange talked about because..." I will counter with this: Why didn't Thor go for the head?

The big battle starts with this Thanos sitting by himself and Tony, Steve, and Thor approach him. Thor has Stormbreaker AND Mjolnir. Stormbreaker alone is enough to kill Thanos when he's wearing the gauntlet. The Thanos sitting in front of them has exactly ZERO infinity stones. This should be taken care of in less time than it takes Tony to order a latte.

But Thor doesn't, because if he did we wouldn't get the epic battle. And without the battle it doesn't look like the Avengers get a win. The movie needs to give us that (again, cool, awesomely done) fight so that it FEELS like the Avengers win. Thanos is dusted! His army goes too! Three of clubs! Hooray!

14 million options or more, none of them would involve any of our heroes talking to Strange and taking "Half the universe dies, but we bring them back with 100% of the universe suffering the trauma of this having happened, also there's a huge battle with a completely different and easily defeatable Thanos which doesn't actually have to occur, but once it starts the only way for that fight to stop is that Tony kills himself." as an acceptable definition of "we won."

And the kicker is that the entire movie is like this, once you start thinking about it. Looks great! Feels awesome! Completely falls apart if you start thinking about it for more than a second.

*waves hands* The prestige!

[bevioletskies]

it’s my party (and i’ll cry if i want to)

characters: peter/gamora, gamora-centric

summary: gamora hasn’t celebrated her birthday since she was taken from her family, nor can she remember exactly when it is. as her team leader, best friend, and boyfriend, peter is looking to rectify that, with a little help from the others.

a/n: i was inspired by the recent lego video game in which peter threw gamora a surprise birthday party (and the fact today is my birthday, but that's not as relevant). takes place approximately one year after Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, so groot is about the physical size and mental age of a human six-year-old child. kraglin is here because why not, and nebula returned to be a part of the guardians, because i couldn't imagine writing a gamora-centric fic without her.

fic title is from the song it's my party by lesley gore, though it has absolutely nothing to do with the plot. there is no sad crying (or adultery), i promise!

word count: 11.2k | ao3

“Another job well done, guys!” Peter hovered over the ground for a moment before landing neatly on his feet, lifting a hand to retract his helmet so he could properly look at the rest of his team. “Though Drax, I coulda done without you flinging that Orloni corpse in my face just now. But hey, no harm, no foul!” He held out his free hand for a high-five. Drax returned it with a confused, albeit enthusiastic fist bump. “No, dude, wrong one - ”

“I thought it was going to bite Rocket! Was I not supposed to assist my teammate?” Drax interrupted defensively.

Rocket looked up at him with an incredulous expression. “It wasn’t movin’ no more, man! Though the look on Quill’s stupid face was worth it.”

“Sure, ‘cept now my ‘stupid face’ is covered in blood. Aw man, it’s in my beard,” Peter whined, rubbing profusely at the stubble on his chin. “Crap, Gamora’s gonna be mad - ”

“Gamora’s going to be mad because Peter tried to jump in front of her when that last grenade went off,” Gamora drawled, dropping down from the tree she had been flung into during the explosion. Despite all that, there was barely a scratch to be seen. “Can we got at least one day without you doing something heroically stupid?”

“I prefer ‘stupidly heroic’,” Peter corrected with a grin, holding out his hand for her to take. She merely scoffed, reaching instead for Nebula and Mantis and leading them back towards the Milano, which was sitting less than a hundred feet away, miraculously unscathed from their mission (for once. They really needed to invest in spaceship insurance).

“Ooh, someone’s sleepin’ in the cockpit tonight!” Rocket hollered gleefully.

“Shuddup,” Peter muttered.

The group greeted Kraglin and Groot on board, who were waiting (patiently and impatiently, respectively) for their return. Another day, another job that left their wallets a little fatter, and their clothes a little more permanently dirt-stained. Though every mission was unique and a little more than dangerous, the post-mission routine had become, well, routine. Everyone cycled through the shower as quickly as they could without using too much hot water and pissing off everyone else, while Kraglin got them back in the air, setting off for nowhere in particular.

“Gamo-o-ora.” Sighing, Gamora turned slowly on her heel as she tugged the hem of her tank top all the way down to her hips. Peter was stood in the doorway, trying his very best to look casual as he leaned against its frame. His hair was still damp, his shirt somewhat sticking to his body.

“Quill,” she returned sharply, picking up her sword and stashing it back in its holster. If she let it linger in the air a little longer than necessary so Peter would have to look and remember what she could do with it, no one needed to know.

“C’mon, don’t ‘last name’ me.” Peter stepped further into their bedroom, almost timidly. “I just panicked, okay? I’ve seen you almost die, like, a million times. I wasn’t about to let you slip through my fingers again.”

“By having me watch you die instead. Good idea,” Gamora said sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest. “How many times do I have to say this, Peter? I don’t need you to protect me. You don’t get to treat me like I’m vulnerable.”

“I don’t think you’re vulnerable, I think you’re valuable,” Peter protested. “I know we’re out here tryin’ to ‘guard the galaxy’ or whatever, but this team wouldn’t even exist without you. You were what made all this happen in the first place. So, sorry if I don’t wanna treat you like you’re expendable. Because you’re anything but.”

She bowed her head, nodding slowly in consideration. He watched hesitantly as she stepped closer to him, sliding her arms around his waist in forgiveness, her hands clasped behind his back. He grinned as he embraced her in return, catching a whiff of her shampoo as he nuzzled into her hair. She was warm, steady, familiar. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, you’re right. And I would have done the same for you, so I guess I’m in no position to judge.”

“You can judge a little,” he teased. “I’ve done some pre-tty questionable shit.”

“I’ll get the story about that A’askvariian someday,” Gamora said, breaking into a soft smile. He groaned, shaking his head vehemently as he leaned his forehead against hers in affection. With a quiet laugh, she released him so she could take his hand in hers, leading him back outside to join the others. ______

“No, no, no, we are not dealin’ with the stupid Sovereign again - ”

“Shall I remind you that our Sovereign encounter was entirely your fault?”

“Technically, it was Nebula’s fault, she was the one scroungin’ around for those batteries in the first place - ”

“What about this mission? It looks quite harmless to me.”

“You say that about everythin’, Mantis, and look where it got us the last time we let you decide!”

“Peter getting poisoned was not my fault. He should know better than to accept food from a stranger. Even I know that, and I grew up on a planet in complete isolation with no understanding of social interaction - ”

“You gonna bring that up every time you screw up? ‘Cause it’s gettin’ real old, real fast.”

“Do not be so callous, Rocket! She is young and incredibly inept, she doesn't know any better - ”

“Uh, thank you, Drax, but I am not a child - ”

“I am Groot!”

“I do not mean to offend, Groot, you are perfectly clever for, uh - how old are you again?”

Peter winced as he and Gamora rounded the corner of the corridor into the common area. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to leave their bedroom after all. “Hey, hey, guys! Can we stop bein’ dicks for like, five minutes, and have dinner like regular folk?”

“Well, well, well. Look who kissed and made up,” Rocket proclaimed loudly, jumping down from the table to gesture at Peter and Gamora’s joined hands. “What’d ya do, Quill? Promise to rub her feet? Polish her sword?” He snickered at his own euphemism before disappearing into the kitchen to grab plates. Drax followed closely behind to help bring out the food, their argument seemingly already forgotten.

“You okay, Mantis?” Peter asked, ignoring Rocket’s usual...Rocket-ness. “I don’t blame you for the poison thing, by the way, that was on me. Stranger danger, and all that.”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Mantis said, brightening. “I am glad you two made up so quickly. Everything feels much calmer when you are in sync.”

“I wish we could say the same for everyone else,” Gamora sighed, taking her seat across from the other girl. “Where’s my sister?”

“Terrorizing Kraglin upstairs,” Mantis said cheerfully. “If there is any turbulence, it is probably her doing.” Peter winced as he sat beside Gamora, debating on whether to interfere.

“Relax, I’m here.” Nebula descended the ladder from the cockpit, looking as uninterested in anything and everything as always. “Have you gotten over yourselves yet?”

“Nebula,” Gamora said firmly. Nebula only shrugged with a sly smirk before sitting on Gamora’s other side. “Mantis, what’s next on our mission docket?”

“Nothing too interesting,” Mantis admitted. “We have some offers, but the only one that would be a safe bet for us does not give us very much pay-off. All the others are far too risky, even with our capabilities. Maybe we should just...wait.”

“Wait?” Gamora repeated. The others began filing into the room, Drax holding two large serving dishes of food, and Rocket balancing more cutlery on a tall stack of plates than what could be deemed remotely safe. “Can we afford to wait?”

“The payout from the Nova Corps is still holding us over pretty well, Gamora, I wouldn’t worry,” Peter reminded her. “We can afford to take a few days off. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine, but let’s not get too comfortable,” Gamora replied. “We don’t need a repeat of the last time Kraglin convinced you to go to Contraxia.”

