#fun fact: this all came from the idea of gamora being so tired she falls asleep while peter brushes her hair

[pikapegasus]

Ohh 044 seems like a fun one with starmora please do one with them

“If you use up all the hot water one more time, I’m going to ban you to the couch for a month.”

who wants some starmora hurt/comfort????? specifically, peter taking care of a battle-worn (and very grumpy and sleepy) gamora :))))

Being a Guardian of the Galaxy isn’t exactly painless, butPeter’s proud to usually report that his team suffers only minor injuries afterjobs. It’s partly due to the skills each of them have from their experiencesprior joining to the team, so they each know their way through a fight. Moreimportantly—to Peter, at least, because he’s just sappy like thatsometimes—it’s because of how long they’ve spent fighting side-by-side now,adjusting their fighting styles to complement each other and decrease thechances of major injuries during battle.

That being said, they don’t always come out unscathed. Theirmost recent job involved a run-in with some not-so-friendly Kree dudes, giventhe fact that the Guardians had kind of, uh, totally obliterated Ronan, and though they’d pulled through the fightvictoriously, it wasn’t without some injuries.

Despite being only six people, Peter loses track of theGuardians during fights sometimes, and one moment, Gamora had been by his side,kicking ass flawlessly per usual (no,her being flawless is simply fact,definitely not his opinion), only tothen reappear at the end of the battle with more gashes and bruises than anyoneelse because she just had to be thebest out of all of them, per usual (read: she’d helped Mantis, whose skilllevel isn’t quite up to par with fighting angry Kree soldiers yet, out of abind). She even had a frickin’ blasterhole in her shoulder!

Being the leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy?

Very hard, because they’re all such self-sacrificialassholes, but not impossible.

Being the leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy and Gamora’s boyfriend?

On a scale of one to ten, with one being the easiest and tenbeing the hardest, Peter has found the above to be a ten billion on the scale.

She’s fearless and proud and stubborn, he gets it (maybebecause he is, too, sometimes). But the moment they return to the Quadrant, Petergently lays his fingers on Gamora’s less injured arm, which is folded upagainst her chest as she presses a hand to her still very-much-bleeding wound,and he’s ready.

“Gamora—“

“I won’t run away,” she mutters, rolling her eyes, becausethe number of times he’s had to practically tackleher with the med kit is a little redundant. “But I’m fine.”

“Gamora, if you ever died in battle, I’m expectin’ you toresurrect yourself in the moment just to yell at us about how frickin’ fine you are,” Rocket teases over hisshoulder, just as he’s leaving the room.

“I can help ease the pain,” Mantis offers. She’s wringingher hands together as she looks at them with wide, glossy eyes. “Since this ismy fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says in sync with Gamora. He’spretty sure Rocket barks out a laugh with a huff of “Mom and Dad!” from the other room.

“I’ll be alright, Mantis,” Gamora says, offering Mantis asmall smile. “You should go be with the others and see if they need any help.They can also help you if you need anything.”

Mantis’ eyes flit over to Peter’s briefly and he just nodsalong to Gamora’s words.

“Okay,” she finally says quietly, ducking her head as sheturns and leaves the room.

Gamora sighs, opening her mouth to speak, but apparentlyeven just that movement is enough to jostle something that shouldn’t bejostled, because her face screws up ever so slightlyfor just a moment and Peter’s glad hedidn’t choose that second to blink.

“Alright, come on, let’s go,” he says, moving his hand onher uninjured shoulder to lead her to their room, where they (of course) keep the med kit.

Several pouty faces and stitches and bandages later,Gamora’s wounds are taken care of. She’s sitting on their bed without a shirton—not for that reason, mind you—andPeter can’t help the sympathetic sound that comes out of his mouth at the sightof all the wounds he’s dressed across her torso.

She just huffs. “I told you I was fine.”

“Babe, you alwayslook fine,” he teases with a wink. The corners of her lips tilt upward ever soslightly. “Fine as in hot. Not necessarily fine as in health.”

“Well, you look dirty,” she comments, crinkling her nose.She hides a yawn behind her hand. “You should shower.”

“Uh…don’t you want to shower first?” She’s covered in just as much battle shit as he is,easily. “Not that I don’t love seeing you half-clothed in our bed, of course,but you also look like you’re about to keel over at any second.”

“You helped me,” she says softly, her features softening.“You can shower first. I’ll be fine.”

“Debatable, again,” he says, shaking his head, but sometimesit’s best not to argue with aninjured Gamora, lest you want to be injured as well. (Okay, maybe not seriously, but injured Gamora is muchless patient than healthy Gamora, so Peter’s learned to pick his battles.) Heturns to his drawers, then offers her one of his random sleep shirts. “I’ll bequick.”

She nods, unfolding the shirt and carefully pulling it overher head and arms. He resists the urge to help her out, considering herinjuries and everything, but she somehow manages to get all limbs through theproper holes.

Once he’s sure she’s settled with a shirt on and all woundstaken care of, he enters their small bathroom and closes the door behind him.As he turns on the water and sets his things out, he hears her call to him over the sound of the shower—

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t use up all the hot water for once, please.”

“I don’t always use up all the hot water!”

“Yes, you do.”

“You don’t have any evidence! I’m innocent until proven guilty!”

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “If you use up all the hot water one more time, I’m going to ban you to the couch for a month.”

“I won’t,” he calls back out to her as he’s sliding out of his clothes.

