#having to live with the fact that EVERYONE in that army. is basically sworn to die for them should the need arise

[devotedlystrangewizard]

gnawing on corrin fire emblem

[jackoshadows]

Do you agree with the idea that GRRM wrote the "traditionally feminine" girls (Sansa, Catelyn, Dany, Arianne) as "more flawed" than the warrior girls (Arya, Brienne, asha)? Basically, this person said that Sansa makes actual mistakes that hurt people but Arya and Brienne do nothing wrong and don't make mistakes that hurt people around them, so they're bad characters. What do you think? do you agree that Brienne and Arya are lesser than the superior Sansa because Sansa has flaws unlike the flawless Arya?

Honestly, I think that Sansa, Catelyn, Dany, Arianne, Arya, Brienne, Asha etc. are all very different, flawed characters in their own way. I don't think you can put them into these boxes like you have done.

For ex. Arya is also traditionally feminine and partakes in traditionally feminine activities like cooking, cleaning, picking flowers, gossiping in the kitchens, playing with babies, taking care of those younger than her etc. She is not a 'warrior'. Brienne can also be nurturing. Dany can hold her own as a military leader on par with any of the men on her council or army.

For example, I think that Arya and Dany have more in common than Sansa and Dany despite Sansa and Dany being grouped together as being 'traditionally feminine' and therefore more flawed.

Asha and Brienne are warriors, and yet very different in terms of personality, personal ethics and story arcs.

I think GRRM has many different kinds of female characters and has not written his 'traditionally feminine' characters to be more flawed or anything like that.

In fact, Catelyn Stark is my favorite female character in the series. She's just so human and real. She's unique in fantasy. She's a mother. She's a leader. She's a councillor and adviser. She's intelligent. Makes human mistakes. Gives into emotions. She's jealous, she's proud, she loves deeply, she's angry and bitter. She embodies the House Tully words of 'Family, duty and honor'. Family comes first, above all.

I had already mentioned this in another post, but maybe Jon Snow and Catelyn Stark having a lot in common despite hating each other is the reason for why I love both characters. They are both loyal to a fault and would do anything if they love deeply enough. Catelyn releasing Jaime Lannister for her daughters, Jon breaking his sworn oaths for Arya.

Arianne Martell is smart and ambitious. She knows what she is capable of, what she deserves and will work to see that she gets it. Dany is powerful, smart and ambitious. Is she flawed? Yes, just like all leaders and because all leaders are human and humans make mistakes. Margaery Tyrell is calculating, manipulative and knows well how to play the game.

As for Sansa and Arya - well, these two characters were deliberately written that way because Sansa was created as a literary foil for Arya, to highlight Arya's personality and characterization. That's what literary foils are meant to do and that's why Sansa came about as the complete opposite. So while Arya mingles with the small folk and befriends them, Sansa is snobby and looks down on the small folk with derision. While Sansa is vain and self-centered, Arya has self-esteem issues and thinks she is ugly due to being mocked and bullied over her appearance.

I do think that GRRM went a bit too far with Sansa in the first book. I get why he did it - The Starks were getting along too much and families are not like that and she’s there to create confict. But still, it feels like Sansa is living in a separate reality compared to the rest of the Starks. There’s being naive and then there is Sansa. 

This is a girl who grew up in the harsh North where she would heard stories of her aunt being kidnapped and raped to death by prince Rhaegar. This is a world in which 10 year olds become Lord Commanders and Ned is taking his 7 year old to beheadings and wants his toddler to play with a direwolf because 'Winter is coming'. Sansa’s naivety is incomprehensible in our modern world let alone the medieval setting of Westeros.

For ex. Sansa tattling all of Ned's plans to Cersei after Cersei ordered her pet wolf killed! Like which child would trust, let alone like, an adult who has their pet puppy killed?! Or when she sees Joffrey sadistically mutilate another child and try to harm her sister and still thinks of him as her sweet, beautiful prince. Like, how? I get what GRRM was trying to do with the character, but IMO it was a bit extreme and the character came off as his version of the cliche 'dumb, blonde' stereotype that I dislike so much.

I also find disloyalty to be an unattractive trait, and the fact that Sansa keeps throwing her family under the bus again and again and again in the first book, is what prevents me from being interested in her as a character. Not because she's traditionally feminine or is a girly girl - like her fans want everyone to think as they deliberately misconstrue any criticism of the character and equate it to misogynistic hate. In this, Sansa is the total opposite of Catelyn who lives and breathes family loyalty.

Anyways, I do hope that Sansa eventually gets smarter, is able to connect the dots with all the information she currently has, outwits and outplays Littlefinger at his own game and avenges house Stark for everything he did to her and her family.

[ijustreallylovezebras]

I’ll Make A Man Out Of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to understand her better

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is my entry to @sarahp879 ‘s 500 followers writing challenge!! You guys should all go follow her bc she’s so fucking awesome (proof of this is that she’s put up with my shit over this despite it being literally almost a month late I’m so so sorry I just had a fe issues and ugh I’m sorry) but I love you a lot and you deserve so many followers! More than 500 man! I love you!!!

Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d seen Y/N smile before.

She was always so straight faced, so severe and serious that even the thought of her smiling or laughing was hard for him to have.

There was also always a kind of exhaustion that she carried with her everywhere, an invisible weight pressing down on her that had only gotten worse with the passing of some of her closest friends.

He had noticed this heaviness, this sadness and seriousness right off the bat, when Steve had first introduced them at the time of the Sokovia Accords. 

No one else had seemed surprised at Y/N siding with Steve. Bucky, on the other hand, had been beyond confused. He hadn’t taken Y/N in that way. From even just the way she had introduced herself, a firm handshake and a sharp nod of her head, to the way that she held herself Bucky had gotten the impression right from the off that she was the kind of person who liked to follow the rules.

Not the kind of person who liked to help protect ex-assassins.

Steve, however, seemed to take it as a given that Y/N would fight with him.

“She’s been through a lot, Buck, that’s all,” Steve told him, giving him a smile when he questioned Y/N’s disposition.

There was something about her, though, that made Bucky want to get to know her better. He wanted to understand why she was the way that she was. 

After the fight with Thanos where he had come back five years later it he moved into the Avenger’s Compound. Steve, now elderly and having passed on the baton of Captain America to Sam, only lived a ten minute drive away further into the city so Bucky was able to visit his ageing friend as much as he liked.

His room was only a few doors down from Y/N’s, which was probably why he heard her that night.

Bucky peaked his head out of the door, watching Y/N’s body freeze in the hallway, turning around at the sound of the door opening.

“For an assassin you’re not that quiet,” Bucky commented, coming out of his room to lean against the wall, arms folded and eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I thought everyone was asleep,” she said apologetically. Bucky offered her a smile, not expecting one in return and he attempted to hide his shock as a tiny one moved her lips upwards.

“Yeah, well... I don’t sleep great anyway,” Bucky shrugged, trying to tear his eyes away from her lips.

Even her smile was sad.

“Where are you going?” He asked, taking note of her gym attire.

“Oh, just... heading to the gym,” she shrugged, gesturing down to herself before quirking an eyebrow at him. “Though I would have thought that was obvious,” she added.

That was another thing Bucky had never imagined her doing: making a joke.

“I know it’s just... it’s, four in the morning,” there it was again: that smile.

Bucky hoped he would get used to seeing it.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say: old habits die hard,” she sighed. Y/N looked down, checking her watch. “I’m about ten minutes behind normal now, though. So I’ll see you later.”

Bucky watched her leave, her words ringing through his head.

‘Old habits die hard’ he wondered how often it was that she woke up at four to start her training.

///

“There’s just no way that’s true,” Y/N laughed, leaning back against the fridge as she sat on the counter. Bucky nodded, his eyes wide as he ate a spoonful of ice cream.

“It is!” He insisted.

“Steve used to stuff his shoes with newspaper?” Y/N repeated incredulously, still giggling as she spoke.

“Would I lie to you, Doll?” He teased, relishing in the sound of her laughter. It was a noise that he had only recently gotten used to hearing and even now it only really made an appearance during times like these - late at night, or early in the morning depending on how you viewed it.

Bucky had made it his mission to make sure she laughed more, smiled more, slept more.

Over the past few months they had gotten much closer and Bucky had realised why everyone had been so unsurprised with Y/N’s siding during the crisis. Yes, Y/N was serious and came across as being no-nonsense, but above all of that, she was loyal.

And Y/N was loyal to Steve above everyone else.

And by extension, she was loyal to Bucky.

“Wonder why he never told me that,” she mused and Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“Far too embarrassed I’m sure,” he responded. “Though I have been debating calling up the Smithsonian and telling them to put it in their exhibit on him,” he added, just to watch Y/N crack up laughing again.

“Can you imagine? God, I can just picture Steve’s face when he saw it,” she laughed, shaking her head. “You know, the Smithsonian was my favourite place to go as a kid,” she mentioned a few moments later, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

“Really?”

“Yeah - my dad, he was big on war museums and exhibits, all part of.... anyway, the Smithsonian was my favourite thing to go and do - I loved reading up about you and Steve and the Howling Commandoes,” Y/N sighed and shook her head, clearly lost in thought. “I even did a project on you guys in school,” she added.

“Really?”

“Yeah - history class presentation and research project,” Y/N grinned. “Just about the only work I ever liked doing.”

“Well I’m flattered,” Bucky said, feigning seriousness, watching Y/N giggle at him.

“You should be - I don’t spend hours researching just anyone you know,” Bucky smiled at her fondly.

///

“Y/N/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“I like you like this,” Bucky said, stroking his hand through her hair as she lay on his lap, curled up like a cat. 

Bucky could have sworn he had heard her purr the first time he had started to play with her hair.

“What do you mean?” She yawned, nuzzling closer to him and grabbing his metal arm, an action that normally would have caused him to flinch away from whoever it was but with Y/N it was natural and, in fact, he felt himself relax as she laced her fingers loosely together with the cool metal ones of his left arm.

“I mean you’re so different now to how you used to be when we first met,” Bucky said, his fingers scratching her scalp gently. 

“Steve said the same thing,” she told him after a few moments. “So did the rest of the team,” she added.

“It’s a good thing,” Bucky promised hastily. “I was just wondering... why? Why you’re so... strict at first?”

“Honestly?” Y/N sighed, rolling over so that she was looking up at him from her place on his lap. Bucky’s fingers slid around and gently stroked her jaw, nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“My dad... after my mum died,” Y/N sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Sorry I don’t really know how to... you know,” she admitted. Bucky offered her a soft smile and squeezed her hand as gently as he could with his left one.

“It’s okay, Doll,” he encouraged.

“My mum died when I was five,” Y/N started again, opening her eyes to blink up at him. “And my dad never really wanted kids - and he really didn’t want a girl,” Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “He was... kinda determined to make me as ‘manly’ as he could without forcing me to... I dunno, get a penis,” the two of them shared a gentle laugh at her joke before Y/N let out a groan. “He just... every time I’d try to live my life like a normal kid he’d... get pissed at me. I had to be serious, no-nonsense because other people wouldn’t take me seriously otherwise,” Bucky stroked his hand through her hair again before Y/N sat up, situating herself to straddle his lap, her fingers moving to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck.

“So you... stopped being you?” Bucky asked, his hands laying on her waist to support her and make sure she didn’t fall off. She nodded.