“Still findin’ glitter in weird places,” Peter said proudly. Rocket gagged exaggeratedly at the implications. “And c’mon, it was my birthday! Everyone should get to party on their birthday!” He paused. “Wait, Gamora. We’ve been a team for more than a year now.”

“Astute observation,” Gamora said dryly. She reached for the serving spoon so she could dish out a portion of food for Groot, who was banging on the table impatiently.

“I don’t know when your birthday is,” Peter frowned. She froze, her hand still hovering in mid-air.

“Neither do I,” she muttered, resuming her movements as if nothing happened.

An awkward silence fell over the table as everyone watched Gamora pass Groot his filled plate. He seemed unbothered by the uncomfortable atmosphere, happily digging in without hesitation, while the others stared at Gamora like she’d grown an extra head. “Really?” Peter said finally.

“Well, it’s hardly important,” Gamora countered. “It’s just a symbolic passage of time. There’s nothing worth celebrating.”

“Nothing worth - Gamora, how come you don’t know when your birthday is?” Peter exclaimed.

“Oh, I don’t know, excruciating physical and psychological torture for a generous estimate of about - let’s say, fifteen years? - will do that to you,” Nebula snorted.

“You don’t answer for me, Nebula,” Gamora snapped. Then, gentler, “Peter, it’s not a big deal, okay? So just…let it go.” She didn’t have to look at him to know he was wearing that doe-eyed expression of his, a sort of sadness that she couldn’t quite understand. There were times where Gamora admitted to finding gaps in her own history, which led to Peter feeling immensely guilty for being so openly nostalgic about his. Really, it didn’t bother her at all. His enthusiasm for his childhood was endearing, and it was one of the first things she had come to love about him so deeply. She simply didn’t share the same sentiment, especially when so much of it was lost to her forever.

The rest of the evening slipped into night rather quietly. Everyone milled about the ship a little more politely than usual, especially when Gamora was around. It was when she returned to the bedroom, again, that she found Peter wanted to apologize to her profusely, again. “I swear I have foot-in-the-mouth syndrome sometimes,” he said with a relieved chuckle after she had accepted his apology. “I gotta get better at it. Not having it, that is, not getting better at it.”

“I’ve gotten pretty used to your lack of a filter at this point,” Gamora said, settling in under the thick duvet covers. “It’s hard to be around a person for eighteen months and not pick up on their habits.”

Peter smiled as he crawled across the bed to join her, draping an arm around the back of her shoulders. “Eighteen months...it’s weird to think about, hey? And you and me...fourteen and counting. Hopefully.” She hummed, leaning into him as she opened the book she’d been reading.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she teased. He laughed, pressing a quick kiss against her forehead before settling into the pillows, pleasantly warm from both the blanket and Gamora’s body heat. They fell into an easy silence as Gamora read her book and Peter idly flipped through the team finances on his tablet, commenting out loud every now and then (“D’you think we can convince Drax to buy less meat, because our food budget can’t handle his appetite for stew much longer” and “Okay, Rocket is definitely underreporting his ammo spending - look here, he’s missing at least two zeros!”). After an hour or so had passed, Gamora looked up from her book, looking contemplative. “I remember more of my childhood than Nebula does of hers, I think.”

“Your family?” Peter asked, setting his tablet down.

“My parents,” she corrected. She closed her book and laid it carefully in her lap. “I - we - didn’t have much of an extended family. So it was just me, my mother and father, in one small house. Sometimes it...it comes back to me in bits and pieces. The color of my bedroom walls. The sound of my mother’s laugh. Things like that.” He nodded silently, prompting her to continue. “I remember...I remember my birthday was in autumn. On Zehoberei, it was when everything grew in. The trees, the flowers...going to school was like a nature walk, every day.”

“Did you ever do anything special?” he asked quietly.

“My father would make my favorite meal for dinner,” Gamora shrugged. “I don’t remember what it was, but I know we didn’t have it very often. Otherwise, no. Birthdays just weren’t something my people saw as a special occasion.”

Peter intertwined their fingers together, squeezing comfortingly. He brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her knuckles. She couldn’t help but smile, curling into him a little closer. “The way that Terrans see it, it’s a way to celebrate the person’s existence. And I think it sucks we don’t have a special day to celebrate your existence, because you definitely deserve one.”

“You think I deserve to be celebrated.” It wasn’t a question. Peter’s heart broke a little to hear Gamora sound so uncharacteristically small, to see her large, dark eyes blink up at him, the coolness in her expression betrayed by the slight tremble in her lip. He supposed she’d spent years being told her worth was measured by her kill count. She probably still did in a way, only now, it was about how many people she could save. She was trying to overcome it, though, to see her value in quality, not quantity, to believe in her own goodness without it being tied to a number.

“I know you do,” he said fiercely. “And since we have the next couple days off, why don’t we do something, just for you? We don’t have to call it your birthday or anything. I just wanna make you happy.”

“I am happy,” she insisted. “I’m actually happier than I’ve been in a very long time. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever been. And maybe that isn’t obvious to everyone else, but...it is to me.”

“Still,” he said. “We get on your nerves. We drive you up the freaking wall sometimes, probably me more than anyone else since we spend so much time together. If we could have just one day focusing on what you want…”

Gamora was silent for a moment, thoughtful. She gently pulled her hands out of his grasp so she could slide her arms around his torso, turning onto her side so she could fully face him. He smiled down at her. “I’ve mentioned this before, but I never had a romantic relationship before you,” she said, squeezing him affectionately. “And yes, you do get on my nerves. Constantly. Consistently.” Peter frowned. “But...I’ve never been so grateful to be annoyed by someone on a daily basis,” she laughed. “So, as extraneous as this all seems - which is really saying something, considering some of the ideas you’ve come up with before - I think having a day for myself sounds perfect. Whatever that means.”

“It’s up to you,” Peter said, brightening. “Whatever you want, you let me know. I’m all yours.”

“You are,” she hummed, her hands now moving to cup his jawline, her thumb tracing an invisible line across his cheekbone. “And I think I know what I want to start with.” ______

“You think it’s a bad idea.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mantis said, a little too quickly. “I just - ”

“Gamora’s the one keepin’ us together. If it wasn’t for her, we’d either be super broke or super dead,” Peter interrupted, frowning. “I just want her to know we care about her, that’s all.”

“Peter.” Mantis reached across the table to clasp his hand. “I understand. I just...I think she already knows. And I worry that this is more about what you want, and not what she wants.”

“I told you not to do that.” Peter yanked his hand out from under hers, leaning back in his chair as his frown deepened. “And what do you mean? This is about Gamora.”

“Is it?” Mantis straightened up, blinking slowly. It was almost hypnotizing, watching her eyelashes flutter so deliberately. “In the time we have known her, has she ever cared much about what others thought of her?”

“Everyone does, they just lie about it all the time and say they don’t,” Peter retorted.

“Maybe. But from what I can read of her, she does not value it nearly as much as you do.” Mantis twisted her mouth consideringly. “I just do not think this is something Gamora needs, that’s all.”

“You think I’m being selfish.” Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “Mantis, I cannot believe - ”

“Hey!” They both startled, turning to see Gamora had entered the common area, eyeing them suspiciously. “Are you two arguing over the broadcast controls again?”

“Yes?” It came out more like a question, but Mantis had never been a very good liar. “Did we disturb your meditation?”

“A little, but it’s alright,” Gamora replied, waving her off dismissively. “It may keep me calm, but Nebula won’t stop asking if we’re done yet every thirty seconds. Then it’s as good as useless when that happens.” She took her seat next to Peter, squeezing his shoulder briefly in proper greeting.

“I heard we are having a day in celebration of you,” Mantis said, smiling impishly.

“Peter’s idea, but...I don’t entirely hate it,” Gamora admitted, pulling down one of the touch screens from the ceiling so she could start reading through their recent messages. “I haven’t given it much thought. What I want, I mean.”

“Could probably start with getting Rocket to lay off everyone for a day,” Peter muttered.

“I’m looking for peace and quiet, not a miracle,” Gamora snorted. She opened one particular message that caught her eye. “Peter...what is this?” Mantis craned her neck in an attempt to read it, though it was entirely backward from her side of the table.

“I...may have made...some...contact with people who know a lot about Zehoberei culture,” Peter said, wincing. “I wanted it to be a surprise - that is, if it worked out. Clearly, we don’t have the money this guy wants in exchange for whatever he’s got, so scratch that off my list of dumb ideas.”

“It’s not dumb,” Gamora frowned. “A little last-minute, maybe, if this is going to be tomorrow. I was thinking something more low-key. You know I don’t need much.”

“Like what?” Mantis asked curiously.

They both watched Gamora in silence as she drummed her fingers idly on the table, thinking it over. “It would be nice to have a day off from all of my extra duties,” she said finally.