Peter does takeher words to heart, though, and showers in what he’d argue to be record time.Warm water running over his skin after a particularly gruesome battle is apretty kickass sensation, he has to say, so he’d rather she get more of it thanhimself. He dries off in even quicker record time, looking at himself in themirror for a moment. He sighs at the sight, his skin clear of all the dirt andblood and grime that he’d accumulated throughout the day.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opens the door, onlyto find Gamora slumping slightly in the same spot he’d left her, her eyesheavy. She yawns again in greeting.

“That was uncharacteristically fast of you,” she teases,smiling a little. It’s a little dopey-looking, to be honest, probably becauseof her exhaustion and injuries and maybe even some of the pain medication he’dgoaded her into taking. “Why don’t you shower that quickly every time?”

“I don’t like being banished to the couch,” he says, pullingsome pajamas out of his drawers on his way over to the bed. He drops the towelto the floor as he dresses.

“I haven’t had a warm shower in ages,” she says, eyeing him. “Since someone likes to use up all the hot water.”

“Well, let’s fix that now,” he says, fully dressed. He picksup his towel and tosses it onto the bed, then holds his hand out to her. “Yourwarm water awaits. Shall I escort you?”

She rolls her eyes, pushing herself up from the bed withouthis assistance. “I just want to shower.”

He retracts his hand then, watching her shuffle toward thebathroom. It’s…an interesting sight, because he’s not sure assassins aretypically described as adorable inthe way they grumpily pout while walking, rubbing exhaustion from their eyes asthey half-heartedly push the door open.

But the warm feelings blossoming in his chest at her littledisplay fade quickly as she stumbles over her own feet for a moment, holdingonto the door frame for support. He gapes at her back for a moment, trying tofigure out how in the hell someonelike Gamora could do something as mortal as trip,then rushes to her before she can close the door.

“Hey, on second thought, how about I help you with thatshower?” he offers as lightly as he can.

“Not tonight, Peter,” she mumbles out through another yawn,still holding onto the door. She rests her head against it, her eyes flutteringfor a moment. “Maybe another night.”

“No, no, not in thatway,” he says, somehow containing the laughter that bubbled up inside at herwords. “You just seem really…tired. Come on, I’ll help you wash your hair andstuff, so you don’t have to use your bad arm.”

She tries to glare up at him—or, at least, he’s assuming it’s supposed to be a glare,but it’s hard to make it out through her drooping eyelids—but he gently pushespast her into the bathroom. He reaches into the shower for Gamora’s things,setting them on the floor within reach for him before turning the water on.

“I can do it myself,” she says, turning to him with arms asclose to crossed as she can manage with her injury (like, one arm crossedproperly over her chest while the other just hangs at her side). “I don’t needhelp.”

“I want to help,”he says, reaching around her to close the bathroom door. “Come on, it’ll makeme really happy. Please?”

He offers her a pout of his own now, and whether it’s theexhaustion or her own weakness to his pouting (he’s pretty sure it’s become amutual weakness of theirs now), she just lets it go. She nods her head oncewith a small huff, stepping closer to him.

“Alright, arms up as much as you can,” he instructs, helpingher out of her clothes. He maneuvers his shirt over her head and arms withoutcompletely disrupting her shoulder somehow. Her pants and underwear come offmore easily, since she wasn’t injured there.

Once she’s out of her clothes, he holds her hand to steadyher as she steps over the small step into the shower. She’s able to wash mostof her body herself, just taking advantage of him to hand her soap, but hestays true to his promise with her hair, leaning precariously into the showerso he can spread the shampoo through her long waves. He massages her scalpgently under the water (and, to be honest, she’s kind of totally melting into his touch, her eyes closed and corners of herlips curved upwards, success) beforeswitching to conditioner.

After she’s clean, he turns off the water and helps her stepout, meeting her with open arms and a large towel. He’s practically hugging heras he dries her off, and she’s given up protesting by this point, simplywatching him run the towel up and down her body.

Minutes later, she’s ready for bed, wearing some of his pajamas (per a sleepily mumbledrequest, oddly enough), when she perks up.

“I have to brush my hair,” she recalls, but he waves heroff.

“Got it covered.” He brings her brush and a hair tie over tothe bed, sitting down on the bed behind her. “Then after this, bed.”

She sighs softly. “Thank you, Peter. For helping…witheverything. You didn’t have to.”

He drags the brush through her hair gently, carefullyworking out the tangles and knots from battle. He smiles, though she’s unableto see it. “I told you, I wanted to do this. I like taking care of you.”

Several moments of silence pass between them before sheadmits, “I like that, too. No one’s ever done that for me before.”

While he’s sure she had people many years ago who did, heunderstands where she’s coming from. He works out a particularly large knot,sticking his tongue out thoughtfully. “It feels…kinda nice to take care ofsomeone, for a change. Haven’t really had someone to do that for before,y’know? Having people to take care of means you have people; you’re notcompletely alone.”

“Yeah,” she says distantly.

They resume a comfortable silence then, filled only with thesounds of the brush running through her hair. After he gets a handle on all theknots, he starts parting her hair from the top to do a quick French braid.

By the time he’s weaving the last of her hair together, shesuddenly slumps back against him, her head falling back into his arms. He jumps a little bit, looking down at her tosee what’s up, but—

She’s asleep, soft snores spilling from her parted lips. Alltraces of her previous irritation and grumpiness in her face are gone, insteadreplaced with a softness that makes Peter’s heart melt a little bit.

“I knew you were too tired,” he murmurs with this dumb smile, simply watching her for a few moments.

Carefully, he turns her head just enough to finish herbraid, tying it off with the elastic band. He leans toward their pillows topull the covers back before slowly looping his arms under her back and legs.