“Basically, yeah - he made me get up really early for training sessions and he signed me up for the army first chance he got,” Y/N admitted.

“That... really sucks,” Bucky whispered and Y/N shrugged.

“I got used to it,” she sighed. “His mantra for, like, my whole childhood was ‘I’ll make a man out of you’” she said, putting on a deep, masculine voice that caused Bucky to laugh.

“I like this you better,” Bucky told her. “The real you,” Y/N gave him a pretty smile that warmed his heart.

“I really like you, Bucky,” she told him shyly, biting her lip. Bucky grinned, lifting a hand to gently place it on her cheek.

“I thought you knew by now that I liked you too,” Bucky laughed at her nervousness. Y/N giggled and lent forwards to connect their lips gently.

“Well... I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

[fifi-uchiha]

Born to Live (4/?)

„An ambush...” Tenten panted, still feeling dizzy and exhausted from the fight. “They were ninja from another village.” Naruto raised a brow, seemed confused about the brunette’s assumption. “What?!” Ino asked angrily and more than alarmed. “Are you all okay? Any injuries I need to heal?”

“No, no, we’re alright,” Sakura waved off with a calming smile and moved her eyes to the four bodies. Her green orbs narrowed when she eyed the blank metal of their headbands because she was aware what that meant. “Why do you think they were ninja from another village?” Naruto asked the obvious question, didn’t see how his friend would think that. “Well…,” Sakura started, looking at her best friend. “Just look at their headbands, Naruto. They’re blank.”

The pinkette pointed at the covered head of one of the dead ninjas. “Ninjas with blank headbands are known for being spies from other villages who travel to other places to gain information… or to cause trouble. Like beginning a fight or assassinate a prey. They didn’t carve any symbol on their headbands to cover their heritage so they can hide where they’re from.” The fox ninja nodded understandingly and heard how Ino slapped her forehead. “Oh fuck!” she exclaimed. “And we overkilled those motherfuckers!” “AAAH! Dammit, you’re right, dattebayo!”

“It’s alright,” Tenten appeased, trying to calm everyone down whereas Kiba nodded. “Yeah. ‘Cause we know who’s behind that sneaky shit.” “We do?” Naruto asked incredulously. “Who was it?” “What do you think? Those Konoha-bastards, who else?”, the brown haired ninja barked. “But why?”, the pinkette leader wondered and earned looks that basically screamed ‘Seriously?’’ “Uhm… because they’re bastards..?” Naruto offered her, as if it were too obvious not no notice. “I’m aware,” the pinkette deadpanned dryly. “I just mean… It’s not like them. After all, Uchiha Sasuke declared war and even set a damn DATE, shannaro! Why would they attack us? Bastards or not, Konoha doesn’t fight dirty.” Sakura really couldn’t think of a plan that Sasuke might followed, as much as she tried. “Why blank headbands though? Everyone knows that Konoha declared war, so why would he cover up an assassination mission? “ she continued. “There’s no reason for them to hide, wouldn’t you agree?” “Maybe they did it so other villagers won’t recognize them and warn us?” Tenten offered who still understood where Sakura was coming from. “I think Kiba’s right, though. Konoha-nins are known for being manipulative and sneaky fighters who like to discover their rivals weak points and disable them before a fight.” Ino nodded, made it obvious that she too shared her theory. “Totally agree. They want to destroy us from the inside.” Her blue eyes lingered on the dead bodies and Ino scoffed smugly, folding her arms before her chest. “Well, they tried, I’ll give them that.” “I guess you’re right,” the pinkette sighed, accepting of the only logical explanation. Of course Konoha would use dirty tricks to weaken Timea and demonstrate their power, of course they would try to kill the most powerful ninjas of her homeland. God, that Uchiha was one hell of a bastard, shannaro! “However, we need to make sure to keep unexpected guests outside Timea. I think we should send Rayo and his team to guard the borders.” “I’ll tell him as soon as I can,” Kiba promised, earning a thankful smile from his comrade. “Thank you, Kiba.” “Okay guys, we should go back and rest, dattebayo” A loud yawn escaped his lips and Naruto stretches his arms, making it more than obvious how tired he was. “Naruto’s right. Come on, tomorrow’s a big day- MPH!” To Sakura’s surprise, Tenten covered the Yamanaka’s mouth with her hand, choking her in the process which looked pretty hilarious to her, however, she raised her brows in astonishment because Tenten was actually a calm person in general. “Well… yeah. We should rest. All of us need to sleep, the shades under our eyes look scary to be honest,”, Kiba smiled before he and Naruto grabbed Sakura and pulled her towards the camp. And Sakura could’ve sworn that she heard Tenten calling Ino a blabbering waterwall… “But I’m hungry, shannaro!” .

.

.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sakura was a passionate , hotheaded fighter through and through, however, there were days were she worked as a medic in Timea-gakure. During those days, she worked with Rin Sensei, Ino and other medics to help injured and ill people who were far more important than training to her. But she still didn’t understand why Naruto and Tenten forced her to spend her time in the hospital even though there weren’t any emergency that needed her special attention. Were they trying to get rid of her? “Whooo, look who I found!” The female leader turned to the sudden male voice and immediately recognized the attractive face of Leo, a good looking, brown haired playboy she knew for years. That guy wasn’t just an exceptional shinobi with impressive strength, he was also capable of handling every single surgery which required perfect precision. He was a master surgeon and saved thousands without breaking a single sweat which made him one of the most valuable members of Timea’s army. “Leo. Good to see you, I really need those chakra results of patient 233-” “I already took care of him and told him he’s free to go, pinky. I stitched him up so good, he even started his training session,”, he interrupted with a big grin on his face. “Oh wow, uhm… wow,” the pinkette stammered impressed, making her way to the next patient with Leo by her side. “I mean, that’s really impressive, Leo. You’re a real pro.” “You know what else is impressive, pinky?”, the latter asked. “That a woman like you doesn’t have good enough taste to spend a few nice hours with a man like me. I can’t be the only one who feels the sexual tension between us.” Oh for God’s sake, not again. “Hey Leo? You like your penis, right?” Hearing those calm words, Leo blinked a few times, looking totally surprised about that question. “Yeah..?” “Would you still like it If I cut it off and stuffed it down your throat?” . . .

“No-” “Yeaaah, that’s what I thought. But that’s exactly what’s going to happen should you ever call me ‘pinky’ again, champ,” she explained matter of factly. “And by the way, I’m not your type,” she waved off, looking unimpressed while she kept walking, earning a dumbfounded look from the brunette. “Sakura. Women ARE my type!” “Forget it.” “Ah, come on! One night with me and you’re world will shake.” “I already told you, I’m not gonna sleep with you,”, was her dry reply, sounding disinterested. “More important, how did you manage all those surgeries? I mean… staying up for three days must be pretty hard even for you.” Sakura tried to change the subject, however, Leo snickered lowly, giving her a devilish grin. “You wanna know what else is hard..?” “Hey! Careful, Romeo. Shut it,” Sakura warned. “Sakura, come on. I find you really hot and you know I can’t concentrate with thoughts like that. Give me one night.” “You know who else is hot? My girlfriend,” the pinkette claimed whereas Leo looked comically surprised. Wait… Did that mean..? “You’re right, Leo. I’m a lesbian. Totally gay,” she confirmed Leo’s thoughts. “And my gay, mannish, rough girlfriend Earl -yes, her name is Earl- really wouldn’t appreciate a man like you coming at me like that. She likes to get out her metal hammer and smash every guys head who approaches me. You know, after she started taking those pills and since she got that new penis and her voice started changing, she seems a little energetic. Such an attractive trait…,” Sakura raved, acting like a girl in love. Leo looked totally shocked, not knowing if his comrade was joking or not. “Now If you excuse me, I gotta go. My patient is waiting.” Before Leo could utter any words, the kunoichi turned around and kept walking, leaving the tall shinobi behind who just stared at her retreating back in astonishment. She shock was written all over his face because that was the last thing Leo could’ve ever expected. He then walked to his next patient, shaking his head disbelievingly. . .

. “Earl..?” ………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Oh my God, Sakura, you’re here. The only person next to Tenten I respect.” Yamanaka Ino was one of the most powerful kunoichis of Timea who possessed healing abilities that every ninja barely could dream of. The blonde joined the army a year ago and helped Sakura with her knowledge about medical nin-jutsu. And right now, the Yamanaka was trying to take care of Shino who suffered from a severe injury. “Goddammit, Shino! How in the world did you manage to ram that nail through your palm, shannaro?!” The nail impaled his Hand completely and to all that, it was stuck in a big piece of wood which looked really painful. “I just wanted to help building a new cottage…,” was Shino’s quite, apologetic explanation whereas Sakura nodded, noting every word down. “It’s okay, Shino. We’ll deal with that...” Fast and with perfect precision, Sakura pushed two specific areas on Shino’s palm which caused his skin to glow in a soft green right before Shino felt no pain anymore which made Ino give Sakura a proud smirk. “Seriously, forehead. Your chakra-blocking is fucking crazy.” “Heh, you’re making me blush, Ino-pig. Thanks,” Sakura replied with her cheeks indeed becoming a little redder. To be honest, the sarcastic, moody, scaring Ino wasn’t known for giving anyone compliments, moreover, the blonde kunoichi only shared her soft side with her female members if her group. And her patients of course. “Hey guys, you won’t believe what just hap- Oh my God, this is disgusting.” Kiba suddenly appeared and he seemed caught off guard after he realized how grotesque Shino’s injury looked. “What the...-” “Oh, don’t worry, it looks worse than it actually is. I just blocked his chakra and numbed his pain and due to the fortunate fact that his bones weren’t pierced in the process-” Sakura stopped when Ino and her witnessed Kiba breathing heavily, his eyes becoming a little too… heavy as dizziness was making him weaker and weaker with each second. “Oh Lord, she’s losing consciousness. Let’s show her the bloody side!” Ino smirked who just loved teasing the shinobi whenever she could which was the reason why she hold Shino’s numb, injured hand and started to wave right in front oh his face. “Well look at that, Tina, that’s his palm nailed to this bloody piece of wood. Look close, it’s bleeding like hell, it SNAPPED like a bitch! Look at it, touch it, LICK THE TIP!” Kiba’s dizziness worsened and not a second later, the poor ninja fainted and fall straight in the floor, not seeing Sakura’s pitiful smile when Ino started laughing at him. “Why are you always so mean to him?”, she jokingly demanded whereas Ino simply shrugged. “She’s gotta learn how to deal with tough situations,”, Ino answered, not showing any remorse as she grabbed her bloody glove and threw it at Kiba’s head. “Don’t you worry about her, she’ll be arlight.” . . . ………………………………………..………………………………………… “Rayo is up to something.” Naruto and Tenten were walking through the market, looking for a birthday gift for Sakura who had no idea that her team was planning to surprise her with a little party. With the war coming nearer with each passing day, the group knew that enjoying their last days in peace and freedom were valuable, not to mention that Sakura would never think about her own birthday in times like this. She was a dedicated leader and didn’t care about anything but building a beautiful village without any dangers from outside. “Rayo? What do you mean?” Tenten asked with a raised brow. “Did you two have a fight again?” “No, not this time,” Naruto grinned sheepishly, knowing that he had to be calmer and more mature. But Rayo made it really hard for him, so she shouldn’t blame him for that. “I don’t know, he’s really weird lately, dattebayo.” “He always is.” “I know. But I just… I don’t know, I’m getting more and more bitch vibes from that. I just don’t trust him, ya know?” Tenten listened to him patiently, waited until he was done and tilted her head to look at him directly. “Naruto, he’s a timea-nin, a shinobi who fought with us against horrible enemies. He’s a bastard, there’s no doubt here, but you shouldn’t think too much about him. What’s the worst he can do? Shout and scream at us?” Naruto scoffed and knew she was right. Maybe he really was reading too much into it. “Come on, tell me what else is bugging you,” she suddenly demanded, earning a surprised look. “You’ve been acting really strange this morning. Is there anything you want to tell me?” Naruto seemed a little off this morning which was uncommon for the fox ninja who’s usually in such a good mood that even a war couldn’t change it. “You dodged Sakura’s question earlier, Naruto, but I’m a little more persistent. Tell me.” “Heh. You ability to read people is getting better and better. Kinda scary,” he joked. Tenten didn’t get distracted and folded her arms before her chest, waiting for Naruto to tell her about his problem without saying much. “I’ll take it as a compliment,” she commented dryly, making him laugh. “It was.” Naruto sighed because he knew that keeping everything bottled up wasn’t actually his piece of cake. It just didn’t suit him, so he gave up and started giving her the answer that he denied his pink haired best friend. “Well, I had a few bad nights, is all”, he started and didn’t see the confusion in her face. “What do you mean? Can’t you sleep properly?” she pressed which caused Naruto to lool dejected. “No. I’m having those weird dreams… about Sakura, dattebayo..-” “Sex dreams?” Immediately, Narutos entire face flamed of shame, his cheeks were a burning red and he looked like he saw a ghost. “ARE YOU CRAZY?” he shrieked, making Tenten close her hurting ear. He definitely knew how to hollow, really. “I do NOT HAVE sex dreams of Sakura, of course! That would be disgusting, dattebayo!” Seriously, they were like brother and sister, Naruto would never dare to see Sakura like… like a woman he could desire!