“Done. We can split ‘em among us,” Peter nodded.

“And I know you two in particular hate combat training, but exercise keeps me focused,” Gamora continued. “That is, when no one else is around to bother me. And yes, Peter, that means you, too.”

He laughed. “I get to take a day off from that crazy boot camp routine you made for me? I ain’t complaining. Anything else?”

Gamora smiled softly, reaching to take Peter’s hand in hers. Mantis had to bite her lip to stop herself from cooing out loud. “Do you remember one of our first ‘dates’? Granted, I told you I had no interest in going on any to begin with, since we already spend every waking hour in each other’s company and it seemed like a good way to waste units - ”

“Yes, which kinda hurt my ego, thanks,” Peter grimaced. “Why?”

“You made this meal that you said was your mother’s favorite, something she tried to teach you to cook as a child. It wasn’t half-bad.” Gamora’s grin widened at the memory. “I would like that for dinner, instead of whatever stew that Drax has prepared for us.”

Peter beamed in return, lifting their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. It was a bit of an old-fashioned notion he had seen in his mother’s old movies, but it made Gamora blush a little every time. “You got it. That might’ve been my favorite date we ever had.”

“We’ve had maybe three, and one of them ended with you in the hospital,” Gamora reminded him, withdrawing her hand.

“You really did not have to threaten that man, Peter,” Mantis interjected unhelpfully. “He never said anything about you being a poor dancer. I think you just imagined it.”

“Okay, so I was a little drunk that night. It happens, let’s move on,” Peter grumbled. “We take care of your chores, you work out alone, and I make you dinner. Are you sure there’s nothing else you can think of? Some new weapon you wanna buy, somewhere you wanna visit?”

Gamora shook her head adamantly. “I don’t need much,” she repeated. “Whatever and whoever is on this ship is all I need.” Peter smiled at her rather sappily, leaning across to briefly peck her on the cheek. He pulled away at the sound of a retching noise in the doorway.

“How do I always walk in at the wrong time?” Rocket yawned exaggeratedly as he strolled in, Groot in tow. “I heard we’re doin’ something special for you, Gam. You figure out what you want yet?”

“Just a day off,” she replied, turning to look at them. Groot let out a happy squeak, taking a running leap into her lap. She let out a startled oof before settling him down properly, her arms draped loosely around his midsection. “And I picked tomorrow’s dinner menu. We should really tell Drax to stop cooking everything medium-rare, by the way. I think it’s why Groot’s been having stomachaches.” Groot nodded sagely in agreement.

“Really? That’s it? Sounds real boring t’ me,” Rocket said, wrinkling his nose. “Where’s your sense of excitement, Gam?”

“Some of us can make do without materialism. Some of us don’t have expensive taste in weapons and booze,” Gamora retorted. “Rocket, for once, can you report your numbers correctly? There’s a giant black hole where your ammo spending should be.”

“Dammit,” Rocket muttered under his breath. Relenting, he hopped up onto the table and yanked out a crumpled pile of receipts from inside his vest pocket. “Okay, Mom, whatever you say. Geez, you’re really on a roll with diggin’ into everyone today.”

“There’s just a lot of little things around here that can be improved. It’s not a personal attack,” Gamora said, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re tellin’ me. All you ever do is yell at everyone, ‘cept Groot and Mantis. Even Quill’s getting sick of it, I bet,” Rocket snorted.

“Leave me outta this, man,” Peter said. “Besides, I was the one who brought up your underreporting in the first place.”

“Oh, great! So I hafta blame you for all of this!” Rocket slammed his paw down on the wrinkled receipts. “You’re a real piece of work when you work together, y’know that?”

“So you being a big fat liar is my problem now?” Peter exclaimed. “Get over yourself, dude!”

“Hey! Walk it off. Both of you,” Gamora snapped. “You’re scaring Groot.” The little one was, indeed, trembling against Gamora’s shoulder. Peter and Rocket instantly looked guilty at what they had done. Mantis looked like she was considering interfering, but decided against it.

Gamora sighed to herself as she watched Peter get up and leave to join Kraglin in the cockpit, while Rocket turned away to unroll his latest blueprint. She smiled weakly as Mantis patted her hand in sympathy. Peace and quiet around here? What were you thinking, Gamora thought. Tomorrow might not be quite the day I’m looking for, after all. ______

It was late afternoon when Peter and Kraglin were wrapping up the last of their route planning in the cockpit, preparing to join the others for dinner. Groot very suddenly came hurtling up the ladder, grinning so toothily that Peter was worried Mantis had slipped him one too many Vrellnexian candies. “Hey, buddy, what’s up? You need somethin’?” he asked.

“I am Groot!” Groot exclaimed excitedly.

“I dunno about that, kid,” Kraglin drawled, getting to his feet. “I’ll see ya both downstairs, Pete.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder briefly before leaving, ruffling the top of Groot’s head as he passed him.

“You don’t have to get Gamora anything, Groot. It’s not s’posed to be her ‘birthday’, it’s just like, a fun day where she gets to do whatever she wants,” Peter shrugged. “And apparently, all she wants is a break from us. Can’t blame her.”

“I am Groot,” he insisted, crawling into Peter’s lap. Peter leaned around him to engage the safety lock on the dashboard - they had all learned the hard way what happened if Groot got too close to the navigation controls, now that he was big enough to use them. Mantis was still nervous about standing too closely to the landing ramp. “I am Groot?”

“Doesn’t sound bad, actually,” Peter admitted. “But mostly because she totally loves you the most. You don’t pi - uh, annoy her as much as I do.”

Groot pouted, his huge eyes growing even larger in worry. “I am Groot?”

“Nah, we’re not havin’ problems,” Peter reassured him. “I just drive her crazy sometimes, and not in a good way.”

“I am Groot,” Groot conceded, pointing to the other pilot’s seat.

“Yeah, Rocket’s a different story,” Peter grumbled. “Sometimes I think all he ever wants is to make me mad. He’s still my friend, though.” He smiled down at the little one. “Don’t worry, Groot. I love the team, you know that. But we’re family, and families fight. Doesn’t mean I want any of ‘em gone. And what Gamora said earlier, I know she feels the same way. She doesn’t yell because she wants to yell, she yells ‘cause she cares. Even if it don’t sound that way at first,” he added, chuckling.

Groot, both satisfied and relieved at the answer, sprawled across Peter’s lap, his head coming to rest against Peter’s steady heartbeat. “I am Groot?”

“Yeah, we can hang out up here until dinner’s ready,” Peter replied, rubbing Groot’s back. “Man, you’re getting heavy.”

Mantis called them down soon after, squealing delightedly at the sight of Groot sitting on Peter’s shoulders. “Oh, how cute! Can I take a picture, please?” she begged.

“Sure,” Peter laughed, bouncing Groot exaggeratedly. Gamora smiled fondly at the sight, walking over to affectionately kiss them both on the cheek. “Hey, Gamora. What’ve you been up to?”

“Dividing up my chores for tomorrow,” she replied, holding up her tablet. “I forgot how much I had planned.”

“Sounds great,” Peter said weakly. “What’d I get stuck with?”

“Relax,” she teased. “I’ll have you know, I was quite kind to you.”

“So I didn’t get stuck with garbage disposal?” Peter crossed his fingers behind his back.

“I have to share a bed with you, don’t I?” Gamora drawled. “No, I left that to Drax. Besides, I think he secretly likes having to put on a spacesuit and float around aimlessly for ten minutes while he waits for the incinerator to finish. You, on the other hand, get to answer all the team correspondence. That includes the check-in with the Nova Corps, fending off recruitment from the Confederacy, and the fanmail.”

“How is that being kind?” Peter exclaimed, nearly startling Groot who had been falling asleep against the back of his head. “There’s so many weirdos out there who send us stuff.”

“Most of which is directed at me,” she reminded him. “If it’s not men sending me unsolicited pictures and requests, it’s people begging for my head on a platter.” She looked away for a moment, shivering involuntarily at the memories she had tried so hard to forget. “We made a public contact address so we could help people that don’t usually have anyone else to turn to. But it attracts a lot of cruelty, too, and I’m usually the one reading it. Every last word. So if you could do this for me, just this once…”

“You’re right,” Peter nodded, giving her a rueful smile. “I promise I’ll keep the complaining to a minimum.” Pleased, Gamora squeezed his arm in silent appreciation before moving to sit down at the table. “Wait, what kind of pictures?”

“Take a wild guess.” Peter shuddered. Right.

Dinner was when Gamora officially gave out everyone’s assignments, much to their chagrin. Groot, of course, was given nothing to do, though Rocket roped him into helping him take inventory. Kraglin also got away without an extra task, since he was usually in the cockpit, keeping an eye out for enemies or obstructions. Drax was strangely okay with the garbage disposal assignment, and Mantis didn’t mind having to clean the kitchen and bathroom. Nebula, however, had some choice words about getting stuck with handling team finances.