It’s tedious, but he manages somehow, maneuvering her fromher position horizontal to the bed to her usual spot (though, given hersometimes erratic sleeping habits, he won’t be surprised to wake up to hercompletely horizontal, because what thefuck, Gamora). He slides under the covers beside her, pulling them up tocover her properly. She manages to stay asleep during it all—effective painmeds, for once—only moving to press herself more closely to him once they’resettled in.

Of course, it’s not perfect; the lights are still on both intheir room and the bathroom, their towels are definitely not hanging to dry, shit from the med kit is scattered all over theplace, and he forgot to close his fucking drawers because he’s got this talentfor being a disorganized disaster,but, whatever. He wraps his arms around Gamora and rests his head against hers,deciding to ignore all of it until the morning, because, hey, they both managedto survive another dangerous job, so they deserve a night to just relax, foronce in their crazy lives.

(This definitely beats sleeping on a couch.)

[thelordofdarkreunion]

The Best is Yet to Come

Short story here.  I’m so sorry for this ;).  This idea just came to me and, well...  

As usual, I own no one except Drake and his crew.  I also do not own the song listed here.  Consider this Magnificent Scoundrels “cannon” if you want, or discard it if you want.

The harsh glare of the Apocalypse’s hagar lighting beat down on technicians fixing shuttles and weapons, and mercenary armsmen taking target practice.  In the bright white wash, a group of men stood, wearing a strange assortment of vastly different clothing.  They were here to talk about battle plans, refueling stations, and the intricacies of galactic politics, but… the conversation had taken another turn.  One that five of the six individuals really wanted to avoid.  Unfortunately, they would have to suffer through it for a few moments more, or at least until Drake was finished getting his kicks.  

“Wait, wait, wait.”  Drake’s face was plastered with a grin that threatened to split it in half beneath his carefully groomed black hair and shining blue eyes.  He made a few half choked laughs before he pulled himself together with an effort.  “So, I knew, but never really put this together until now.  It’s pretty funny actually,” he wheezed.

“No it’s not,” replied a scowling Solo.  His companions’ faces were a mixture of beet red faces and death glares, with one completely neutral iron mask slamming into place for the discussion at hand.  

“Oh yes it is!” laughed Drake, losing control for a moment and doubling over.  He straightened out, and gave a smirk that threatened to turn into belly-busting laughter any moment.  “You guys are so far out of your league it isn’t even funny.  Except it is.  Really.”  He pointed to each in turn.  “You, Shepard,” this was addressed to a scowling man in a black hoodie emblazoned with the red numerals ‘N7’, “Are in love with the daughter of an admiral of one of the most powerful fleets in existence in your galaxy, who is one of five oligarcal leaders of her race, and, what’s more, she already is will most likely continue to be one of the most powerful and influential Quarians in existence!”  He wheeled on each of his companions in turn.

“You, Admiral Vir,” this was to a beet red man in a brown leather coat.  A mop of blond hair covered a black eyepatch and one good green eye.  “Are in love with the oh-so mighty and powerful Saint of Anin, the leader of her race, the daughter of two of the most powerful Drev generals in their history!”  

“You, oh Captain Solo,”  a brown haired, brown jacketed man with knee length boots glowered at Drake, “Are absolutely infatuated with brother of the last Jedi, the daughter of the Queen of Naboo, the daughter of Darth frickin’ Vader, and the true leader of the New Republic.”

“You, Mister Quill, love the daughter of the ex-most powerful being in your galaxy, one who erased half of life in your universe, and who is, by the way, the singularly most deadly assassin I’ve ever known.”  Another brown haired man, with slight sideburns and an ankle length reddish-brown coat, stared at Drake, emotions flashing across his face.  Drake grinned again and turned to the last man.

“And you, Commissar Cain, love an Inquisitor!”  Impassive eyes, framed below a black officer’s cap, stared back at Drake.  Drake clapped his hands and hooted with laughter.  A black gloved hand wiped a tear of mirth from his eye.  “Oh, you are all so, so out of your leagues.  Tell me, how did you get ‘em?  Couldn’t have been your looks,” he teased.  Shepard rolled his eyes as his other companions shook their heads.  A wicked, conspiratorial look crossed Drake’s face.  

“As a matter of fact…” he started.  He looked over to two nearby armsman speaking with a weapon specialist and gave a whistle.  “Oliver!  Saul!  Garang!  Get over here!”  The three Apocalypse crewmen started forward, noting the looks of the group.  Drake smiled knowingly at them.  “Did you overhear our conversation?” he asked.

“Kinda hard not to, Captain,” replied Saul.

“Yeah, well, I have a sudden, wonderful idea,” said Drake.  “I have a wonderful, awful, idea.  I just got a wonderful, awful idea!”  He grinned again at his three crew members.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.  The three looked at him blankly.  He smiled once more and whistled several notes of a song.  The three crewmen grinned manically.  

“Oh, yes,” beamed Oliver.  “I believe I do know what you’re thinking.”  The five Scoundrels, regulated to objects of discussion, looked on hesitantly.  

“What are you thinking, Drake…?” trailed off Vir.  That look wasn’t good.  Drake only cackled maniacally and activated his wrist computer.  An intimately familiar song began playing over the hangar loudspeakers.  At the first few notes, Shepard, Vir, and Quill all buried their faces in their hands or reached out, panicking.  

“Drake-!”  