Disgusting!

“Calm down, calm down, it was just a question. Jeez…,” Tenten shrugged off his screams of terror. However, it was kind of interesting to see that even Uzumaki Naruto could feel immense shame and the brunette made sure to remember that next time he would mess with her. “What kind of dreams are haunting you then?” she asked the obvious question which made Naruto look dejected again. “Well… I saw her crying,” ha started thoughtfully. “More than that, she was crying, sobbing as if someone ripped her heart out, Tenten. She didn’t say anything, I just saw her crying her eyes out, she seemed so...-” There weren’t words accurate enough to describe the sadness and the bitterness in Sakura’s eyes, not to mention the countless tears she shed. “And she looked different, dattebayo,” he added a little confused. “What do you mean ‘different’?” “Her hair was much shorter than now. It reached her shoulders and-” “She had short hair when she was 16, Naruto. Maybe-” This time, Naruto interrupted her. “No, that’s not it.” Naruto knew that Sakuta preferred to wear her hair short when she was 16 because it didn’t bother her during training sessions. Apparently, she found it more practical like that, but she let it grow again.

“This Sakura from my dream wasn’t 16. I’d say she was about 23 or 24 years old. But that’s not all,” he said, finding those dreams even more suspect when he talked about them. “Her clothes were also different. In my dreams, Sakura wore a green dress and… I don’t know, Tenten, but it looked like this Sakura came from another… village?” What really bugged him was the fact that seeing this version of Sakura kind of felt.. familiar. “Sakura never wears dresses, Tenten. And the way she cried… It broke my heart, dattebayo...” That picture, that showed Sakura who seemed so bitter, so horribly sad and broken had burnt itself into his brain, clouding his mind like a thick fog. She was sitting on the green grass, her skin far too pale, her dry lips shaking and her orbs red and wet from all those burning tears she had shed. Her sobs were so intense, so loud and broken that it made it impossible for her to say a single word. The young woman seemed alone, broken, as If someone burnt her whole world, taken everything and everyone that was important to her. But he couldn’t do anything to help her, Naruto couldn’t reach out to Sakura.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Tenten comforted him, giving him a soft pat on his back. “Sakura is stressed because of her secret leadership, not to mention that Uchiha Sasuke declared war. It’s a fact that Sakura doesn’t live like the average woman, that might be the reason why she wore a dress in your dreams”, she offered him a simple explanation. “I mean, we all are pretty worked up, Naruto. Try to relax once in a while and don’t pay too much attention to your nightmares. They’re just dreams that have nothing to do with reality.” Naruto took in a deep breath and sighed, finally accepting Tenten’s comfort and gave her a thanking smile. “Thanks, Tenten”, the Uzumaki grinned.

“No need to thank me. I really don’t like you being too serious and sad. Now come on, we have to hurry before Sakura finds out about the birthday party.” Oh. Right, that was happening right now. “Ah, shit, you’re right! Ino’s gonna behead us if we don’t make it in time!” If there was one thin Naruto and Tenten feared from the bottom of their hearts… It was Yamanaka Ino’s temper. .

.

.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Soundless and secretly, a brown haired shinobi sneaked through the darkness over the borders in the empty land between Konoha and Timea, a land that belonged no one. However, the shinobi wasn’t running away from the upcoming war for he was about to meet one of the most powerful ninja in the word, without paying a single thought to the horrendous treasure he was about to commit. His eyes flashed angrily over the mere thought of the oh so mighty leader of Timea, which was nothing but a facade of a little, weak woman. A girl. He still couldn’t fathom the mere idea of her being the great leader. The dark haired ninja couldn’t believe that it was Haruno Sakura who made herself the leader and actually acted like one. A weak woman had it in her to betray not only her own army, but also every other village who respected Timea’s new power without giving even the slightest suspicions. Who in the world would’ve ever thought a woman without any special traits or power could create a whole army? He sure didn’t. It was a real challenge to sneak away from the others, however, the traitorous ninja didn’t care at all. No, his goal lay right behind the borders of Konoha-gakure, the village that declared war without giving at least a single reason, much less an explanation. “Behold!” Suddenly, the shinobi was surrounded, facing three ninjas who seemed alarmed and ready to fight and it didn’t take an expert to know that these men belonged to Konoha’s guards. The brown haired ninja showed no fear whatsoever nor was he scared in any way because he was here for a reason, a plan he had in mind. “I am a shinobi from Timea,” he introduced himself and he could saw their narrowing gazes. After all, they were a few days left until war which made it more than understandable that his sudden visit was not appreciated. “What do you want?”, one of the guards hissed, making him roll his eyes. God, that was so annoying. “I have to talk to your hokage,” the shinobi demanded without showing emotion. “There is something I need to tell him. You could say… interesting information.” For a moment they seemed to consider his words but suddenly, the shinobi felt a strong chakra signature. Another ninja appeared, walking towards the new visitor as he watched him with light eyes that were shining in the same color as the moon. Pearl colored eyes were watching him like a hawk, the man seemed to analyze him with obvious distrust. He wore white clothing, his blown hair was long and his skin pale. However, his light eyes were enough for him to know who he was dealing with. Definitely a Hyuuga. Hyuuga Neji. “What would a timea-nin possibly want from us?”, Neji directly asked, analyzing the stranger with narrowed eyes to make sure this wasn’t a hidden ambush. “Or are you the mysterious leader of Timea..?” “You are mistaken. I am not our leader,” the brown haired ninja immediately denied. “I came to talk to Uchiha Sasuke,” he continued, not a bit backing down. “For what reason exactly?”, Neji asked with calm distrust. “If you want to talk about the fight, then I have to disappoint you. Sasuke-sama won’t change is mind, you would just waste valuable time.” “I believe what I have to say to your hokage is of high importance,” he pressed. “There is no reason for you to distrust me for I have left my homeland.” Neji saw no lies nor regrets in his eyes but for some reason he still believed him. “What would your hokage say If I told him that the identity of Timea’s leader is no longer a well hidden secret..?” Hearing those words, Neji widened his eyes, seeming surprised for he was told that no one knew the real name of the all mighty leader of Timea, not even their own army. Could it be a trap? A foul trick to attack Konoha? No, he doubted that. Timea was far too powerful and smart to send a single ninja, that wouldn’t make any sense. That’s why Neji finally nodded, accepting the ninja’s offer. “What is your dame?” Neji demanded with controlled voice whereas the stranger gave him a little smirk. “My name is Rayo...” .

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::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Alright… I did it. I kicked my butt and I… well… yeah, I tried, okay? I don’t feel good about this, I don’t like my english chapters but I still want to share my stories with my SasuSaku family and… yeah. I know it’s still a little boring and all but TRUST me- Things are gonna be crazy. Typos are all little presents from me to you, so please keep them ^.^ And please, don’t be too harsh, English is my third language and... Yeah. I’m still trying hehe Xoxo Fifi-Uchiha! By the way, here’s the linkt to the whole ff. And you can find the other chapters on my tumblr account, just use the ‘born to live’ tag :D

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13201822/1/Born-to-Live

[holy-kingdom-of-faerghus]

Tales of the Brazen Sword

Prompt: Classic mode, Blue Lion route where Felix died during the war, and Dimitri raises his children on stories of Felix’s conquests before admitting that he knew him first hand. 

Note: Somewhat angst… but with a surprising and happy ending

Ever since Lambert was young, he had heard stories of Felix: The Brazen Sword. Felix was, as his father claimed, a brilliant swordsman with brash tendencies who preferred action over “idle chatter.” In fact, he was the man that Lambert’s middle namesake had been taken from.The man was swift on the battlefield and could cut down dozens of enemy troops within mere minutes-- something he knew not many men could do. He was, as the King described him, a flurry of different shades of blue and glinting silver, when in combat. His single goal in life was to defeat any foe who dared to stand before him and to be the best swordsman in all of Fodlan. 

But, despite his obvious skill in battle and his stoic nature, Felix was also a loyal friend. Despite all the trouble his prince had caused him, Felix had remained loyal to the royal’s cause-- never straying from the path that his highness had paved. He wore a mask of cold indifference and insisted on doing nothing but honing his skills with the blade-- Dimitri swore. Though, the naive prince would later find out that the hardened swordsman only did so in an effort to protect his people and his highness from any harm. And that the prince would soon come to realize his reasonings when it was far too late-- for it was these reasons that caused the vigilant swordsman’s fall.

One night, after a long and taxing day, Dimitri coaxed his thirteen year old son to bed with promises of a bedtime story.

“Tonight Lambert, I will tell you of Felix’s final conquest. In fact I think you are quite familiar with the tale- however, I have never told you my account of it.” The king told his son softly, a fond smile on his face as he stroked the childs blonde hair. “It was a hectic afternoon, the sun was beating down among the troops and everyone was tired from storming the streets of Enbarr.” Lambert gasped-- he did indeed recognize the tale. “We could taste victory on the tip of our tongue-- morale was high and we realized the long and bloody war was coming to a close,” he licked his chapped lips before continuing. “I hadn’t lost anyone incredibly dear to me-- not since the former Lord Fraldarius’s death; so I was confident that we would all make it through.” The man laughed bitterly, tears welling up within his sole eye, he gripped Lambert’s hand tightly. “How foolish I was.” Forgetting his status, the young prince ripped off his covers and clambered onto his father’s lap, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“It’s alright father, you needn’t tell me this story-- I do not wish to see you cry.” Lambert consoled.