“You’re trusting me with money? You must have truly lost your mind, sister,” Nebula deadpanned.

“It won’t take long. We barely spent or earned anything this week,” Gamora promised. “Just an hour of your time at most.” Nebula grumbled under her breath unintelligibly, in what Gamora assumed was very reluctant acceptance of her fate.

“At least I get to spend the day with my toys,” Rocket admitted, brightening. “Wait ‘til you guys see what I got cookin’ up!”

“For the last time, Rocket, a one-shot gun won’t help us if it doesn’t have a targeting system!” Peter groaned, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Gamora patted him on the leg underneath the table before another argument could break out, again.

After dinner and a healthy round of complaints, everyone retreated to their respective bedrooms. Gamora was last to return, smiling briefly at Peter who was already sitting on their bed, before noticing the crease in his brow. She sat on the end of the mattress, resting her hand on his forearm. “Is something wrong?”

“I guess I didn’t realize how much stuff you take care of until you read it all out,” Peter frowned. “What the hell are the rest of us doing, then?”

“You handle ship maintenance, Rocket is in charge of weapon development…” Gamora trailed off. “I suppose Mantis interferes when personal matters get out of hand. Drax has been teaching her how to fight. But...you’re right. When we aren’t out on a job, things are a little slow around here.”

Peter laid back on his pillow, though his gaze remained on her, saddened. “Sounds like we’re taking advantage of you.”

“I like being busy,” Gamora shrugged. “Though I guess comparatively, I don’t get much time to myself.”

“Next time you get a creepy message, I can deal with it instead, okay?” Peter squeezed her hand. “Hey, maybe I can send back a picture of my own! That’ll freak ‘em out.”

“Please don’t,” Gamora groaned. “I’m almost certain that’s considered harassment, and we don’t need to soil your reputation any more than you’ve already done.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? I have a great reputation! Star-Lord, kickass leader of the Guardians of the freaking Galaxy - ”

“Who is currently banned from five planets for petty crimes, has an arrest record longer than his resumé, and became famous for challenging a genocidal Kree warlord to a dance-off.” Gamora patted his stomach consolingly. “There are many who think of you fondly, Peter, myself included, but you aren’t exactly universally known for your competence.”

“You wound me, honey. I think my heart actually hurts now,” he proclaimed, clutching dramatically at his chest. Rolling her eyes, she threw one knee over his torso so she was straddling him, lowering her upper body to press up against his.

“You poor thing,” Gamora drawled. “Do you need me to make it feel better?”

“Yes, please,” Peter said lowly, his eyes half-lidded. He cupped the back of her head so he could bring her in for a kiss. ______

On the morning of Gamora’s not-birthday, Peter woke to find Gamora was feeling generously handsy, certainly nothing to complain about. She was practically glowing by the time they slipped out of their bedroom to join the others for breakfast, accepting the lovingly prepared meal from Drax and a slightly too-tight hug from Mantis.

“I should hug you more often. You smell very nice,” Mantis said happily into Gamora’s hair.

Gamora blinked. “Thank...you?”

Once breakfast was over, Gamora retreated to the basement level where they had a makeshift gym. She usually trained with Nebula or Mantis - Drax was too boisterous for her taste, and although she occasionally mentored Peter, he was wholly distracting on several different levels - but today was her day, and her day meant a full hour to herself. The others, meanwhile, started working on their assigned duties. Rocket took Groot to the storage room, Drax gathered up an excessive amount of garbage bags from the supply closet, and Mantis grimaced as she disappeared into the bathroom, knowing Drax had been the last one in there.

Peter and Nebula were the only ones left in the common area, with Peter using Gamora’s tablet to read and respond to their correspondence, while Nebula spread out all of their invoices and payments over the table’s surface, the team ledger sat open by her elbow.

“Do you have to do this here?” Nebula said snidely as Peter settled in at the table, a few seats down from her.

“Do you?” Peter retorted without looking up.

Nebula sneered at him in lieu of an actual response, angrily snatching up the invoice nearest to her and slamming it down forcefully on the table’s surface. In hindsight, she probably despised Peter even more now, considering he had been the one to suggest they keep a physical financial record in case their database ever got hacked. Considering she had hacked their system the day she returned to the Guardians, it wasn’t much of a stretch.

The first few messages Peter encountered were easy enough - overly-descriptive pleas for the Guardians’ help with relatively small tasks, like finding lost pets or fighting over property rights. Peter politely directed them towards the right authorities, though he couldn’t help but shake his head at the thought of actually helping with any of these missions.

The check-in with the Nova Corps was the usual dull report, informing the officers that no, they hadn’t caused any trouble lately, and yes, they had saved some lives and destroyed some bad guys. He didn’t blame Nova Prime one bit for wanting to make sure she put her faith in the right people, but sometimes, she came across as more of a concerned parent than a military commander. Her last email even had her inquiring about how much Groot had grown since she’d seen them four months ago at an intergalactic council meeting on Aakon.

And oh boy, Peter winced, here we go. An onslaught of messages with Gamora’s name in the subject line, ranging from parents expressing gratitude on behalf of their daughters, to angry ex-convicts threatening to hunt her down, to, yes, men with too many fantasies and not enough filters.

“You’re making a dumb face.” Peter startled, having forgotten that Nebula was even there. “Well, dumber than usual.”

Ignoring her, Peter turned the tablet around so Nebula could see. “Did Gamora ever tell you about these?”

Nebula squinted at the screen, scanning it briefly. Suddenly, her pen broke between her fingers, causing Peter to jump again. “What? No! Who are these people?” she barked.

“Huge dicks. Well, not literally, this guy’s definitely - anyways.” Peter coughed, shriveling a little under Nebula’s glare. “I mean, I knew that we sometimes got messages from people that Thanos had you guys attack or whatever, but I didn’t know this crap was happening, too.”

“I will rip them apart, piece-by-piece, slowly, deliberately, until - ” Nebula growled before Peter interrupted her.

“Yeah, no, let’s not get in any more trouble, okay? It’s a miracle Nova Prime let you stay and go on jobs with us, and we ain’t about to mess that up. Right?”

Nebula exhaled harshly. Peter could practically see steam blowing out of her ears. “Fine. But suddenly, you don’t seem so awful in comparison, Quill.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or thankful.” Peter narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m gonna go with - do you still really not like me? Is it ‘cause I’m dating your sister? Because I don’t want that to change.”

Nebula averted her gaze, turning away from him. “Of all our siblings, I hated Gamora the least. She may have been responsible for the majority of my implants, but she was also the only one who kept me company. She made sure I had enough to eat, that I would sleep if I became exhausted. My life...it would be very different without her in it. I just want to make sure the people in her life deserve to be there. And I never thought she would want to be in a romantic relationship, let alone with someone as unpredictable and annoyingly cheerful as you.”

“I’ll have you know that other people find it super charming,” Peter grinned. “But fair enough. And Nebula...you should know I’m lookin’ out for you too, okay? Even if you do scare the shit out of me most of the time.”

“That’s what I’m aiming for,” Nebula smirked, sitting up. “Since Gamora likes you so much, I...suppose you aren’t so bad. And you didn’t have to take me in after everything that I have done. But you did. So...thank you. I guess.”

Peter blinked. “Was there a gas leak just now? Or did you hit me on the head? I swear I just heard - ”

“I’m not saying it again, Quill.”

He laughed. “Seriously, though, that was all Gamora. She’s been advocating for you from day one, even back before we picked you up on Sovereign. And I trust her judgment.”

Nebula nodded slowly. “Against all odds...so do I.” ______

Gamora made her way up the ladder from the basement level, pleasantly sweaty and energized from her workout. She nearly audibly gasped at the sight of Peter and Nebula sat at the table in the common area, working in relative peaceful silence, aside from the occasional chuckle from Peter that earned him an almost playful elbow in the gut.

Admittedly, at the beginning of her romantic relationship with Peter, she hadn’t given much thought to what Nebula would say. Part of her thought there was a chance she would never see her sister again, not after she took off in search of Thanos. But once Nebula came back, her thoughts were practically consumed with worry over how Nebula would fit in with her new family, with these new people that she loved. She wanted the team to treat Nebula with respect and kindness, yes, but she also became anxious just thinking of how Nebula would treat them. She supposed Nebula having issues with Rocket and Drax were inevitable, she seemed relatively apathetic towards Kraglin, and was surprisingly tactful towards Groot, but Nebula’s feelings towards Peter were a mystery.

There was no denying nowadays that Peter had become not only her boyfriend, but her best friend. They could talk for hours about everything and nothing at all, protected each other in ways that they didn’t know were possible, and often felt happiest in each other’s company. But Gamora knew that Nebula had her, and only her, and maybe Nebula would feel that Peter was a replacement in some ways. Maybe she would resent Peter for reasons far beyond her surface-level irritation with his personality, but because he fulfilled certain voids in Gamora’s emotional wellbeing that she never could.