“Uptown girl!  She’s been living in her uptown world,  I bet she never had a backstreet guy,  I bet her mother never told her why…”  Drake and his three crew slid into formation, dancing along with the music.  Vir buried his head further in his arms as Cain and Solo looked around in shock.  He’d seen this particular song’s music video, and Drake was doing a damn good job imitating it.  

“One of these days I’m going to shoot you, Drake.”

“I’m gonna try for an uptown girl,  She’d been living in her white bread world,  As long as anyone with hot blood can,  And now she’s looking for a downtown man,  That’s what I am!”  The hangar’s other occupants were looking on with bemusement.  A few armsmen even joined in with the singing or dancing.  

“And when she knows what she wants from her type,  And when she wakes up and makes up her mind,”   Quill shrugged and walked over to join Drake.  The other four Scoundrels stared.  

“Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“She’ll see I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an uptown girl!”  From absolutely nowhere, Cooper slid in line behind Drake, grinning at his slack-jawed comrades.  He’s come at a full running slide, apparently hearing the commotion from wherever he was on the ship.  Bastard.  

“You know I’ve seen her in her uptown world,  She’s getting tired of her high class toys,  And all the presents from her uptown boys,  She’s got a choice!”  Vir sagged his shoulders, defeated, and joined in next to Quill.  Everyone joined in the chorus, apparently most of Drake’s armsmen knowing it by heart.

“Uptown girl!  You know I can’t afford to buy her pearls,  But maybe someday when my ship comes in,  She’ll understand what kind of guy I’ve been,  And then I’ll win!”    

From video conference calls and high viewing booths, Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Senator Leia Organa, Gamora, Sunny, and Tali’Zorah vas Normandy watched, some with shocked faces, others with smiles concealed behind hands.  

“What… the hell… are they doing?” asked Vail.  The other woman stared at her.

“I… don’t really know,” replied Gamora.   

“It’s kinda cute, though,” opinioned Tali.  

“And when she’s walking,  She’s looking so fine,”  Drake gave a teasing wolf-whistle and shook his hand as if he had touched something hot.  Cain and Solo just stared as Shepard facepalmed even harder.  Cain was certain he heard a bone crack.  “And when she’s talking,  She’ll say that she’s mine!”  

As time went on and more people joined in, the previously somewhat neat lines devolved into individuals showing off or just plain having fun.  

“Uptown girl!  She’s my uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl…” 

Uptown Girl:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCuMWrfXG4E

And there it is.  I did not want to spoil the song, but, like I said in the intro, Billy Joel owns “Uptown Girl,” not me.  (Should be pretty obvious.)  Some explanation for Shepard.  I previously somewhere stated that in the Mass Effect games you are Shepard, and you make a hell of a lot of choices, which makes it a bitch to write.  I did also say that I would have Shepard fall in love with an alien, though I couldn’t decide which.  However, I just realized that Tali is the only male Shepard love interest on the Normandy at the time I incorporated Mass Effect into Magnificent Scoundrels, so it could only be her without a lot more annoyances on my part.  I hope you liked it and if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or requests, feel free to ask me!

[lettersfromn0where]

Creator Tag

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2018. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged, appropriately, by my first-ever Tumblr buddy, @disruptedvice - thank you for thinking of me! 

This is a bit tough because every fanwork I’ve ever posted has been written since April. There’s certainly a few stupid oneshots in my repertoire that I’m not proud of, but considering that at the beginning of the year I was petrified of the mere idea of writing and sharing fanfiction, I’m rather pleased with the fact that I managed to do anything at all. So, without further ado, my top five (in order from 5th-1st):

5. remember me, once in a while (please promise me you'll try) https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936669

Short summary: IW missing scene. After Gamora is taken on Knowhere, Peter struggles to accept the reality that she may be gone. There is a letter. It is 100% intentional emotional manipulation, pure and simple, and I’m pretty sure everyone who read this realized that. 

Excerpt: 

The faint trails of tears, yet to evaporate, lingered on Peter’s face for all his attempts to disguise them as he turned the sheet of paper in his hands, reluctant to open it for fear of tainting something so precious. He paid no heed to the ever-shifting starscape racing past the windows, trying not to risk being caught in tears as he thought of the moment, on the way to Knowhere, that Gamora had pressed the letter into his hands.

“In case…” She said, but trailed off, neither wanting to confront the sentence’s inevitable end.

“No,” Peter had protested, voice thick with emotion. “You won’t-“

"It’s just a precaution,” Gamora had tried to reassure him, but even she knew her tone was entirely unconvincing.

Peter had kept the letter with him every moment they’d been apart, hoping desperately he’d never need to open it but unwilling to part from it lest it be lost along with –

No, he told himself, feverishly, with all of the desperation his worry-worn mind could muster.

Commentary: This one was not what I’d consider to be my best-written piece, but it was certainly (from the way people reacted) one of the most emotionally impactful. Any fic that gets you multiple angry comments from people claiming you made them cry has to be at least somewhat of a favorite, right? This one was, oddly enough, based on an anime, “Your Lie in April.” I’m not an anime person, but YLIA is about a violinist, so as a violinist I had to watch it, and it BROKE MY HEART INTO A MILLION TINY PIECES. *Spoiler* one of the key moments in the series comes after the protagonist’s death when she leaves a letter to the boy she was in love with for him to read after she dies, revealing things she couldn’t while she was alive. That idea of the posthumous letter, translated to the GOTG-verse (and the fact that I sobbed my eyes out while rewatching the clip where said boy reads the letter), made its way into my mind and wouldn’t leave. And that is why I had several very angry people cursing at me in the comments. 