“No, no; I will tell you this tale son, you deserve to hear it.” Dimitri took in a deep, rattling breath. “As I was saying, Byleth-- that is the Archbishop-- had ordered Felix and I, (Lambert gasped at the revelation), to lead the charge.” Dimitri took a moment to blink away his tears. “It was absolute chaos, your Uncle Sylvain and Uncle Ashe were supposed to be watching our backs. But we had underestimated the number of reinforcements the Emperor had waiting. The plan had failed-- it became a free for all. Felix… oh Felix.” 

“Father… it’s alright, I think Mr. Felix would be glad to hear you speaking of him in such a way.” This statement did nothing to console the grieving king, instead it made him weep more.

“If it had gone as planned… you would be addressing Felix as ‘Uncle’ not Mr.” he confessed, “but it all went awry.” After a few more moments of sniffled filled silence, the story continued. 

“I’ve always been particularly vulnerable to mages-- barely fast enough to dodge their most basic spells, let alone their more advanced ones. But Felix had a much leaner figure than me and thus had an easier time avoiding them.” Dimitri explained, once again taking in a slow, shuddering breath. 

“We were both doing so well, most of the mages had been defeated, though it proved to be incredibly taxing on our bodies. Our foes were incredibly quick on their feet-- practically dodging our every swing, we had to work thrice as hard as usual to just defeat one of them.” His father gulped as he prepared to retell his childhood friends death. “Even… even Felix, who worked five times as hard as anyone in the army- even harder than me, had been exhausted. And he could tell I was too.  So… so when the third wave of reinforcements came he… he told me to jump on Ashe’s wyvern. He told me to end the terrible, pointless war. He said that he could handle the next wave of soldiers-- that Sylvain would come to aid him if he needed it.” 

A river of tears spilled from his father’s eye and Lambert couldn’t do anything but watch and offer his silent comfort.

“I could see it all from the wyvern’s back. Felix fighting tiredly, desperately; pouring his heart and soul into each skillful swing, the blade a silver blur as he slashed furiously. His pale skin was flushed red and he was stained with blood-- from both himself and from the Imperial soldiers. And I- I watched as this warlock-- I can remember her expression vividly, she had this insane, blood thirsty look in her eye as she cast her darkest spell. She summoned hundreds of large, violet spikes, ones that I’ve only ever seen dark mages use, and in an instant she had impaled Felix with them. Oh Seiros-- I can still hear his screams.” 

Lambert was horrified at his father’s gruesome description of Felix’s death-- though he could not deny his absurd fascination at the topic. 

“I-I jumped from the wyverns back and rushed to him-- it must have taken half a minute or so, but he was still alive. I slaughtered the bitch-- ahem, pardon me-- the witch who had dared harm him and knelt beside him. He had so many puncture wounds-- even Mercedes would not have been able to heal him. I could do nothing but beg him for forgiveness-- for not mending our relationship when I had the chance… do you know what he told me?”

The thirteen year old heir lifted his head, silently inquiring what it was that Felix had said.

“It’s pathetic really,” he had said, “that only now you apologize for all your wrongdoings.” Brushing a tear from his eye, Dimitri continued with his recount. “But… I forgave you a long time ago so it’s pointless really. Since I won’t get the chance to say it again… I’m sorry Dimitri. It’s a shame that my old man had to die, that the Fraldarius line can’t protect the royal family anymore. So take our relic… so at least… even after death we can serve you.” 

“What! He gave you House Fraldarius’s hero’s relic?” The king chuckled and nodded. “Wait… so what is their relic anyway? Oh, is it his blade? Or another lance like yours?” 

“No, it’s not a weapon like the other lines, in fact… it’s a shield, the Aegis Shield.” Dimitri discarded his regal cape and revealed a shining golden shield from beneath it. “In the distant past, the Fraldarius and Blaiddyd line were connected through marriage… from that union a royal child was born, so we carry the Fraldarius crest within our bloodline.” He gently set the shield onto the bedding, encouraging his son to inspect it closely. “Now Lambert… when you were born we had you checked for a crest-- as is royal protocol. Surely you can imagine our surprise when you ended up with the major Fraldarius crest over the minor Blaiddyd one-- especially after we had added Felix’s name to your own.”

Lambert let out an audible ‘huh’ at his father’s words before narrowing his eyes in concentration.

“Is- is that why I’m not heir to the throne?” He questioned, a calculating shine overtaking his warm brown eyes. His father nodded, averting his gaze as if he was ashamed.

“I know you must be upset--” Dimitri began before he was abruptly interrupted. 

“Upset?” Lambert declared incredulously, “why would I be upset? This explains so much! That’s why all my tutors teach minor politics and the inner workings of territory government! Why, I have such frequent field assignments to Fraldarius territory… Heck, it even explains why I’ve had to meet with the heirs of House’s Galatea and Gautier so often… But what does that mean for House Blaiddyd? What of the Kingdom?”

King Dimitri cracked a smile, seemingly relieved that his son was taking the news so easily. 

“Well, your brother, Rodren, will be taking the throne; yes, he has a Crest of Blaiddyd, so you needn’t trouble yourself with worry.” His words struck a chord within his son, who blinked his bleary eyes and scooted off his father’s lap. “Ah, have you grown bored of our conversation already?” The newly realized Fraldarius heir nodded and smiled tiredly.

“Thank you for telling me father…” 

“Of course it was your right to know as Fraldarius heir.”

“No, I meant, thank you for telling me Uncle Felix’s story… and for the shield. I hope I can live up to his legacy…” With those last words exchanged, Lambert fell into a deep slumber, leaving Dimitri to stare at his son in awe. He brushed the blondes hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, picking up the Aegis Shield and placing it on a nearby chair. He stood up and made to leave the room before freezing in the arched doorway and looked back towards his son.

“I’m sure you will, Lambert, I’m sure you will.” And for a mere moment, Dimitri could have sworn he had heard Felix’s voice say “he already has.”

[ashleyspinelliburnbook]

S1E5: King Gus/Big Brother Chad

Before starting this post, I wrote a light analysis of the opening sequence, and in it, I realized that probably most of my previously-held beliefs about Gus’ character come from that alone. He gets gum all over himself and falls into the ball bin, which is on wheels, so it goes flying. Which is just...so not his character at all, it turns out. I mean, he might not be all Army macho like his dad, but he’s not a dweeb, either.

Anyway, this first episode just serves to further prove me wrong, and I’m cool with that.

King Gus

You know how the first season of a network TV show usually sucks? Like, it gets by on what it can get by on — famous actors, okay writing, a fun premise, or...famous actors — but if the show gets picked up for more seasons, it becomes the season where you’ll be selling it to your friends as, “If you must watch the first season, take it with a grain of salt”?

Animated kids’ shows are not! like! that! Some of the things that this show has already gotten into are, like, season three minimum for a network adult show. You know, let the characters live their daily lives for a bit, then start throwing wrenches. But already, we’ve had “what if two characters kissed,” “what if one of the main characters joined the Ashleys,” “what if Miss Finster had a boyfriend,” and now we’re getting “what if one member of the gang became king?”

That’s right — Gus, meek, dweeby Gus, is king of the playground. Temporarily. Until King Bob returns from his tonsillectomy.

How? Well, King Bob doesn’t want someone stronger than him, or smarter than him — someone who the people might like more than him. He wants a regular guy, someone who’ll do what he’s told, who can think for himself. And, as luck would have it, there’s our boy Gus getting gum all over himself (literally, as it turns out) — right place, right time.

TJ and Spinelli are stoked that their friend is king, and they start brainstorming all the ways that they’ll finally have a say in the goings-on of the playground now (Spinelli, for example, expresses an interest in becoming “Lord Emperor of the West Playground”). Gus is less excited, likely because he didn’t ask for this, but TJ assures him they’ll be around to give him advice along the way. In the meantime, he’s just gotta be “kingy,” TJ says.

(Side note: Without all his stuff on, King Bob kinda looks like a turn-of-the-century football player. Tell me I’m wrong.)

So anyway, Gus is sworn in, and he’s immediately taken by the idea of all the snacks he can eat. King Bob’s henchmen bring him crackers and his preferred brand (and vintage!) of apple juice, more snack food, a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo, and...cookies. We’ll get to the cookies in a bit.

Meanwhile, things on the greater playground aren’t going so well. TJ and the gang want to go up to visit Gus, but they learn there’s increased bureaucratic nonsense they have to endure first — namely, a ton of paperwork that may or may not ever go through. (You know the Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode where Amy is trying to submit paperwork for a block party request, and she does it all correctly, but she still somehow doesn’t have the right forms? It’s like that.)

Gus is then tasked with his first royal judgment: deciding which of two girls gets to keep a doll they’re fighting over. In true King Solomon style, he suggests cutting the doll in half. When one girl is fine with this and the other is visibly upset, Gus...gives it to the girl who’s fine with this. Oops.

“It’s the second-best decision you could have made!” his henchman says, and we continue.

Angered by not having the proper kind of cookies he desires, Gus imposes a cookie tax on the playground: every day, each student must bring him two cookies. He’s tasking the third-, fourth-, and fifth-graders with building a cookie mine in the meantime (as well as renaming kickball “Gusball” and mandating that each recess begin with the student body singing a song about...Gus).

It’s then that the gang say “to hell with bureaucracy” and just walk up the jungle gym to see King Gus, who’s happy to see them until they start questioning his motives. TJ, then Gretchen, then the rest of the school (more or less) get locked up — except for the poor kid who can’t pay the cookie tax, who’s sentenced to hard labor.

The kids stage a protest to usurp the throne of this cookie-centered dictatorship, but before it can escalate to riot levels (well, aside from the dodgeball-throwing and Spinelli getting a few good punches in), King Bob returns. There’s a smooth transition of power, and suddenly, Gus is no longer king.

“Uneasy is the head that wears the crown,” Mikey says, as the gang decides whether or not to be mad at not-king Gus. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Gretchen adds. And soon enough, they’re all friends again.

Spinelli does hear back about her application to be Lord Emperor of the West Playground, and I really want to know if that worked out and that she’s just, like, doing that from here on out. Maybe that’ll be my personal headcanon.

Takeaway: Boy, oh, boy, do we keep getting these #deep Gus episodes or WHAT? When are we gonna get a good Gretchen episode?

Big Brother Chad

This isn’t the most important part, but after watching this episode, I have to ask: Does this type of stereotypical nerd exist...anywhere?

Not to spoil the episode’s first big twist right away, but here’s the scoop: Vince, who, um, plays sports(?), has a big brother named Chad. And Chad...is a geek.

See, Chad uses pocket protectors. His suspenders hike his pants up past his ankles, he wears glasses that are taped together, he’s in chess club, he has a pet turtle, he’s the scorekeeper on the baseball team, and his idea of a good time is going to Compu-Hut and watching the employees “unpack the latest mousepads.”

Your garden-variety ‘90s geek, basically. A person I have never seen before, and a person who may not have ever existed all at once like that.

But see, the real twist is unraveled throughout the episode. Vince is bragging to the gang that his big brother is going to pick him up from school that day, and word spreads around school fast. Everyone remembers Chad — who it looks like his about five years older than Vince — but they haven’t seen him in a long time. (How big is this town supposed to be? Anyway.)