Still, as Gamora watched the two people she cared for most in the world engage in harmless bickering, she felt her eyes grow hot with tears of joy. It certainly wasn’t a sight she got to see every day. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard any threats of bodily harm,” she commented as she fully entered the room, hoping she didn’t sound as emotional as she felt.

“I think we’re bonding,” Peter announced.

“No,” Nebula said flatly.

Peter shrugged in acceptance. Gamora glanced between them, still wondering what had caused such unusual camaraderie. “Temporary truce on my behalf, then?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Peter said cheerfully. “How was your workout?”

“Productive.” Gamora shook her hair out of her ponytail and sat down between Peter and Nebula. “I hope you can say the same.”

“Got rid of all those weirdos,” Peter said triumphantly, holding out the tablet for her to see. “Replied to about eighty percent of everything else. I sent Nova Prime that picture Mantis took of me and Groot yesterday, she’s gonna love it.”

“That’s great progress,” Gamora smiled. “Thank you, Peter.” Nebula let out an exaggerated groan of annoyance. Sighing, Gamora turned around to face her sister. “What now?”

“If I had known you made it official with Quill, I might not have come back,” Nebula sneered, shoving a stack of invoices aside, nearly sending them flying.

“You don’t mean that,” Gamora said quietly.

Nebula blinked, looking uncharacteristically guilty. “No, I...I don’t.”

Gamora turned away for a moment, Nebula’s gaze too intense for her to reciprocate. “You never did tell me why you came back.”

“You were right, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Nebula spat very suddenly. “I couldn’t do it. I was so close to returning to Sanctuary, but I couldn’t do it. All I could hear was your stupid voice, asking me to stay with your precious Guardians. Telling me we could work together. And I knew...I knew I needed you.” She curled a little into herself. “I needed my sister.”

Gamora shuffled forward on her chair, reaching to pull Nebula into an awkward, half-seated hug. Nebula let out a grunt of discomfort, but awkwardly patted Gamora on the back regardless. “I need you, too. Always,” Gamora murmured. “I really am glad you’re here, Nebula. I don’t think any family of mine is complete without you.”

“You’ve become disgustingly sentimental,” Nebula scowled, though it was without the usual bite in her voice. “Father would hate it.”

“Well, Thanos isn’t in control of us anymore. We are in control.” Gamora pulled back so she could take Nebula’s hands. “We’ll take him on some day, Nebula, I promise. We’ll get him back for everything he has ever done to us, everything he’s done to all those people out there who didn’t deserve it. It’ll take some time, but we’ll do it. Together.”

Both sisters jumped a little at the sudden sound of a sharp inhale. They had forgotten Peter was sitting beside them, sniffling a little. “That was real nice,” he commented. Gamora narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed. Really? “A-a-and I’ve ruined it. Okay, I’m gonna go finish this upstairs. You guys enjoy!” With one last awkward salute, Peter practically sprinted up the ladder, tablet in tow. ______

By the afternoon, Peter, Nebula, and Drax had long finished their chores, while Rocket and Mantis struggled in comparison. Drax offered to help Mantis finish cleaning up the kitchen, while Peter joined Rocket and Groot in the storage room. Nebula mysteriously vanished right after lunch, but as long as she left Kraglin alone, Gamora couldn’t be bothered to hunt her sister down.

Gamora curled up on her and Peter’s shared bed, her only company being her book and Peter’s Zune. She had taken to borrowing it every now and then, confessing there were considerable portions of its library that she really enjoyed, even some that he didn’t particularly like himself. It was fine by him - Gamora’s new appreciation for music made him happy, even if her tastes weren’t exactly the same.

It took her a moment to find the page she was on, settling in against the pillow that was mostly permeated with Peter’s cologne. She smiled as she passed the chicken scratch on the inside cover - for Gamora - in Rocket’s handwriting. It was no secret that Rocket was the most contentious member of the Guardians, especially when it came to dealing with the authorities. But Gamora could appreciate him for what he was - incredibly clever and quick-minded, loyal to a fault, and oddly thoughtful. Their first few months of being a team were mostly characterized by its screaming matches and threats, but now it was mostly harmless bickering, peppered with random acts of kindness.

Gamora had mentioned offhand one night that she had never finished school, and as a result, experienced unfortunate gaps of basic knowledge at times, aside from things she had picked up during her missions for Thanos. Rocket had scoffed in response, saying it wasn’t a big deal. Then, a week later, after he and Peter returned from a highly productive day at the Nova trading post, he lugged in an entire suitcase full of books, both fiction and non-fiction, and dropped it at her feet. “If you got the time, that is,” Rocket had shrugged, disappearing into the engine room before she could even thank him.

So, now, Gamora used her spare moments - mostly at night, right before going to bed - to read, absorb information that had been out of her grasp for the longest time. Once Nebula returned, Gamora attempted to share the books with her too, but Nebula seemed mostly disinterested (though if a trashy paperback happened to go missing every now and then, Gamora didn’t say anything). Peter also went searching for Terran books as well, hoping to further share his culture with her. Gamora was partial to consuming encyclopedias when she had a few minutes to herself, picking a page at random and skimming it over. She found Terran culture to be equal parts interesting and terrifying, though really, the same could be said of her initial feelings towards Peter.

An hour passed before she decided to get up and stretch, then further choosing to take a quick lap around the ship to loosen up her sore joints. Gamora smiled briefly at Mantis and Drax as she passed them in the kitchen, only to stop dead outside the storage room door to the sound of - what else? - Peter and Rocket, snapping at each other like their lives depended on it.

“Why do we have so much stuff?” Rocket exclaimed.

“Most of this is yours, dude, I dunno why you’re complaining,” Peter grumbled. “Besides, Gamora gets this and all that other stuff done in one day, what’s takin’ you so long?”

“I ain’t Gamora, genius,” Rocket sneered. “I usually just throw everything back in here unless I wanna fix it. I wouldn’t have done it this time if I knew I was gonna be the one stuck doing inventory!”

“Yeah, and how do you think she feels about your damn mess? How does she find anything in here?” Gamora could hear the sound of Peter tossing a bunch of heavy materials around, clattering against the metal floor. She winced.

“I am Groot?” Groot asked.

“It was a rhetorical question, but you’re totally right. Gamora is super awesome at everything.” She flushed, lingering in the doorway for another half-second before deciding the conversation wasn’t meant for her. Peter and Rocket were usually able to defuse their own arguments nowadays, and if Mantis came running for Gamora, then she would know it was serious. Gamora retreated back to her room, shaking her head fondly as she did. “Besides, I was thinkin’ earlier we don’t do enough around here. Like, I know you and me have other specialties and everything, but we aren’t exactly fair and square, either.”

“What’re you sayin’, like we should make this a regular thing? Hell no!” Rocket snorted. “I got two priorities, Quill, money and weapons. I make weapons so we can make money. I use that money to make more weapons. It’s my circle of life, if you get my meaning!”

“I don’t mean exactly like this,” Peter replied. “I was just thinking we could rotate. Gamora’s been wanting us on a regular schedule forever, but none of us ever paid attention. Maybe now’s the time.”

“Man, you’re whipped,” Rocket muttered, scrounging through another pile of scrap metal.

“Hey, it’s got nothing to do with that. I just think she’s got a point, and as team leader, I get to - ”

“As team leader, you’re really freakin’ biased!” Rocket snapped, standing up tall. “You take Gamora’s side, every time. And if it’s not Gamora, it’s Mantis, since she’s basically your sister. You ever stop to think about the rest of us?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, actually, I do. And Gamora’s usually the one thinkin’ about everyone, that’s why I usually go with what she says! Hell, you just said it yourself - money and weapons! That’s the only thing that matters to you.”

“Not the only thing,” Rocket mumbled, turning away. Groot reached as if to grab him, but Peter shook his head, gently pulling the young one back. The two of them watched in silence as Rocket paced back and forth, furling and unfurling his fists intermittently as he did. “Fine. We’ve been shitty teammates to Gamora. What’re you suggesting, then?” ______

“Shh, she’s coming!”

“This isn’t a surprise party, Mantis, she knows we’re here.”

“Oh. Right.”

Gamora ducked her head to quietly laugh to herself at her team’s antics as she walked into the kitchen, enticed by the smells wafting throughout the entire ship. Laid out on the table were the comfort foods Peter had introduced to her not too long ago - some sort of fried meat that was apparently impossible to find on any planet other than Earth, a baked pasta dish that was heaping with tomato sauce and cheese, and various vegetable side dishes that Groot in particular was eyeing, relieved to be free of Drax’s highly carnivorous menu for once.