And to whoever commented “f*** you”: I’m honored.

4. meet me in this broken place https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646347

Short Summary: post-IW, during the (hypothetical) events of Endgame. My��Damaged Babies, Peter and Wanda (Maximoff), both of whom lost significant others during the events of IW, find solace in the fact that they both know the feeling of losing everyone one holds dear. 

Excerpt: 

They don’t want to imagine a world without the ones they love, but – even with their teammates working around the clock, making and discarding endless plans to save them – they realize now that maybe their good fortune had been exhausted by their own returns to life. They are left with no choice but to venture blindly into a bleak future without the ones whose sides they never thought they’d leave.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, too weary to conceal her worry.

“I guess…we just have to keep going,” he says numbly, but it’s plain as day that he doesn’t believe a word out of his own mouth.

“What is there for us in a future without them?” she asks, rhetorically but not entirely so, and plays with the hem of her jacket. It’s frayed with the trauma of the past days, looking about as battered and torn as she feels.

“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “I wish I still knew how to hope that I’d see her again.”

“Isn’t that the problem, though?” she asks, pursing her lips in painful irony. “None of us knows how to hope for the best anymore. We try to fix things, not believing that anything we do is going to work.”

He ponders her statement, turns it over in his mind – it is their problem, he realizes. They are working tirelessly towards an end they all believe to be futile. Yes, they’ve accomplished three-quarters of what they set out to do. But it doesn’t feel like a figure to celebrate when the other quarter of the equation determines the fate of the people they cherish most.

Commentary: this is essentially a super depressing slice-of-life fic. I chose it because A) Wanda Maximoff is the love of my life and I loved writing her, and B) I think the writing in this is just about the best I’ve seen in any of my work. I like the way the prose came out here - the melancholy tone lends itself well to the style in which I write, if that makes any sense, even if at points the excess of run-on sentences and overlong prose becomes rather tired. I was proud of this one. (Not super popular, but it always seems like it’s the super trite stuff I don’t think was good that gets comments while the ones I like are unnoticed. Heh...) 

3. I Guess It’s Half Timing (and the Other Half’s Luck) https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775470/chapters/34172447

Short Summary: high school AU. Peter’s a jock, benched with academic ineligibility until he can get his grades up. Gamora is the type-A star student in charge of the peer tutoring program that may be Peter’s only hope of playing in the State Championships. You can probably predict the ending...

Excerpt: 

“So, let me get this straight. You’re eligible again, but you still wanna spend every single afternoon at tutoring?” Rocket shook his head, sincerely disappointed. “You’ve got it worse than I thought.”

“Yes and no,” Peter vaguely defended himself. “I mean, yeah, she won’t talk to me any other way, but I’ve realized something, too.”

“This oughta be good,” Rocket snickered. “What, do ya suddenly feel called to be a brain surgeon or something?”

Peter fixed him with a nonplussed gaze. “Why would I want to do that? I can’t even get a shot without losing it.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. “I mean, do you think your future depends on your grades all the sudden? Little late for that.”

“No, but now that I’ve realized I can do better, it should start aiming higher-“ he started to explain.

“…because Gamora only dates guys who care about school,” Nebula finished for him, walking up with her usual inopportune timing.

“Dude! How and why are you always sneaking up on me?” Peter shuddered. “It’s creepy!”

Nebula shrugged. “I pride myself on my timing.”

“Oh, so this is what that’s about,” Rocket cackled. “You’re hilarious. You fall for the smartest girl in your class and all the sudden you decide you’re going to be on the honor roll or something?”

“Rocket…”

Commentary: this fic. Ohhhh, boy. It was a bit of a trainwreck, but oh, how I LOVED writing it. It’s a light, fluffy high school rom-com mixing my own relentless fixation on academics with excessive melodrama, a very, VERY OOC Nebula, and a million vague tie-ins to the movies that I’m fairly certain no one noticed. “Half Timing” is not, in my opinion, fantastically written (witty at times, mind-numbingly cheesy at others), but it was endlessly fun to write, and I loved the ending. Plus, it’s the reason I became friends with @disruptedvice, who had MANY feelings about the New Year’s scene. MANY. (She was 37% of the reason this fic was so fun to write.) It spawned three unnecessary sequel oneshots and was a productive start to a summer which I spent primarily writing fanfiction and studying for the SAT. This one’s on here for the nostalgia and the fact that it was so central to everything else I’ve written, not for literary merit, but it is and will always be dear to my heart.

2. So Many Things Unknown https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632275/chapters/33818142

Short Summary: Soul World Mantis feels. A half fix-it.

Excerpt: 

Peter didn’t need to hear his name to know it was him she called to, and exactly who was calling and why and where he was and – He turned. Mantis saw Gamora’s eyes widen, filling with tears, almost beginning to go to him before stopping herself again, for reasons Mantis did not understand. For a while the two simply stood, perhaps thirty feet apart, saying nothing and staring across the distance at each other as if they were not sure of the reliability of their eyesight.

And then she broke into a run, and they were in each other’s arms, and Mantis could not hear everything they were saying, but she knew from the way their shoulders shook that both were crying, and she thought she heard a faint “I love you” and she knew they both said something to the effect of “I thought I’d lost you” and “I’m here” and repeated it until they both finally believed it was really happening, and something inside her felt suddenly warm and whole.