The entire student body is waiting outside after school to get a glimpse of Chad, who arrives...on a bicycle he’s fashioned himself along with a sidecar, which he calls “the Chadmobile.”

“Why, he’s nothing but a nerd!” King Bob proclaims, and the students all leave disappointed.

To Gretchen, a self-proclaimed geek, it all makes sense. “What fifth-grader would want to hang out with kindergarteners?” she asks, referencing the gang’s earlier reminiscing about all the things Chad taught them when they first started school. The next day, though, Vince isn’t convinced, even as Gretchen doubles down with, “Take it from someone who knows.”

At dinner that night, it all starts to click, though, as Chad regales the table with tales of his “really neat” biology class and the aforementioned mousepads story. Vince has a breakdown, crying, “It’s true! It’s true!” and that’s when things start to get a little weird for me.

See, Chad hasn’t been hiding any of this. The sign on his bedroom door says “Chad’s room: Earthlings keep out!” He sleeps in a racecar bed, upon which he’s playing 3-D chess. And, well, his whole look.

“You’re a geek,” Vince tells his brother, thinking he’s telling Chad something he doesn’t already know.

“Yeah, so?” Chad replies.

Weirdly, the thing that sells it for Vince is that he always thought his brother was cool because he listened to CDs. But Chad explains they’re “geek CDs: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sondheim, Gilbert and Sullivan.”

“Sorry, Vince, but I am what I am,” Chad says. “And the fact is, I’m a geek.” And then he logs into a chatroom he’s in with his friends.

Look, okay, part of it is weird that Vince didn’t notice that Chad was who he was sooner, especially when the stereotypes are in your face like that (and one of your best friends also fits those stereotypes to a T). But even if we haven’t all had the experience of checking in on a much older kid later in life, we’ve all grown up ourselves. In kindergarten, the fifth graders were impossibly tall, and therefore impossibly cool. In third grade, I knew someone who had a sister in high school. But as I reached those ages, I didn’t feel impossibly cool, or old, or anything. I knew myself a little better — I knew that I liked hanging out with the band kids, even though that wasn’t “cool” — but I wasn’t trying to be anything to younger kids. I was content having grown into myself (as much as any angsty high schooler can).

What really drives this point home is the end, where a bully that Vince got to stop bothering some younger kids earlier in the episode shows up with his big brother, who’s out to teach Vince a lesson. Chad shows up and threatens this kid...with not helping him with his math homework anymore, after which the other big kid immediately backs down.

“Just because I’m a geek doesn’t mean I’m not a cool geek,” Chad says. Because isn’t the real reward being confident in who you are — or, in this case, confident in who your older brother is?

Takeaway: What do we think of the name “Chad” these days? I think this was how I always pictured “Chad” as a kid, perhaps because of this episode and perhaps because I didn’t know any other Chads. Now, um, that name is seen...quite differently, isn’t it? I greatly prefer this Chad.

[starsailorstories]

Overview of The High Fidelities

The High Fidelities are the main conceptual focuses of respectability in Basilean culture. They’re spiritual and legal understandings of relationships of mutual obligation. There are Low Fidelities too--any relationship or interpersonal transaction can be reduced to a base sense of what is owed if you’re committed enough--but the High Fidelities are codified, widely agreed upon descriptions of the duties that accompany various roles in life which are variably interpreted and then used to enforce them. With a few exceptions, you’re expected to only have one at a time, and to have none is seen as one step short of being a straight-up outlaw.

At their best, they ensure reciprocity and fairness at all levels of life. At worst, they can trap people in toxic situations. Once currencies and commodities become involved, see Das Kapital Vol. 1 Chapter 1 lol

They are as follows:

Filial Piety

This is the only Fidelity that all people are theoretically just born with, and the only one that doesn’t technically preclude having other legal ones (sometimes midwives and other positions that are directly accessory to a Mother’s leadership have a local “leveling up” that makes them accountable to the colony and precludes them from other Loyalties but some colonies are a lot more casual about it).

The idea is that once you’re an adult, you have an obligation to contribute to the perpetuation of your colony (which in archaic times looked like pooling resources to be traded by your Mother and her immediate family and dispensed as needed, under the feudal system looked like paying tribute, and in many places nowadays looks like generating profit for a local capitalist who then gives your Mother a relatively tiny cut that’s distributed to everyone) and to take care of the sisters who raised you as needed when they get old.

This isn’t always enforced legally or all that strongly. Colonies don’t generally expect direct community contribution from sisters who have moved away, for example, or have fallen on hard times (in fact historically the existence of the economic colony unit specifically aimed to prevent single-household poverty, but it’s getting harder for them to do that as the wealth gap gets wider). It’s basically a legal mechanic for families/colonies to assign responsibility for children and elders and to allow for civil suits if those responsibilities are neglected.

You can sever legal filial piety as well, but you either have to prove that one party committed a crime against the other, or both parties have to agree to it.

Fealty

Fealty is another Fidelity that many people are born into, as some types can be inherited. In many places it’s meant to be exclusive and prevents the taking on of other Fidelities--in other words, peasants can’t get married. The earliest forms of fealty on record were just extended versions of the obligations of filial piety that allowed for the divvying up of land and other resources to a workforce as a means of supporting the needs of the colony. Since then, as the monarchy and aristocracy in Basilea has become entrenched and spread its influence as far as the ante-dome, it’s become a thing where several colonies can be bound in fealty to the same titled landowner.

There are two main types of fealty: precaria, or land tenure--the agreement to provide labor on the private property of a noble in exchange for the rights to live there and be ‘reasonably’ provided for (at least in the eyes of the powers that be), which in present times can be extended to an “arrangement” between workers and owners of the means of production--and tenure of a position, which can include knighthood and other agreements of honored service to the local sovereign. Originally all submaxima titles were technically positions of fealty, although a lot of them are now legal free agents.

In the age of the Hyperian dynasty, “mass fealty” brings unaffiliated people (a lot of times immigrants, orphans, etc) into an arrangement of fealty to the nation and nobles acting on her behalf in exchange for (shit) currency wages and citizenship. Basically you join the army and swear an oath along with a hundred or so other people, and that oath is held by a noble who becomes your commander in chief. There’s a lot of honor and ceremony around those in mass fealty--they are the protectors of the nation’s Great Ladies Of War, and the courtly love element of that is played up to stir their emotions around their legal fidelity--but they usually don’t get paid or treated any better than convicts in the space galleys.

Sworn Service

Sworn service sounds similar to fealty, but is even less reciprocal. In practice it’s like a quasi-voluntary form of Roman slavery. While it must be submitted to by free will, there are a number of situations that make it as good as social death to pursue any other option.

This is, for the purpose of enforcement anyway, what an umbralis vow is. A lot of local legal codes include the chilling phrase “by free will, if she possesses it” to make an exception for lux entering vows for the same reason they do everything--because they’re told to.

Traditionally, sworn service was reserved for positions of great indebtedness, such as mercy shown at the end of a lost duel to the death (which is a big part of why many Basillans see taking mercy as dishonorable/implying a loss of personal agency) or inability to provide tribute.

Marriage

Basilean astraeas conceive of marriage as a legal institution a little differently from humans. It’s much more common for committed life partners to be unmarried; marriages are about tying together the fates of two households and colonies, not two individuals.

There’s not really a concept of divorce because even if they choose to end their relationship, they still owe each other. You can marry a second time without the first marriage ending, but you can’t get out of the obligations to see to the care of your wife and your wife’s family even if she won’t speak to you. Even if your wife dies, you owe her formal mourning and remembrance, which has a component of financial support to her family as well. 

Even with all this hassle people still generally really want to get properly legally married. Most of the trappings are left over from the origins of legal marriage as a practice for allying noble colonies, meaning that its airtightness was important for keeping the peace. With this history in its wake, it’s become a little bit of a status symbol (especially as it also means you don’t have fidelities of fealty or servitude) and a declaration of being all in on a romance. Still, “modern” and progressive couples who are able to marry sometimes make a big thing of forgoing it simply to avoid being tied down to a bunch of responsibilities. This, of course, is summarily criticized as irresponsible.

Vestal & other priestly vows

Most vestals, priestesses, and holders of other religious offices swear fidelity to whatever deity or faith institution they serve, or, in the case of small-town shrinekeepers, to the protector spirits of the municipality itself. Their obligations are primarily ceremonial and social--maintaining a connection to the goddesses for their followers--but some take vows to uphold specific disciplines, like asceticism, charity, teaching, or wisdom-seeking. 

[fire-or-clear]

Familia Olvidada

~~More to come, I think. This is my first time writing for Mayans, and my first time writing at all in a while. Please let me know what you think(:~~

“I’m back, tia. I just hope they’re happy to see me.” You murmur, pulling your necklace out from under your shirt and rubbing your thumb over the engraving of the Virgin Mary on one side, and Saint Christopher on the other. You hesitate for a second longer, and then open the door and step out of your car. You quickly cross the street and walk up to the door of Carniceria Reyes, and step inside. There’s a customer standing in front of the counter, but you pay her no mind. Instead, you watch as the man behind the counter turns to look at you.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute.” He says automatically, and you see his eyes widen just a touch as he recognizes you. You smile apologetically and nod, before turning to look at the collection of books on a shelf to your right. You pick up a book of poems written in Spanish, and you thumb through it for a few minutes. Eventually, you hear the woman say thanks and goodbye, so you turn towards the counter. The door shuts behind you, and you set the book down.

“Hola tio Felipe.” You mumble. Felipe chuckles and shakes his head.

“It really is you, then. It’s been a long time, mija.” He says. You nod.

“Yeah it has been. I don’t want to interrupt your work, I just wanted to tell you that I’m in town.” You inform him.

“I’m glad. Here, take these.” He says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. You frown and open your mouth, but he shakes his head. “Ah ah, callate, I don’t want to hear it. Go to the house. Have a beer, get cleaned up, do what you want, but I expect you to be there when I’m done closing the shop. We’ll talk then.” He says, not unkindly. You chuckle and nod, accepting the keys.

“Alright, tio. See you then.” You reply. He nods, so you turn and exit the shop. You return to your car and make your way to Felipe’s house. It’s not very far, and you remember your way around Santo Padre like you were here yesterday. You park against the curb and climb out of your car, and you take a second to look the house over. It looks practically the same as it did when you were a kid. You walk up the stairs with a smile, and carefully unlock the door.

As you pass through the hallway and the dining room, the kitchen and the living room, you note that not much has changed, but some things certainly have. Like the shelf that holds a vase on it, a vase you’re sure contains your tia’s ashes. When you were a kid, there was a radio there, and it was always on. Quietly in the mornings, during breakfast and while the adults read the paper or looked through mail. Louder in the afternoons, when it was usually just you and your cousins, at least during the summer. And then quieter again in the evenings, after dinner, when Felipe would spin and twirl Marisol around the kitchen to whatever song was on. And the fact that other than surrounding the vase, there are no flowers in the house, that’s something that’s changed. But you suppose that makes sense.

After standing in front of the shelf just looking at the vase for a while, you sigh.

“I miss you. Everything good about me came from you.” You murmur, before heading into the living room and dropping down onto the couch.