“Just how I remembered it,” she commented, wrapping her arms around Peter’s middle, briefly laying her head on his shoulder. He beamed in response, pressing a kiss into the crown of her head. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Don’t forget dessert,” he reminded her as they all took their seats. Gamora automatically went to pick up Groot’s plate so she could help him, but Drax got there first, nodding at her kindly before serving Groot instead. “We also had a couple things we wanted to give you, even though it’s not really your birthday. But hey, let’s eat first!”

The whole team happily dug in, eating in total silence for the first few minutes aside from sounds of enjoyment. Even Rocket had nothing bad to say, and Groot was happily smearing potatoes all over his face as he ate. “So did everyone finish everything? All of my tasks?” Gamora asked as everyone’s forks and knives began slowing down. The others exchanged dubious looks across the table.

“Eventually,” Peter hedged.

Gamora frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“We did finish everything,” Peter corrected. “But we could also give you one of your presents early.” He glanced at the others, seeking consensus, but they didn’t seem too inclined, one way or the other. “I know you said you like being busy, but there’s still so much stuff you could be doing if you had more time - reading, working out, just letting loose, y’know? And you already handle tons of the fights and tactics when we’re out in the field, there’s no reason you gotta hold down the fort here, too. So, we came up with a schedule where everyone has just one thing to do per day, and that’s it. We can all have time to do whatever the hell we want. Don’t feel like you’re responsible for all of us, Gamora. You gotta take care of you, too.”

Gamora set her fork down with a sense of finality, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. The others watched her nervously, worried she was going to decline. Even Rocket and Nebula, arguably the most self-serving of the group when it came to menial chores and mundane tasks, looked invested in hearing her answer. And really, what could she say other than ‘yes’? After spending so much of her life taking care of herself out of self-preservation and the interest of not dying, it seemed natural to take care of everyone else. They were an extension of herself, really - if she failed them, she failed herself. But as Gamora stared back at their hopeful faces, she knew it had to work both ways.

“I...don’t know what to say. Other than...okay.” Gamora smiled. “Okay. Show me the schedule tomorrow, then.” The team let out a collective sigh of relief, pleased to know their efforts hadn’t been for naught.

After dinner was over, Peter brought out the cake that he had left warming under the broiler, a gooey, buttery concoction topped with an excessive dusting of powdered sugar. Groot’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of it. Rocket predicted Groot was going to have trouble sleeping tonight, though Groot didn’t seem bothered by the notion. Once Peter had served up a slice for everyone, they moved towards the back of the ship, where the vantage window was, sprawling casually across the floor. Gamora took a seat beside Nebula first, who had kept herself furthest from the others, as expected. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what? All I did was your stupid taxes,” Nebula grumbled, stabbing her plate.

“I hope you don’t actually think those were taxes,” Gamora said slowly, wrinkling her nose. “No, I mean just in general. For...for coming back. For looking out for me, even when you hated me most. We may not be perfect, Nebula, but we have each other. And there are things I’ve done that I regret. I don’t just mean the things Thanos had us do, but the things I did to you when we were young. I should have been less selfish. I should have let you win.”

“Then we would both be screw-ups, and where would we be?” Nebula snorted, shaking her head.

“On equal ground, for starters,” Gamora suggested sadly. “Maybe we would have spent less time resenting each other. Maybe we would have worked together to escape Thanos. Who knows, really?”

“You wouldn’t have all of this if you had. These people. Your new reputation as a Guardian.” It didn’t nearly have as much bite compared to Nebula’s usual tone.

“And you’re a Guardian now, too,” Gamora smiled. “So maybe it did work out. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty.”

“You let too much weigh on you, sister,” Nebula said quietly. “You are not responsible for everything in your path. Even your own choices weren’t your own choices sometimes. Thanos made you angry. He made us both angry. I can see that now.” She lifted her head to look at Gamora, her dark, inky eyes glossy with emotion. “I could be mad at you for the rest of my life. And I’m not saying I’ve forgiven you. But I don’t have that kind of energy anymore. I just know I want to destroy him for what he’s done. Rip him apart, make him feel every last terrible thing he’s ever done. And we need each other to do it. Right?” She looked almost scared at her last small request, as if Gamora was going to reject her right then and there.

“Always,” Gamora said softly, patting Nebula on the leg. Her hand lingered for a moment. “But I’m also just here as your sister. Okay? So if you need anything at all...I’m here. And you’re welcome here. It’s still new to you, but you’re part of this team.”

Nebula smirked half-heartedly in an attempt to give her a genuine smile. She scoffed, shaking her head. “Just go snuggle up to Quill before you get the urge to hug me again.” Gamora laughed, squeezing Nebula’s knee one last time before standing to join Peter.

The festivities continued, a gentle song crooning through the ship’s sound system via Peter’s Zune, as Drax decided to unearth a truly awful bottle of booze they had bought (or stolen - it was Rocket’s doing, so no one could be quite certain) on Terma, pouring heaping glasses for everyone except Groot. After he had passed around the foggy-looking cups, he settled in on Gamora’s other side. “A toast to our formidable companion, Gamora!” Drax roared, holding up his glass in victory. “A fearsome warrior, and an even greater friend. Our journey through the stars would not be the same without her.”

“Cheers!” they all called heartily in response. Even Nebula half-lifted hers, completely out of sync, before knocking back the whole glass in one go.

“There is no one I would rather fight alongside than you,” Drax said sincerely after the noise had died down, and everyone returned to their private conversations. “With the exception of your sister, the others do not share the same experiences that you and I do. The understanding that the true fight is never over.”

“Thank you, Drax. And you’re right,” Gamora nodded, leaning against Drax’s shoulder a little. “Even if we do manage to defeat Thanos, there are still wrongs that can be righted. Evils that we can only imagine, until they’re right in front of our faces.”

“That’s the spirit!” Drax hooted, also draining his cup near-instantly. Gamora blinked, genuinely impressed. “Let us drink to honor you, Gamora.” He stumbled to his feet, snatching up the bottle so he could offer refills.

It was then that Gamora felt Peter pressing an open-mouthed kiss along her jawline in greeting. She swatted at him playfully, but curled into him in acceptance of his affections. “You having a good time?”

“It’s hard not to, with that going on.” She gestured at Rocket and Kraglin in the middle of the room, who seemed generously tipsy already, doing some sort of sloppy jig made even more awkward by their height difference. “This really was a nice idea, Peter. And I’m very glad you didn’t attempt something insane to celebrate.”

“Balloons, confetti, and live music were involved,” Peter nodded sagely. Gamora shuddered. “Groot and I have one last surprise for you, though.” Peter set his plate down and called Groot over to join them. The little one, who had been drifting off against Mantis’s shoulder, perked up at the sound of his name and quickly ran off to grab Gamora’s last present before tripping over himself in an attempt to sit in front of her. “Hey, hey, don’t hurt yourself, Groot. What’d I tell you about running on the ship?”

“I am Groot,” he said sadly. Groot broke out into an easy smile again, proudly holding up a large bouquet of stark white flowers. They were the kind that sprouted right from his very roots, bound together by intertwining vines and ropes made of his branches. Nestled among the flowers was a plain white envelope with Gamora’s name written on it. Gamora accepted the flowers and an enthusiastic hug from Groot before pulling the envelope out, glancing between Peter and Groot curiously.

Almost trembling with anticipation, her heart pounding, she ran her fingernail across the top to open the envelope and pull out its contents. Her breath hitched upon recognition of what it was - a piece of paper, clearly printed very recently, given the slight smudge of ink in the corners, but that wasn’t what mattered. Her name. Her mother’s name. Her father's name. The name of her hometown, her province, her planet. Her weight and height. And of course, her date of birth.

“How did...how did you find my birth certificate?” Gamora swallowed sharply. Her eyes were welling up, making it more difficult to read.

“It wasn’t easy,” Peter admitted. “Made a call to Nova Prime. Then it turned into a pretty literal game of telephone - people who worked in the archives, recordkeepers who had databases of extinct planets, that kinda thing. This actually only came in maybe an hour before I had to start makin’ dinner, so I was kinda nervous it wouldn’t work out.” Slightly alarmed at her tears, he cupped her jaw, using his thumbs to wipe them away. “I didn’t overstep, did I? I mean, I know I do that sometimes, like that time when I asked Nebula about her - ”

“Peter, it’s...it’s more than I could have hoped for.” Gamora inhaled noisily. Concerned, Groot moved in to snuggle against her, cooing softly.

The others took notice, Mantis being the first, her antennae stirring above her. “Gamora? What happened?” she said urgently.

“Did Quill screw up again?” Nebula asked, kneeling by her sister’s side. Gamora shook her head, seemingly unable to speak as she held the paper out to Nebula. She scanned it briefly before her eyes widened in shock, looking over to Peter. The others crowded in, craning their necks in an effort to read it as well.

“It’s been so long since I’ve even thought of their names,” Gamora said in a half-whisper, though a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’d forgotten the name of the hospital.”