She had seen her share of unfair endings in the last couple of days. Untold numbers of young, gifted, and truly good people had been taken long before their times. Countless others had lost the ones they held dearest, some forced to watch. The future of the universe looked rather bleak; half of her friends were trapped in some sort of afterlife in a rock that had started a war, and the rest were scattered across the cosmos. But she knew, in that moment, that it would not stay this way. They would find a way out of here, and they’d stop this and make everything right again. Mantis was surer of this than she had been of anything before. Optimistic, perhaps, she knew; but she felt this time that her instinct could not be proven wrong.

This, too, would pass.

It had to.

Commentary: my first posted fanfic and the lovely @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches‘ favorite, I almost didn’t post this. I was deathly afraid of writing fanfiction for years and it took the trauma of IW to make me realize how many stories I had to tell, if I’d only allow myself. I was overly cautious when I wrote this, terrified of writing someone OOC or setting the story at an unrealistically fast pace, and I didn’t think it was much good, but I posted it anyway...and here I am. Some of the sweetest comments I’ve ever received were about this piece and though at time the progression of events is a bit ???, I think it was a decent start. “So Many Things Unknown” was where it all started, and though it’s not my favorite thing I’ve written, I’m proud that I was able to get it out there. 

1. Take What I Took and Give It Back to You 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986307

Short Summary: Mantis feels, 5+1 style. That is all. 

Excerpt: 

She can’t see it. Mantis has never been an influencer; she’s simply in the background, where she’s always assumed she is meant to be. But perhaps that – sensitivity, a sort of gentleness – is what she brings to the team that it lacked before, she concludes.

She is an empath, after all, and a powerful one. Most of her teammates possess the emotional intelligence of lumps of metal. Mantis thinks, liking the idea more than she admits, that maybe she’s helping to shape those metal lumps.

After all, hearts are malleable, she thinks. They don’t stay the same.

Sitting in the kitchen once again, staring into her beloved mug, chipped with four years of wear, Mantis smiles.

Commentary: and now for my all-time favorite. I rarely think well of my writing, but I was SO incredibly proud of this one. As an ex-homeschooler who grew up relatively isolated and still does not “understand the intricacies of social interaction,” I’ve always connected to Mantis more than any other Guardian; if I had to pick, she’d probably be my favorite character in the entire MCU canon. So I love writing her. It makes me feel as if I can get inside her head in a way I can’t with the other Guardians. In addition, the 5+1 format was a perfectly-suited framing device for the story I wanted to tell, and I’m pretty sure I exhausted a year’s worth of pretty lines on this story. I feel like I risk sounding arrogant, but when you genuinely love your own writing, you have to embrace it - that’s VERY rare. As soon as I saw that I’d been tagged for this, I knew that this would be the story I ranked as my favorite. 

Thank you SO much for the tag, @disruptedvice! Tagging @bevioletskies and @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches. 

[crazystarlady]

MOONAGE DAYDREAM Chapter One

Word Count: 2,760

Summary: Being trapped on a spaceship with an intergalactic pirate wasn’t as bad as you had originally thought it might be, but a mechanic from Xandar and a Ravager-gone-rogue from Terra quickly turned into a story for the ages. Quill infuriated you until, one day, you found out why he has always annoyed you.

Pairings: Peter Quill x Y/N Spencer

Warnings: Language

Parts: Part 1 (you are here) / Part 2 / Part 3 / etc.

“This is your fault, Star-Prince.”

The words were muttered from your mouth before you realized they were being said. You’d always had a bad habit of speaking before thinking, and you’d always paid for it. Thankfully, being in the company of a self-proclaimed superhero wasn’t as bad as you’d originally thought.

It started on Knowhere, where you were a mechanic. Your boredom had gotten the best of you one day, and you began to walk around the city-scaped planet in a desperate attempt for something fun to happen. Unfortunately, the only “fun” thing to do was put up with Peter Quill’s cocky attitude as he asked you to fix his ship. If it weren’t for the fact that you were in desperate need of the units, you would’ve told the space pirate to bug off and go look for help elsewhere.

That was two years ago. Peter took a liking to you and convinced you to come on board of his precious Milano, becoming his partner in crime. Of course, you hated the man, but that didn’t stop you from finding him surprisingly attractive; but, you hated yourself for it.

Peter turned to look at you, a small smirk appearing on his chiseled face, and his honey-colored eyes glistened with mischief. "C'mon, Princess. What harm will this one teeny-tiny, harmless mission do?"

You decided to run your hands through your dark brown hair, pulling it into a long ponytail. "Quill, I swear to God, if you make one more promise to me about this being a harmless mission and it goes haywire, I'm going to punch you." He knew better than to mess with you, as you were a tough mechanic who worked out regularly.

Peter rebutted with the snide comment, "It's just Morag," before sliding out of his pilot's seat and strutting towards the back of the ship. Sure, it's just Morag; before this, it was just Fraindol, before that just Hainstrül, and so on, every time being worse than the last.

You follow Peter to the back of his ship, slipping on your dark purple leather coat. He turns to send you a smile before opening the bay door and stepping onto the barren planet. You follow cautiously, watching as Peter clicks the button under his right ear and his mask appears across his face. "If it's 'just Morag'," you mock, "why did you put your helmet on?"

"Because you can never be sure, Y/N," your partner clarifies, his voice muffled by the mask. You keep one hand close to your thigh holster, prepared to grab your gun as soon as possible in case of danger. You couldn't be blamed for your paranoia--every other mission Peter Quill took you on always ended in gunfire. "I think this is it."