Just over an hour later, you hear the front door open, and a moment later, Felipe walks into the living room. He pauses when he sees you, and then he turns and walks out of the room. He comes back with two beers, and he hands you one before he takes a seat in the recliner. You nod your thanks and take a swig, and he does the same.

“You know, I was surprised when you came to the service in uniform. I was surprised by how surprised I was, because it makes sense.” He starts. You frown, confused.

“Me being in uniform made sense?” You repeat.

“You being in the Army makes sense.” He corrects.

“Oh.” You reply blankly. Felipe chuckles.

“Not forever, mija. Unless that’s what you want. Just.. you doing a tour or two, or however many. It did you some good, I’m guessing.” He elaborates. You nod.

“Best choice I ever made. But I’m out now.” You reply. He nods.

“When your mom called us and told us that she hadn’t heard from you in weeks and had no idea where you were, I was worried. I had no idea where you could have gone. But Marisol knew you’d be okay, wherever you were. She knew that wherever you were, it was better than being with your mom. We’d both hoped that you’d show up here eventually.” He says. You swallow hard and take a drink.

“I’d planned to make it out here, originally. I got into it with my mom, like we usually did, but I was tired of it. I was tired of watching her pretend to be okay, while she fell deeper and deeper into the bottle. So I packed a couple of bags and went to stay at a friends house. I figured I’d save up enough for a flight out here, but I wasn’t just sick of my mom, I was sick of the town too. I wanted out, tio. Permanently. I was afraid my mom would talk tia into sending me back. So I went to a recruiting station and I heard them all out, each branch. I picked the Army, and I went up to do my physical and job selection the next day. I was sworn in and shipped to basic a week later.” You explain. Felipe raises his eyebrows.

“But who did you write to during basic? Who went to your graduation?” He asks. You smile tightly and shake your head.

“No one. I spent my free time shining shoes and reading. After the graduation ceremony, I went for a run.” You answer. Felipe looks upset, so you shake your head.”That was on me, tio. I could’ve written you and tia a letter. I could have called. I chose to just.. drift. And I regret it more than anything. I thought I’d have time.” You murmur, glancing at the vase and then back at Felipe. He sighs and nods.

“We all thought there’d be more time. She knew you loved her, she never doubted that.” He says. You nod and drink more of your beer. “I’m sorry, about after the service. About not asking you to stay.” He says.

“You were grieving. We all were, but it was different for you. I didn’t come here expecting everyone to act like nothing had happened. I didn’t come so that I could pull anyone’s attention away from tia. I just came to pay my respects to the best woman I’d ever known.” You reply gently. Felipe pauses for a moment and then nods.

“And this time? Are you still just passing through?” He asks. You shake your head.

“No, this time I’d like to stay. If it’s alright with you and the boys.” You answer. Felipe chuckles.

“You’ll always have a place here, Y/N. You’re family, and that’ll never change.” He says easily. You smile, relieved.

Gracias, tio. Speaking of the boys, how are they?” You ask. Felipe sighs, which worries you.

“A lot’s changed since the last time you were here. A few months after the service, Ezekiel saw the same car he saw leaving the shop just before he found Marisol. He chased the driver, they both shot at each other, and then someone came up behind Ezekiel, and startled him. He fired, and the man he killed ended up being a cop. Ezekiel got arrested, and he spent the last 8 years in prison.But the cop ended up being dirty, so Ezekiel got released, a few months ago. Not long after his brother got arrested, Angel joined the local motorcycle club, the Mayans. After Ezekiel got out, he decided to join as well. He’s prospecting.” Felipe explains. By the time he’s finished, you’re staring at him in shock.

“Madre de Dios.” You breathe. Felipe sighs and nods before taking a drink. “Were you upset? When they joined?” You ask carefully.

“Well I wasn’t jumping for joy. But they have each other, and that has to be good enough for me.” He answers. You’re not entirely convinced, but you just nod.

“They’ll be glad to see you.” Felipe says. You smile tiredly.

“I hope you’re right.” You sigh.

“They’re on their way.” Felipe says as he retakes his seat in the living room. You nod, absently picking at the label of the beer bottle in your hands. It’s been over 8 years since you’ve seen your cousins, and 12 since you’ve actually spoken to them. You didn’t get a chance to talk to them at your tia’s service, which was probably a good thing. But now, it’s time to face the music. To try and reconnect with the only family you actually cared about. Felipe was intimidating enough to reconcile with, but his sons are a different story.

As a kid and a teenager, you’d had things in common with both Reyes brothers. You’d always loved to read, so you and EZ got on well in that aspect, but you stopped being very studious in middle school, while EZ focused more on his grades as he got older. During the summers when you’d go visit the Reyes family, you and EZ always read at least one book at the same time so you could talk about it, but other than that, he was always with his girlfriend. Which you couldn’t blame him for, and you were always with Angel anyways. You and Angel would play video games together, or go watch movies, or talk about tattoos and cars. You’d always had a good relationship with both your cousins, which is why you were nervous to see them again. After all, you’d basically dropped off the face of the earth with no word of explanation to them.

You straighten up at the sound of motorcycle engines, and take a long pull of your beer as you listen to the engines cut out and then hear footsteps on the porch. From what you heard of Felipe’s conversation, he hadn’t told his sons that you were here, just that he wanted them to come to the house if they had some free time. Felipe catches your eye and gives you a reassuring nod, and you nod back as the front door opens.

“Pop? Where you at?” EZ calls out.

“Living room.” Felipe replies. EZ comes into the room first, and then freezes when he spots you. Angel stops abruptly so that he doesn’t run into his brother.

“EZ what the fuck-” He starts, before he notices you. You smile weakly at the pair of them. “Holy shit.” Angel blurts. You huff a laugh at that.

“Hi Angel. Ezekiel.” You greet them. That seems to snap EZ out of it, and he quickly makes his way towards you.

“Y/N, oh my god.” He says. You quickly climb to your feet, just in time to get wrapped up in a tight hug. You laugh and hug EZ in return.

“This is a better reaction than I was expecting.” You admit. EZ steps back and shrugs.

“I’m just glad you’re back.” He says. You nod.

“Yeah, me too.” You agree. EZ takes a seat on the couch, and you turn towards Angel, who still looks shocked.

“I think you broke him.” EZ says. You laugh nervously.

“I never thought I’d see the day.” You reply. Angel shakes his head.

“I’m not broken. I’m just having a hard time believing this is actually happening.” He says, still staring at you. You swallow hard and nod.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, that I haven’t contacted any of you. I don’t have an excuse, I just- I’m gonna try to make up for it.” You say. Angel shakes his head and finally steps towards you, coming to a stop right in front of you and surprising you by yanking you into his arms.

“Shut up, cuz. You’re home now. Just don’t fucking disappear again, you hear me?” He asks. You nod against his shoulder and hug him back, feeling the tension and fear drain out of you.

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.” You mumble. Angel squeezes you for a few more seconds, and then he lets go and drops down onto the couch as well, leaving you the spot in the middle. You glance over at Felipe and see that he’s smiling. You smile back and take a seat between your cousins, and you feel the tightness in your chest finally ease up all the way.

After chatting aimlessly with the Reyes family for a while, you all eat dinner together, and then return to your spots in the living room.

“So you’re staying, right? Here in SP?” Angel asks. You nod.

“Yeah, I am.I got an honorable discharge, and I have to go up to San Diego in a couple of days to finalize the paperwork and all that, but then I’m done. And I’m here to stay.” You answer.

“Do you have somewhere to stay, mija?” Felipe asks.

“Si, tio. I um, I bought a house here a couple of years ago.” You admit. Felipe, Angel and EZ all look surprised. “I always knew I wanted to come back here. I was happy in the Army, and I thought about staying in for the long haul, but I just- I missed my family. I missed Santo Padre. When I had just over 2 years left of my contract, I was finally sure that I didn’t want to sign on for another tour. And so I kept an eye on the properties here in town. I saw one that I liked, so I bought it. It’s fully furnished, and I have the key. I just never had the opportunity to come down and see it, and I didn’t want to come and try to make amends with you three and then have to leave again.” You explain. EZ leans to the side and nudges you with his shoulder, and then smiles.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters. But if you want to leave again, even I won’t be able to stop Angel coming after you, just so he can kill you himself.” He says. You both laugh and turn to look at Angel, but he just nods.

“Don’t make me come after you, prima.” He warns. You shake your head.

“You won’t have to. I’m here, and I’m staying.” You reply.

“You’re home, Y/N. Family is what’s important. Everything else is just the extra shit.” EZ says. 

“Yeah. I know that now.” You agree. He nods, and looks at Felipe and then Angel.

“Me too.” He says, and you sense a story there, but you don’t pry.

You watch as the smoke coming from yours and Angel’s mouths floats up and out of sight. He’d announced that he was stepping out for a smoke, and hadn’t been at all surprised when you’d followed him and pulled a pack out of your uniform pants. Now, you wait for what you know is coming. EZ opted to stay inside and help Felipe clean up, and you wonder if he meant to give Angel time to interrogate you, or if it just worked out that way.

“Are you running?” He starts, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. You shake your head.

“No. If I was running, I wouldn’t even come close to here. If I was running, I’d have stayed gone.” You answer honestly. Angel hums around a mouthful of smoke. You wait, but when he doesn’t say anything, you give him a serious look. “Would you rather I have stayed gone? I’m not looking to cause any problems, not for you, or your dad, or your brother. I don’t have to stay, Angel.” You tell him. He’s shaking his head before you’re finished.

“That’s not it. I’m glad you’re back, Y/N. We all are, don’t doubt that for a second. It’s just gonna take time. It’s been 12 years since you were here, I mean, really here. The fact that you’re out of the Army, that you own a house here, that helps. That makes it real. But I gotta see you here. I gotta- we gotta get to know each other again. Cause shit’s changed, and I don’t think it’s just on my end.” Angel tells you.

“It’s not just you. Like you said, it’s been 12 years. I don’t even know where to start.” You sigh.

“How about at the beginning. Earlier you said you joined the Army to get away from your mom and away from your hometown. Why the Army? Why didn’t you come here? You have to know you could have.” He says.

“I did know that, of course I did. But I didn’t want to run into your parents’ arms and let them support me and take care of me. I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive without any help. I chose the Army because I knew it would be hard for me. It was different from anything else I’d known. It was structure and discipline, and I wanted that. During basic, I thought at least a hundred times that maybe I’d made the wrong choice. All I wanted on some days was to be here, getting into trouble with you, trying to get EZ to live a little. But I also enjoyed it. The physical training was hell, the only part of it I was remotely used to was the running. But it felt good to get stronger. It felt good to be there, earning the right to wear the uniform. And I liked the job I chose. It was hard, but I was good at it. The only thing I really regret is not letting y’all know what I was doing, not staying in contact. If I could go back and change it, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” You explain. Angel is silent for a while, and you stay quiet as well.

“I’m not upset with you. I was, for a while. I thought I would be if you ever came back. But you’re here, and I’m just happy to see you. If you got what you needed from the Army, then I’m happy for you.” He says eventually.

“You had every right to be upset, and you still do. But I’m glad you’re not, because I missed you like hell. I’ll spend as much or as little time with you as you want, whenever you want. I want to fix this, to fix what I fucked up. You were like a brother to me when we were younger, and I want that back. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.” You swear. Angel throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

“We’ll get it back, cuz. You remember what you used to say about family?” He asks. You frown and shake your head.