“Quill...how’d you find this?” Nebula carefully set it back down in Gamora’s lap.

“Half a dozen phone calls,” Peter shrugged. “Gamora was telling me about her childhood, the night I came up with this idea in the first place, and I knew this was something I wanted to do. And then I realized...most of you guys lost your families and your homes, too. So if you want me to go looking for you, say the word.”

“It would bring me closure if I had my daughter’s birth certificate again,” Drax said quietly.

“I don’t remember a thing about my parents,” Nebula added.

“I do not even know where I am from,” Mantis said, her antennae drooping a little at the notion.

“Then I’ll make it happen,” Peter promised. “But for now...Gamora, you sure you’re okay?”

“A little overwhelmed, but yes, I’m okay.” Gamora let out a watery laugh. “I didn’t expect this. I must sound like a broken record at this point, but...thank you. All of you.”

To her surprise, it was Rocket who spoke first. “Aw, Gam, you know we’re always lookin’ out for you.”

Before Gamora knew it, the others piled in on top of her, their body heat providing a strangely comforting sense of near-claustrophobia. She could feel Peter’s face against her neck, Groot’s head on her shoulder. Mantis’s antennae tickling the top of her head, Rocket’s claws digging a little too harshly into her side. Drax and Kraglin were awkwardly on the outside of the whole pile, their warm breaths on her forehead. And Nebula, on her other side, stiff and uncomfortable, but present. Here. ______

“I’ve never been so happy to be so tired in my life,” Gamora admitted privately as she carefully shut the bedroom door behind her. Peter was sprawled across the mattress, idly scrolling through the Zune. “We could have been in bed three hours ago, if not for Drax’s sudden interest in - what was it called?”

“Beer pong.” Peter let out a hysterical giggle as he remembered what had conspired. “I’m glad you had an awesome time. Kinda freaked me out when you started crying, though.”

“It was a welcome surprise,” Gamora said, setting the certificate onto the dresser before crawling onto the bed to join him. “If there’s one thing I admire about you, Peter, it’s your ability to express your affections so easily. Gifts, compliments, praise. I was talking to Nebula earlier, and I realized I still can’t communicate everything I’m feeling.”

“Like what?”

“Like...that this whole day was about me having time to myself. And yes, it was a really nice experience. But...you know, I’ve gone almost my whole life not knowing what it was like to be a part of something. I had a family, and then I didn’t. It was over, they were gone. For the longest time, I was just one of Thanos’s kidnapped children. He separated me from the others because he didn’t want us to grow attached. He wanted me to feel above everyone else. I spent years thinking the rest of my life would be like that. That I’d never get to spend enough time with someone to care about them or to have them care about me, the way that I did with my parents. I thought that Nebula was the closest thing I was going to get to feel love.” Gamora smiled ruefully, slowly uncurling her clenched fists. “But this team, it changed all of that. In the beginning, when we first started taking jobs, I was worried it was only circumstance. That I only felt so strongly about everyone because our emotions were so heightened in the moment. But even when I’m alone...days like today, where even though I didn’t see you very often, I thought about you. I thought about what all of you meant to me, how much I must mean to the team for you to do something like this. And that’s not circumstance. That’s what I’ve been missing. But I have it now, and it doesn’t feel unusual or selfish like I thought it would. It just feels...right.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. And you don’t sound like you’re having communication problems at all.” Peter wrapped his arms around her, resting his forehead against hers. He was soft, affectionate, steady in all the ways she liked best. “If anything, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go.” Gamora groaned, smacking him on the arm.

“Oh, you’re awful,” she sighed. “But I think it’s progress.”

“I think Nebula would understand if you said all that stuff to her,” Peter nodded. “You might have to give her the CliffsNotes version - ” At her baffled expression, he shook his head. “Y’know what? Never mind. You awake enough for one last dance?” He held up the Zune, shaking it as if to entice her.

Gamora laughed softly, allowing Peter to pull them to their feet. “Fine, fine. But tomorrow - which is actually today - we’re talking about that schedule. And maybe some more ways to help Nebula feel more comfortable around here. And that next job that Mantis found for us, because we may need extra travel papers for that - ”

Peter hummed softly in her ear as the music began, his arms enveloping her waist. Hers went around his shoulders, their fronts pressed together. It had become so commonplace for them now, for Peter to have bursts of spontaneity when he stumbled across another song that reminded him of her. “Yeah, yeah, tomorrow. What about right now?”

You know our love was meant to be...the kind of love to last forever...and I want you here with me...from tonight until the end of time...

“Right now, I’m all yours,” Gamora echoed quietly, gazing up at him.

You're the meaning in my life...you're the inspiration...you bring feeling to my life...you're the inspiration...

“I was thinkin’ more like, ‘let’s have this nice moment where we dance and maybe make out a little before Rocket throws something at our door for having music on’, but I like the sound of that too,” Peter grinned. Gamora rolled her eyes affectionately, laying her head against his chest to hear one of her favorite songs of all - his heartbeat, steady and strong. He bent to kiss the crown of her head. “Happy not-birthday, Gamora. You deserve ‘em all.”

a/n: just gonna rattle off some quick mcu references that i slipped in there in case you don't know what i was referring to - orloni, sovereign, vrellnexians, contraxia, the confederacy, aakon, and terma. the song at the end is you're the inspiration by chicago.

i hope you enjoyed this little indulgent one-shot of mine, as i wanted to explore some more gamora-centric themes and her relationship with nebula. likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and thank you so much for reading!

[sidequestdylan]

watched infinity war with some friends last night

sweet fucking christ. that was pretty damn good. also Thanos was well done. he’s diff from the comics. but Honestly?? kinda prefer him that way. his motivation feels more tangible than “I, LITERALLY, WANNA FUCK DEATH.” his cronies are a touch forgettable though. but hey atleast the big bad is interesting. that all being said,  watching my fave superhero die for like, the second time? yeah that was kinda hard to see THOUGH HE WONT THE ONLY ONE :D (the rest is spoiler ramblings)

so like. yeah death toll; All the gaurdians except Rocket. (and nebula if you count her as a guardian. i don’t personally.) pretty much everyone on the asgard escape ship is fuckin dead. including Hymdol (dunno how to spell his name) and Loki. though he may come back too. doctor strange, Nick Fury, and Maria hill are all dead. Then on the avengers side, Bucky, Falcon, Vision (duh), Scarlet Witch, Black Panther, and Spiderman all fuckin died. the survivors being; Cap, Thor, War Machine, Black Widow, Hulk/Banner, Ironman, Rock and Nebula, and Hawkeye along with Antman since they didn’t even fuckin show lol (though due to events IN the film. those two may still be fuckin dead) and lastly, a reverse death in the Reveal of Red Skull. like yeah no really. surprised the fuck outta me. btw spidey was the aforementioned fave that died. but yeah. that was a trip in a half. i know most of these guys are coming back. i mean, Spidey and Panther got two or more solo films. plus my knowledge of comics, while not very vast, does already lemme know that (SHOCK AND SURPRISE) the good guys will manage to beat thanos in the next film. hell i even fuckin know who’s gunna get the gauntlet form Thanos. so yeah some of my suspention of disblief is just a tad shattered. but hey, still a solid film. and honestly i dont have many complaints. other than one or two of the jokes in some scenes (in particular Banner explaining about thanos to Doctor Strange and Tony) had jokes that fell somewhat flat. but the rest of the humor didn’t distract from the tone. but you know there’s gunna be that 1 asshole who’ll be like “MEEEEEH, ISH SUPPOSED TO BE SERIOUS! NO JOKES”like, fuck off man. you really surprised by this? yeah the MCU tries to hard to funny sometimes but humor itself aint a bad thing but other than minor nitpicks, my last complaint is that Thanos ideology is solid/interesting. But has one counter argument. Thanos in this film, wants balance. he feels the universe is finite, and thus many suffer due to not enough readily available resources. case and point his home planet Titan. (yes, i know in the comics it’s a moon. but they dont say that soooooo planet) Titan is a deadworld, due to lack of resources. he genuinely feels people need to die so the rest can prosper. obviously there’s many flaws in this ideology, but atleast it feels tangible. and the film does a great job humanizing thanos. which again, i find WAY more interesting than “hey lady death, check this fuckin shit out (snaps fingers, wiping out half of all life) wanna fuck?” however. despite my liking of his motivation. there is one counter argument, which i hope gets brought up in the 4th film. “why not just MAKE resources using the fucking gauntlet?” so yeah. thanos prolly kinda let that slip his mind. hope that was worth killin your daughter ass. oh that, and my last flaw is this undemrines thor ragnorok abit. “Asgard is not a place, it’s a people” yeeeeah well, unless someone snaps them back into existence asgard’s fuckin dead. but yeah. point is i liked the movie alot, and honestly 2019 cant come fast enough?? i need more. (OH ALSO; THOR GETS FUCKING STORMBREAKER AND IT’S FUCKING RAD, AND IT EVEN LOOKS LIKE ULTIMATE THOR’S HAMMER, AND IRONMAN HAS THE NANO TECH SUIT, AND THE IRONSPIDE RHAD THE FUCKING LEGS!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH)

[dothewrite]

idk if you would do something like this but would you be able to do a scenario with terushima or akaashi with their s/o based off the song 'i found' by amber run? i just thought it was a really beautiful song and your writing style is written so beautifully and idk i just thought you would be really amazing at it :)) like pure passion angst love u feel

This was a ghostly song that’s nothing like anything I’ve listened to, and it’s brilliant. To me, the song as a whole called out like a cry for help, for anything at all, so I took that feeling and wrote something that’s pure emotion and very little exposition. I do recommend having the song on while reading this though. Here is my explanation of the plot!