You both approach a dark cavern, apparently empty of communicable life. Extraterrestrial lizards were scurrying back and forth across a clear-cut path towards a set of intimidating double doors. You assumed the bounty you were sent to collect was hidden behind those doors and began to walk forward. You pass Peter who is fumbling with the Walkman on his belt. Come and Get Your Love by Redbone began playing and you couldn't help but sway your hips to the tune as you walk along the path. You turn around to see Peter dancing as well, his fist in the air as he bumps it to the beat. He approaches you quickly and you laugh as he takes your hand, leading you around the cavern in a silly hopping dance. He twirls you out carefully, but you spin too fast and your right shoulder collides with a hard wall. "Ow," you moan as you look at the surface you ran into.

Without even realizing, you and Peter had reached the doors. He walked up with a bit of swagger in his step, as though sending a silent 'I told you this would be easy,' and pushed them open with ease.

To you, this was all incredibly anticlimactic. A metal orb sat behind the doors on a pedestal. "What the hell is that thing," you asked in disbelief.

Peter shook his head as he stepped forward to grab it. "I have no idea, Y/N, but apparently it's important enough for someone to be willing to pay two hundred mil for it."

You still gawk at the price, even though you'd heard it a million times already. Two hundred million units. You'd be set for life! You could buy your own spaceship, fly wherever you wanted and start your life on one planet instead of hopping from place to place.

"What are you waiting for, Star-Prince?" you tease, utilizing the nickname you'd given him the day you two met.

He shoots you a look. "Would you stop calling me that?"

You shrug. "Only if you want me to downgrade to Star-Dick."

"Trust me, Princess. This dick would have you seeing stars."

You gag in feigned disgust. "Quill, I see enough stars as it is. In fact, I'm so tired of stars I'll be glad if your dick comes nowhere near me." It didn't make sense, but you don't care. "Get that damned orb and let's get the hell out of here!"

You hiss the last few words and Peter laughs, giving in to your whines and stepping towards the orb. He grabs it quickly and turns around, a grin on his face, but it quickly disappears when he looks behind you.

"Well, fuck," you whisper, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Drop the orb!" a powerful voice booms from the entrance of the cavern, echoing around the slick walls with such force to shake your bones. You turn slowly to see a familiar face: Korath.

Korath the Pursuer works for Ronan the Accuser, trained alongside two of the daughters of Thanos, and was known for the death toll he wrought on uncooperative cities. Just a week ago, you and Peter had heard that Korath had led a platoon of Sakaarans to take Nebula and Gamora, the two daughters he trained alongside, to Praxius IX. You two weren’t sure at the time what Korath was looking for, yet you assume he was looking for the orb the two of you just found--your assumption was confirmed by the rather large gun pointed in your direction.

“Uh, hey,” you say nervously.

Korath ignored me as his cronies come closer to myself and Peter. “Drop it, now!” he demands again. His henchman approaches you as you twist to look at Quill, who is watching you with concerned eyes.

“Hey, hey!” Peter shouts, pulling Korath’s attention. “Cool, man. No problem.” He slowly sets the orb down on the rocks he stands on before standing up straight again, arms still raised. The henchmen watching Peter step closer to him, guns raised. He looks at you again, his honey eyes locked on yours. “No problem at all.”

One of the henchmen watching Peter picks up the orb and tosses it to Korath, and you watch as it flies through the air. “How do you know about this?” Korath demands as he catches it.

You answer before Peter has the chance to fuck this up any more than it already is. “We don’t even know what that is. We’re just junkers, man. We were just…” you thought of an excuse that the assassin might buy, “...just checking stuff out.”

“You don’t look like junkers,” Korath confronts. “You’re wearing Ravager garb.”

Standing up a little straighter, you realize he’s right. How the hell are you supposed to dig yourselves out of this one? “This is just an outfit, man,” Peter answers, much to your relief. A henchman pokes his shoulder and he mutters, “Ninja Turtle, you better stop poking me.”

“What are your names?” Korath questions with the same booming voice he’s been using, this time with more urgency.

He begins to walk towards you; meanwhile, Peter speeds to answer before anything happens to you. “My name is Peter Quill, okay? And--and this is Y/N Spencer.”

Korath seems to accept Peter’s answer but reaches for your arm. “Hey!” you shout in protest, attempting to rip your arm from his grip.

“Move!”

“Why?” Peter struggles against the henchmen holding him back from stepping between you and Korath. He’d always been protective of you since you ran away from Knowhere with him.

“Ronan may have questions for you.” Korath’s answer was short but passed through gritted teeth.

You, having the ability to read people clearer than they can read themselves, froze; Peter of all people knew that when you wanted to pick someone apart mentally, there was no getting you to comply with anything. “You’re afraid of him.” Korath attempted to counter, but you cut him off. “You--you don’t want to follow his rule. You, Korath the Pursuer, are under the control of Ronan the Accuser, but you’ve never been under control a day in your life. You control others, so I ask you: what are you doing following Ronan?”

Korath seemed to become angry at this assumption and turns away from you. He begins to stomp away but stops once Peter Quill opens his infamous large mouth once again. “Hey, you know what? There’s another name you might know me by.” You roll your eyes and fight back a groan as Korath turns on his heel. Once Peter has the attention of everyone in the room on him, you realize he’s trying to escape. Your right hand twitches next to your blaster, the trigger-happy index finger dying for a chance to show it’s skill. “Star-Lord.”

Everyone in the room falls silent. Korath tilts his head a little, his white eyes boring into Peter’s. “Who?”

Peter sighs heavily. “Star-Lord, man.” With no response, he continues. “Legendary outlaw.” He then looks at the henchmen next to him. “And she’s--”

“Don’t drag me into this. I’d rather answer to Ronan.” Your comment was meant as a joke but it came off harsher than intended. You mouthed sorry to Peter and let your right hand get even closer to the blaster.