“No, what?” You ask curiously. He smiles.

“Family ain’t always blood, it’s the people you choose, who choose you too. But it can be blood. You’ve always been my family, you always will be. So let’s fix this.” He answers. You smile and lean into him.

“You’re my only family. You three. Even back then, it was always you, and EZ, and Felipe, and Marisol. You four were the only thing I was ever thankful for when it came to my mom. At least she gave me you.” You admit. Angel squeezes your shoulders before pulling back. The two of you sit in silence while you finish your cigarettes, When you’re done, you both head inside. EZ is pulling the trash out, and Felipe is wiping down the table.

“Guess this means next time, Angel and I are cleaning up?” You ask. Felipe chuckles while EZ nods.

“You better believe it.” Felipe agrees.

When everything is clean and put away, the four of you stand in the living room.

“Well, I gotta go get some shut eye. The club’s always got new grunt work for me to do.” EZ says. Angel laughs, and you smile.

“Alright well, you have my number. Let me know when you’re free, we’ll catch up.” You tell him. He nods.

“Okay. I’m glad you’re home, Y/N. I’ll see you later.” He responds, stepping over to you. He gives you another a tight hug, and then pulls back and says goodnight before heading out. You turn to your tio and cousin.

“I should head to the house and take a look at where I’m gonna be living, and I’m sure you want us out of your hair, tio.” You state. Felipe chuckles and draws you into a hug.

“I’d like some peace and quiet so I can sleep, but I expect you to be in my hair for a long time.” He retorts. You laugh and hug him back.

“I will be. Good night, tio.” You assure him.

“Night pops.” Angel chimes in. The two of you walk out together and cross the yard to where your car and his bike are parked.

“Hey.” You call. Angel looks at you. “Earlier, you said if I got what I needed from the Army, you were happy for me.” You say. He nods, looking curious.

“Yeah. So?” He asks.

“So, are you getting what you need, from this?” You ask, reaching out and brushing your fingers against the leather of his kutte. His forehead creases for a moment, and then he shrugs.

“They’re my brothers. My chosen family. We have our ups and downs, but it’s where I belong.” He replies. You smile.

“I’m glad you have them, then. Let me know when you want to keep catching up, I want to hear about what’s happening on your end.” You offer. Angel nods.

“Yeah, okay. I wanna see the house, too, so you better get it ready quick.” He teases. You laugh and roll your eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll have it up to your standards in a day or two. Good night, primo.” You tell him. He smiles.

“NIght cuz.” He responds, and then you both turn and head off.

You make your way to your new house, and you take the time to relearn Santo Padre. You take in what’s changed, and what’s stayed the same. Eventually, you end up at the right place, and you pull into the driveway.

[bevioletskies]

across the universe [2/8]

summary: Peter, the son of the Chancellor, has lived among the stars for the first ten years of his life. Gamora, the future Commander of Terra, has lived on the ground for the first ten years of hers. Though it’s finally time for the last survivors of the so-called apocalypse to return to Earth, they might not be prepared for what’s waiting for them. But when Peter and Gamora meet and find their worlds irreversibly tangled together, titles, obligations, and the impending war may be the very last thing on their minds.

a/n: The premise of this fic is very loosely based off of The 100, the television show more so than the book series. However, no previous knowledge is required, as I only used the basic concept and language, and none of the storylines or characters arcs from the show.

Fic title is from the song Across The Universe by The Beatles. Prologue can be found here. Warning for injuries, blood, and bad parenting.

word count: 11.4k | ao3 | tag

Gamora felt as if she looked a bit strange to anyone who happened to be nearby - hopefully, nobody - sitting under a tree, tapping one foot impatiently as she sharpened her favorite blade. Logically, she knew it would be safer to hide at the top of the tree in case she came across the wrong clan, but there was a sort of nervous energy pulsating through her that needed to be expended, different to the kind of energy she felt during a training session (or a real fight).

While she waited, her mind wandered to earlier in the morning when she was at breakfast with Nebula. It was hard to look at her sometimes, to see the pieces of her that were no longer her, the pieces that glinted in the sunlight and echoed with a metallic clang when struck. To their father, a broken leg meant a replaced one, an offhand complaint about being unable to hear something meant a complete overhaul of her sensory system. To him, a lost fight meant everything. Gamora looked down to her own arm, watched the silver twist and turn underneath her skin like new veins. They still burned sometimes.

“Gamora?”

She quickly drew her arm behind her back and looked up to see Peter standing there, a boyish grin on his face. He was dressed differently than when she saw him three weeks ago, his hair longer and curling slightly over his shining eyes. The most notable thing, however, was the glow of his hands, and in his cupped palms was a crudely-made rubber ball. “Hapotei.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Happy birthday,” she sighed; she could’ve sworn she’d taught him that last time after they agreed to meet on his eleventh birthday. They’d been meeting in secret for six months now, starting off as her simply teaching him some basics of the language and the planet, then quickly developing into tentative, but hopeful friendship. She also conveniently left out the fact that she was a daughter of Thanos. In all fairness, he spoke fondly of his mother and sister but didn’t speak of his father, either, and they left it at that. She knew it was risky for both of them to be spending time together, but she found herself genuinely enjoying his company, found that she felt just a little bit less like their great and terrible world was waiting for her to lead the way. He was the only person in her life who didn’t know her predetermined fate.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she got to her feet and went to join him, stashing her blade as she did. “I think it’s weird that your people remember what day they were born.”

“I think it sucks that your people don’t,” he shot back, though not unkindly. “But c’mon, isn’t this cool? Made it myself!” He held out his hands, proud. She poked the ball gingerly, leaving a permanent fingerprint on its surface. “Okay, so it’s not the best thing ever - ”

“It’s...better,” she said slowly, thinking back to the time he’d presented her with what looked like an approximation of a deflated balloon. She had asked him about the light the second time they met since she never got the chance during their first encounter, and ever since then, he’d been far too eager to bring deformed creations along with him. “You’re getting better.” Her eyes flickered upwards to his shoulders, taking in the shiny red leather. “Your jacket...it smells new.”

“You can smell - yeah, okay,” Peter chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a birthday present from Yondu. Oh, and my mom gave me this!” He unhooked something from the belt loop of his jeans and held it out to her, some rectangular device that looked positively ancient compared to all the technology they both had access to. She carefully took it, turning it over in her hands as if it would magically explain itself. “It’s called a Walkman. Plays music.”

“My people don’t have music,” Gamora said. Peter looked scandalized. “What do you do with it?”

“Do? Nothin’. You listen to it. Or you can dance.” He shrugged.

“My people don’t dance,” she retorted, sullen.

“No birthdays, no dancin’...your people really don’t know how to have fun,” Peter grinned. “You gotta dance with me sometime.”

Gamora looked at him dubiously. “...no.”

He only laughed, bright and notably cheerful, even for him, and ambled on down the slope toward the stream, gesturing for her to follow. She huffed impatiently - honestly, she gave him one orienteering lesson and suddenly he was acting like he was the expert - but followed him regardless.

The weather was idyllic, far nicer than it had any right to be. Last night had been another night of war, the kind that raged on until sunrise, when blood seemed brighter and bolder and ridden with guilt. Thanos and Ego had been attacking each other from afar, still having never met in person, and every day it seemed like there was at least another name or two or ten that both sides were left to mourn. Gamora had grown numb to it; Peter had not, holding his breath every time his father had another announcement to make. It was something they never talked about.

“I don’t wanna learn nothin’ new today. Let’s just...sit.” Peter plopped down unceremoniously beside the stream, his legs sprawled out across the pebbles, not caring for the way the water trickled between them, dampening the underside of his jeans.

“If it’s your birthday, how did you get away from your family? Don’t they want to spend time with you?” Gamora asked, sitting neatly beside him. She drew her knees into her chest, away from the water.

“Parents are working, sister’s with her friends. They didn’t even see me leave,” he said, shrugging. “Mom said she’s gonna make me a cake later.”

“Your mother sounds so perfect whenever you talk about her,” she said wistfully. Peter perked up.

“You wanna meet her?”

Gamora was startled by the question. It had never crossed her mind that she and Peter could exist outside of the space they’d created for themselves. She knew she certainly didn’t want Peter to get anywhere near her world, still remembering the awful way he’d looked at her when she mercy-killed one of her soldiers on the night they met. She didn’t want him to look at her like that ever again.

“Maybe,” she hummed, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt. The idea of a parent who loved their children was not something she’d ever entertained. There were plenty of loving families within Sanctuary’s walls, sure, but it was mostly parents adoring the children who were strong enough to become warriors, and disregarding those who weren’t. Her mind went to Drax again, how he used to sit by himself at meals until Gamora (and a reluctant Nebula) decided to join him. Losing his parents so young had done him no favors in so many unfortunate and unforeseeable ways.

“Then come back with me.” Gamora had been so lost in her own thoughts, she nearly forgot what Peter was talking about. “You can have cake and meet my family! Or I guess, my mom and my sister.”

“Not your father?” she asked.

“Everyone says he’s not a ‘family man’,” he said dismissively. “Y’know, whatever that means.”

“I don’t,” she said, frowning. “Does he work a lot? You make him sound like a very important person.”

“He’s...uh...yeah, you could say that,” Peter hedged, refusing to meet her eyes. Gamora’s frown deepened.

“Is he part of your army?” she persisted. “Like a general? A captain?”

“Like...he’s kind of…” He scratched at a non-existent itch on the back of his hand, his gaze now fully cast downward into his own lap. “...the Chancellor.”

Gamora shot to her feet, her mind racing with possibilities, her heart beating with betrayal. Already, she could feel tears burning hot in her eyes, taunting her for letting trust overtake instinct. “Your father is the one killing my people?!”

“Your people started it,” Peter mumbled petulantly, cowering, though he knew it was only going to make things worse. “My mom and all them others, they just wanted their planet back. I don’t see why we gotta die for it.”

“I can’t - ” Gamora exhaled, resting one hand on her stomach, fingers splayed outward, willing herself to calm down. “There are orphans, Peter. Children who don’t have parents because your father wanted it that way.”

“You think we don’t got that, too?” His voice was rapidly rising; fists balled up in his lap. He didn’t want to give Gamora the satisfaction of knowing she’d angered him; Meredith had told him too many times before that he needed to be better with his temperament. “Everyone...everyone’s got dead people. ‘Cos of my dad, and...what’s his name again?”

“Thanos.” Gamora swallowed. “My father.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to have his blood run cold, to have his mouth fall open in a rather comical manner, though neither of them were laughing. “You gotta be kiddin’.” When she shook her head, he also got to his feet, shaking off the damp bits of grass that had stuck to his clothes. “Some birthday I’m having.” With that, he turned and ran off, ignoring Gamora calling after him, a voice he’d been so thrilled to hear when he first arrived, a voice that now made him feel vaguely ill.

“Peter, please!” Gamora shouted, even after he was long gone, and she groaned in frustration, collapsing back down onto the ground, not caring when her boots struck the water and splashed the hems of her pants. It amazed her how terrible everything had become so quickly, how awfully serendipitous it was that the one Skaikru she’d befriended was her equivalent in the worst possible way. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them back into her chest.