I hope you don’t mind, and I hope you like where I went with it!

This is the fourth month he’s been around her since he’s become unrecognizable to even himself in the mornings, but today, yet again, she is someone different.

They say that insanity is a perspective, and Terushima has been slowly growing acquainted with the long strolls and silent walks that madness takes through the minds of man. He and she, they’re both so infuriatingly sane, normal people, but together they’re a combustion- it all evaporates in a searing instant, and all that’s left is everything raw, everything irrational.

She’s not someone he thought he’d fall in love with. For one, he doesn’t like quiet girls. He doesn’t like girls with poker faces either, or crass girls who cuss straight at someone’s face. He likes them pretty, soft, and so wondrously feminine that it makes him feel more of a man when he wraps his arms around them. He doesn’t like dark hair either, and dull, black eyes aren’t his type. Terushima knows everything about what he wants, what he naturally gravitates to. It’s a shame that nobody warned him about being dragged forcibly onto his knees, enamoured and aching.

He sees her approach from the other side of the bridge- sometimes she’s late, sometimes she’s early, and sometimes she’s on time. There’s nothing regular about her, but he does recognize that large bag she has swung over her shoulder. In solemn silence, his breath hitches and his heartbeat slows as his eyes follow her feet, taking one step in front of the other.

Even her loosely tied hair is blowing lawlessly in the breeze, and it’s like everything is in slow motion as all the decisions he’s making races through his head. His rationale screams at him, hollers that he should know better- no, to have already known better- than to spend his time around her type of people, and what they do to him. They make him feel so utterly alive that his soul screams a battle cry, and Terushima knows that life will be tasteless without her from now on. Her crooked, brilliant grins, her sharp glares and cutting frowns brings alive everything he touches, because she’s everything he’s too afraid to try. It’s all so insane, and it’s blindingly beautiful. He has his rails that ensures his life as an easy cruise, but she drives him right off them at a ninety degree angle- nothing is straightforward anymore, not school, not volleyball, and he learns that everything he hates, he yearns for, inexplicably.

Terushima understands, now. In your own, solitary reality, you only follow the things that make sense to you. The moment you come to live and breathe madness, something fundamental in your mind shifts, and it all makes sense. Perhaps insanity is abandon, and abandon is freedom. He knows what she truly is: she’s his all his freedoms that he’s too afraid to stretch out and grasp.

She’s almost here. There are only a few more steps between his future and her ambiguous smile, and he takes those out to meet her midway. He slips into her space like it’s second nature, and she tilts her head up to look at him with those unreadable, nebula eyes. It’s impossible to see past them, there’s no soul except for the echoes she picks out for his perusal, but it’s enough. He doesn’t need complete understanding. He takes what he gets each time, and it’s the journey that counts. Even he is unsure if she knows who she is at any time.

“You look ready to go,” she murmurs, and her voice carries the weight of the wind in its tune. Terushima is more than capable of standing his ground, because this isn’t an imitation. This is his choice, he is her equal, in every single twisted way possible.

He takes her hand in his, and she doesn’t flinch when his callouses grip her porcelain skin with deliberate force. Today, she squeezes back, and it sends a heady rush of resolution through his blood.

“I’ve been ready, are you?” He teases right back.

Her laugh is more ‘yes’ than any word can hold.

This is his plea for mercy. His cry to destiny to give him this one chance, this one thing that he doesn’t want to ruin, because fuck it all, he’s burning everything and he’s going to jump. It’s reckless, blind, like a bellow into a chasm, and Terushima knows that any other love other people sing of is false. He’s going to choose her, he’s going to love her, even if it kills him. It’s always her back that he watches sway, stretching out further and further away from him into the dimming horizon- this time, he’s chosen to run with her. He’s going to match her step for step, stop when she stops, and carry her if she falls.

It’s a one way road to madness, but nothing is telling him no, and with her steady breathing right beside his, ‘no’ isn’t something he feels at all.

Akaashi would definitely count himself as a cold man. One of those men who watch their lovers leave without a strain on their face, one of those men who can laugh when someone slices them in half with a knife. It’s the only thing he can count himself as, because he’s more or less lost the right to be anything else.

Faint are the days where he still felt the warmth of his own life in his veins, when his heart used to bleed for those he loved. When he smiled freely, joked with the intention of making others laugh, when he still felt something when he was around his friends. On good days, he’s graced with glimpses that remind him that he might still be capable of all that- but he’s far more comfortable with what he’s carved himself into now. Habits are hard to break, especially those that he hates.

Although he always liked to fashion himself as a cool man, he didn’t expect the freezing temperatures of her absence. The ghost of her passion visits his dreams more than often, and each morning he wakes up and combs his apartment for any remnants of her that might have triggered his nightmares. Of course, he finds nothing, day after day, for he’d gotten rid of everything the night he took off his wedding ring.

It was one of those breakups that lasted through legends. Everything that those terrible romance novels painted, those incompatible, passionate marriages where everything falls apart and all the exaggerated screaming comes to life about his ears. Their pages never mentioned the icy silences, the stilted arguments. He was brought up to believe that love was all heat, all warmth of two bodies against each other, but the truth is that all he remembers from it was the chill in his frostbitten heart. The only warmth that they had managed to salvage in the end was with their own friends, far, far away from each other. Even then, it was the warmth of rage, and when they opened the door each night to their shared apartment, it became a world where the only existence possible was one of nonexistence.

Today is three years to the day since he’d last seen her. Three years, and his life has turned around- in which direction he’s not sure, but it’s definitely not in hers- and he’s older, wiser, and has his affairs together tightly and shatter-proof. Akaashi Keiji is a fully fledged, jaded adult, and he wonders if she thinks about him too. He certainly does, in those quiet moments belonging to a cold morning, when he’s not quite himself yet.

It’s already five in the evening, but for a moment he thinks he must have left himself at his apartment this morning because his eyes flash to the first sign of her across the room. It’s the same posture, the same worrying twist of her wrist when she’s nervous, and he thinks that he might wake up in the next two minutes or so to find himself crumpled on his living room floor and possibly dreaming, or in tears.

No, she’s right here, even five minutes later.

The only free attendant is the one right next to her, as the gods have decided that day, so he walks up to the glass counter and slides his box across the table top.

“I’d like to sell this, please,” his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, and he clears his throat like it’s a counter-curse to her presence. The attendant eyes him strangely, but leaves without a word and now, now it’s just him. With her.

She has their wedding ring pinched between two white-knuckled fingers, that trinket Akaashi would recognize even from his deathbed. There’s no attendant around, only her and her drawn in expression, and somewhere, something screams because he takes the first step and speaks.

It’s deja vu, it’s a recurring nightmare that leaves you empty when you finally stop dreaming it, and Akaashi is washed away on waves of her, of fate- and to him, it’s almost the same thing. She tells him everything, and there’s no surprise in her eyes when she hears his voice, empty, just like the look in her eyes. He starts from the very beginning, learning her inside out, and she reaches into him with her voice and her thoughts, and they tug out everything that he’s buried away and forgotten over the course of the endless years without her. They grow, from jewelry store to coffee, to library to dinner, to the past and to the future. It’s almost impossible, and they both blink at each other before each conversation, determined to discover the trickster behind all their coincidences.

He learns that she’s kept up by the same dreams of him, of them, and his heart breaks. It crashes and fractures into pieces unrecoverable, and all that’s left inside that hollow chest of his is a young heart. Weak and beating with the ferocity of a storm, it fights to survive each beat it makes. It’s this young organ that falls in love with her all over again by their sixth date; she’s crying silently, stoically, her shadow against the sunset overlapping his, and right before he tells her to marry him again, Akaashi allows himself one last self-depreciating laugh.

There are four more seconds until he proposes, until he begs and bares everything he is for her, and in those four seconds he prays for salvation from whatever deity is out there. He’s not going to ruin their lives twice, because if it’s anything like the first, his soul is going to bleed to death before he’ll even get to say that he’s sorry. Second chances, in this cold world that Akaashi lives in, are a miracle.

This time, this is his last. He jumps, and believes in flying.