Peter sees your hand and gives you a small smile--undetectable to anyone who he hadn’t spent the past two years with. “Ah, forget this.”

He draws his blasters and you do the same, first shooting the henchman behind you then Korath. He drops the orb and you retrieve it, sprinting up the steps towards Peter, who had dropped both of his henchmen. Behind you, Korath rose to his feet and shot at you, missing by mere inches. Peter’s arm wraps around your waist and you throw your arms around his neck. He turns on his rocket boots and flies backward through the back wall of the cavern, shooting at Korath behind you. When you land outside (very ungracefully, as the pain in your shoulder disagreed with your rough landing), you both sprint to the Milano.

Korath and his men shoot repeatedly at the ship as Peter pulls away from the planet, yet loses control and drops with the gravitational pull. “Quill!” you scream as the ship plummets towards the ground. He manages to pull the controls up and the ship hovers inches from the planet’s surface before you both get thrown back from the impact of takeoff.

You stand from the spot you’d fallen to and brush off your jacket. “Star-Prince, I’m going to kill you.”

He chuckles. “Like I said, it’s just Morag.”

“Peter?” We both turn to see a pink-skinned woman emerging from Peter’s bedroom. You excuse yourself to the kitchen so they can catch up on the events of last night.

Quill’s flings never bothered you before, but in the past few months, you’ve realized how annoying it is to go on missions, only to come back and find that he’s forgotten about the body still lying in his bed. Civilian casualties are not something you need nor want on your record, yet Peter doesn’t seem to understand. It’s Peter’s ship, sure; but, it’s your shared space. It’s what you call home. You don’t bring men onto the ship for one-night-stands then forget all about them mere minutes after you wake up in the morning. Then again, you’ve always been horrible at one-night-stands. You’ve always wanted something real in life, and a small part of you has hoped for the last two years that it would be with Peter--yet with every girl who walked out of his room on mornings like this, that part of you shrunk, knowing that you’d never end up with Peter. You just weren’t his type.

Munching on an alien fruit you and Peter had picked up on Xandar when you’d made the deal to pick up the orb (you’d long forgotten the complicated name), you watched the news monitor mounted to the wall. You turn up the volume as the reporter discusses Kree information, and Peter and the Fling enter the kitchen. “Scattered riots broke out across the Kree Empire today protesting the recent peace treaty signed by the Kree Emperor and Xandar’s Nova Prime.”

“Um, you have a call,” the Fling says, but before Peter has a chance to stop her, a familiar blue face appears on the screen.

You and Peter had grown accustomed to the ugly mug of Yondu Udonta, but the blue-skinned, yellow-toothed Ravager captain was more pissed off than usual. You’d always been afraid of Yondu since you and Peter teamed up, but you never let it show.

“Quill!” Yondu shouts. “Spencer!”

“Hey, Yondu,” you say casually, leaning against the kitchen table as Peter sighs heavily. You know he’s wishing he could miraculously teleport himself anywhere but here.

Yondu grits his teeth. “I’m here on Morag. Ain’t no orb, ain’t no you.”

Peter put on a smile. “Well, I was in the neighborhood.” His tone was friendly and innocent, but you knew he was hiding a sassy remark of his own. “I thought I’d save you the hassle.”

“Well, where you at now, kids?” The blue man’s gravelly voice hadn’t changed a day since you first met him, and his blunt tone always rubbed you the wrong way.

You and Peter both exhale before you say, “I feel really bad about this, Yondu, but we’re not gonna tell you that.” You see Peter smile slightly in your peripheral vision and stand a little straighter.

“I slaved putting this deal together--”

“‘Slaved’?” Peter confronts. “Making a few calls is ‘slaved’?”

“--and now you’re gonna rip me off!”

The two of them talk over each other for a moment before Yondu takes a deep breath. “We do not do that to each other. We’re Ravagers, you and me. We got a code.”

You know Yondu is only referring to himself and Peter when he says, ‘We’re Ravagers, you and me,’ and it frankly pisses you off. You’d been working alongside Peter Quill for two years now, you’d proven your worth ten times over, yet you were still treated like an outsider by all of the Ravager factions. Your eyes shift to look away from the blue man on the screen and you let yourself steam.

Peter notices you turn away and argues with Yondu further. “Yeah, and that code is ‘steal from everybody’.”

“When I picked you up on Terra--”

“‘Picked me up’.”

“--these boys of mine wanted to eat you.”

“Yeah?” Peter taunts, clearly angry.

“They ain’t never tasted any Terran before. I stopped ‘em. You’re alive because of me! I will find you, I will--”

Silence fills the ship. You turn to the screen to see it filled with black. Peter had ended the call and was watching you with careful eyes. “You know he didn’t mean that, about you not being a Ravager,” he starts quietly, but you cut him off.

“He’s right.” You sigh heavily, letting the whir of the engine compete with the tension in the air. “I didn’t grow up a Ravager like you or Yondu or any of them. I’m an outsider. I don’t follow a code, and I don’t have a family.” You turn to look at Peter, finally meeting his eyes with your own. “I don’t need a family to know where I belong.”

Peter begins to open his mouth, but you continue. “Let’s just get this orb to Xandar. You can get the units and I’ll repair the ship from your shitty takeoff. You did some serious engine damage on Morag.”

You walked to your room and Peter stayed silent, wishing all the while he’d fought Yondu for your right alongside himself as Ravager when he’d had the chance.