Inhale, exhale, she told herself, trying to think of all the breathing exercises she’d been taught, the rules that had been drilled in her head. She could almost hear Thanos’s voice, paradoxically dull and menacing at the same time: “Your anger doesn’t feed you, daughter, it starves you. What you need is focus. You are a plangona, the future heda. Do not waste your breath on those who don’t deserve it.” Her eyes slid closed, her breath evening out, gentle. In. Out. In. Out.

In her peace, Gamora never saw the unfamiliar hands that reached out for her.

Peter returned to New Arkardia not too long after he left, his face and fists still burning with anger. He was instantly waved through the gates upon his arrival, weaving through the crowd of people who either reached out to greet him with far too much enthusiasm or looked at him with far too much derision.

He reached his house a few minutes later, a happy medium between his father’s lust for luxury and his mother’s desire for normalcy, built a mere two days after they landed on Earth. Peter had to admit, as much as he despised Ego’s over-the-top approach to just about everything, the New Arkadia settlement was something to be proud of. It was a small, self-contained town, with dirt roads winding and snaking along between the trees, houses and community buildings nestled along the way, running alongside the river. They had a steady stream of food and supplies, all the adults had settled back into the jobs they had on the original Ark, and the children had mostly adjusted to their newfound freedom, the ability to take in fresh air after a long day in the classroom. However, no one strayed too far from their territory, knowing that the other factions were still hunting them, waiting to chase them right off the earth.

“Peter, is that you?” Meredith called from the living room when he opened the front door. “Where’ve you been runnin’ off to, baby?”

“Followin’ Yondu around,” he lied easily, kicking off his shoes. He went to join her, still awed at the fact they had more than one couch, bookshelves that went all the way to the ceiling, thick pile rugs and quilted blankets and a crackling fireplace. It was a bit like the bigger apartment they’d had when he and Mantis were younger before Ego shuffled them off to their smaller place in favor of investing in their return to Earth, full of quiet luxuries he didn’t realize he’d missed so much.

“That’s odd, because I just left my graveyard shift at the medical center and Yondu was there, checkin’ up on that guard of his who got speared last night.” Meredith clicked her tongue to punctuate her point, though her eyes never left the book she was reading. “Don’t lie to me, Peter. You’ve been sneaking out on us, and as your mother, I have the right to know who, where, and why.”

Peter hesitated. “I made a friend.”

“What’s their name?” she pressed, flipping the page.

“Don’t matter,” he grouched. “We got into a fight. That’s why I came back.”

Meredith finally set her book aside, sweeping Peter up in her arms. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sure things’ll smooth over eventually. They must be special if you wanted to spend your birthday with them. How far were you?”

“Outside the gates,” he mumbled into her shoulder. She instantly released him.

“Peter,” she exclaimed, the growl in her voice causing him to recoil. “Do you think your daddy made all them rules just because he can? Do you think I’m stitchin’ up wounds, day and night, because our guards just got a little clumsy?”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” He sank further into the couch cushions, ashamed. “I just...wanted to get closer to the river. The forest gets kinda boring after a while.”

“You only go outside the gates if you’ve got Yondu with you, you hear me?” She cupped his chin, tilting his head upward so his eyes could meet hers. “You promise me that.”

Peter muttered another apology, then curled into her side again, soothed by her warmth and her perfume. He didn’t want to think about how things had gone so wrong an hour ago, all the things he thought he understood about Gamora and their newfound friendship now soured by their respective truths. Of course, a part of him still wanted to see her again, but he had a feeling it wasn’t meant to be.

Gamora woke to a dull throbbing in her temples and an ache in her side. She pushed herself up into a seated position, taking stock of her surroundings, and her heart lurched in the realization that she was somewhere entirely unfamiliar. At most, she could tell she was in an underground cellar, with old-fashioned metal bars and sturdy stone walls, none of the advanced technology that Thanos used for the prisons on Sanctuary. An opposing faction, then. Can’t be Azgeda, she thought dizzily, prodding herself for broken bones, sprained joints and pulled muscles. They don’t take people alive.

It wasn’t long before two soldiers came thundering down the steps, leering at her from the cellar door. “Heda,” one of them said mockingly, threading his spear between the bars so he could prod her in the shoulder. He pressed deeply enough to draw just the tiniest bit of blood. “Did you sleep well?”

“Let me go - ” She banged her fists against the bars with a snarl. “I command you, shilkru. Let. Me. Go.”

“You are in no position to make demands. You are not our leader, wanheda is,” the other said; his voice was colder, more monotonous. “What business does he have, choosing a child as his successor?”

“Why do you care? You don’t follow him anyway,” Gamora retorted.

“It matters when we all live here, heda. It matters when your decisions could wipe out this planet, again. What is it about you that makes you so special?”

She faltered. Thanos always told her she was stronger, cleverer, fiercer than the others, but she didn’t feel that way. His army had children who were far more ruthless, and she could only imagine what the younglings of the rival factions were like. For people who had arrived here with some of the most sophisticated technology and weaponry in the entire galaxy, they’d all resorted to savagery far too quickly. “Let me go,” she repeated, gritting her teeth. “You won’t get what you want like this.”

“There must be something about you that wanheda prefers over his adult ‘children’,” the first one continued, tapping the spear against the bars, enjoying the way Gamora shivered with every rattle it made. “And if it means we should hold you here until he listens to our demands, so be it.”

“What could you want that you don’t have?” she asked. “I thought Boudalankru took most of our supplies during the first Conclave.”

The soldiers exchanged glances. “How did you know - ”

“You wear stones around your neck and waists, your cellars are made of stone,” she pointed out. “Who else would you be?” She felt an odd sense of satisfaction at their defeated expressions, though there was no time for celebration. “Wanheda will not come for me. He will not listen to you. So kill me, or let me go.”

The stone-faced one stepped even closer, pressing his face against the bars. She could smell his breath; he was close enough to see the sweat forming on her brow. “What did you say?”

“I said…” Gamora’s voice cracked as she reached out, trembling, to grip the head of his spear and pull it right underneath her chin, its tip pressing into the underside of her jaw. “...kill me, or let me go.”

The other soldier put his hand on his companion’s shoulder, tugging him back in warning. “Koken hainofi...tsa bants.”

“Heda, nou hainofi.” She shoved the spear back through the bars and into the soldier’s chest. Though her breath was still coming in short, her palms bloody and her knees buckling beneath her, she couldn’t help but smile as the two of them sprinted up the steps, a large wooden door hastily slamming shut behind them. “Bushhadas,” she muttered. She then turned to look at the cellar, how bare it was, how there was nothing she could to do to free herself. Well, she thought, rolling her jacket sleeves up, not yet.

Two days came and went, and Peter was still restless over what had happened on his birthday. The rest of the night had actually been kind of nice - they had an intimate family dinner at their house, with Yondu and Kraglin dropping by for cake. Even his father had been less moody than usual, though it was mostly because he’d been boasting about his recent “victory” over the Grounders, as the Arkadians had taken to calling them. Afterward, though, Peter moped around in his room, unable to concentrate on his studies or even his usual bouts of self-appointed mischief.

Then, on a miraculously quiet evening in which there were no deaths, no injuries, no war chants or cries to be heard, Peter and Mantis were doing their homework in the living room when she suddenly sat up. Her antennae glowered, casting an eerie light across her face. “Someone is at the gates.”

Ego, who was sitting opposite them, poring over his blueprints for a recreation center, shot to his feet. “Grounder?”

“I think...it is a Grounder child,” Mantis mused. Peter froze.

“Meredith!” Ego called while he pulled on his coat, not bothering to wait for her answer. “There’s an intruder at the gates, watch the children!”

“Dad, wait - ”

“No, Peter, you stay here. Be safe,” Ego insisted, sharply patting them both on the cheeks before sweeping out the front door. Meredith emerged from her private study and came down the stairs moments later.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“There is a Grounder child at the gates,” Mantis repeated. “They are by themselves.”

“Oh, poor darling. Must’ve gotten lost,” Meredith murmured, resting a hand over her heart. “I’m sure your daddy’s gonna help ‘em get right back home - ”

“He didn’t say that,” Peter interrupted. “He said ‘intruder’, not ‘kid’.”

“Peter, you know that don’t mean anything,” Meredith scolded lightly, gesturing for them both to settle back down. “Finish your homework now, you’ve got that big presentation tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, they followed suit, sinking back into the couch and picking up their books again. Meredith briefly went upstairs to grab her stack of patient records and bring them back down with her so she could stay close by, though her eyes flickered to the door every few minutes, tapping her foot against the back of her opposite ankle in restlessness.

Not ten minutes went by before the door burst open and Ego stumbled in, practically tripping over his own feet, breathless. “I need all of you to come with me. Now.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the gates, Peter’s mind and heart racing the entire time. Mantis reached for him and squeezed his hand. At first, he thought it was for herself, that maybe she was worried or scared, until he felt the tension in his body slowly ease its way out. Her breath hitched briefly, followed by a shaky exhale. He turned to smile at her in silent gratitude.

The four of them made their way to the top of the watchtower, joining the two guards who were eyeing something apprehensively on the other side of the gate. Peter had to squint to make sense of what he was seeing, the darkness of the forest swallowing up everything from sight. Then, a silhouette of a child came into focus, short and lanky, but clearly trying to stand tall, to look bigger than they really were. His heart sank when he realized this particular child had no hair.

“She’s been talkin’ that nonsense Grounder talk since she got here,” Ego muttered, his eyes full of hunger. “At first, I thought she was just a distraction for the guards, but then I heard a single word, just one word that I recognized.”

“Ai ste lufa Petr kom Skaikru au,” she called. Her voice was monotonous, dull. “Ai laik Nebula kom Trikru, strisis kom Gamora.”

“Peter? Any idea what she’s saying?” Ego asked urgently.

He hesitated. Mantis, noticing the tremble in his mouth, stood on her toes to peer over the railing, straining her neck to get a better look. “She is desperate.” Meredith made a soft noise of sympathy, reaching to gently pull Mantis back in before she could fall.

“Ai laik Petr kom Skaikru. Weron laik Gamora?” All three of them turned to look at Peter, astonished. Before they could ask the dozens of questions on their mind, Yondu came thundering up the steps, stopping to briefly growl at the guard who stood post at the bottom of the tower and dared remind him of the watchtower’s weight capacity, and shoved his way to Peter’s side.

“You know this kid?” Yondu demanded, gripping Peter’s arm. “You been talkin’ to Grounders?”

“You!” Everyone jumped at Nebula’s sudden language switch, turning back to look at her in time to see her scoff derisively at Peter in a way that made him shrink into himself. “You are my sister’s friend?”

“Not really,” he said, hating the way his voice shook, hating the way everyone’s eyes were fixated on him - not just his family’s, not just Yondu’s, but all the Arkadians who had gathered near the gates, watching the spectacle of the Chancellor’s child, of all people, speaking the Grounder language. “She’s not talkin’ to me no more.”

“She is missing.” Peter’s blood ran cold. “She never came home after she left camp to see you.”

“Did she...did she tell you about me?”

Nebula smirked; it was the first expression she’d made that wasn’t entirely neutral. Somehow, it was even more unsettling. The fact she was quite casually staring down the guards who stood directly opposite her, pointing guns at her head, didn’t help matters, either. “She keeps a box under her bed with these odd...things in it. When she didn’t come home, I went looking for clues in her room and found it, with the word ‘Petr’ written on the lid. There is no Petr in Trikru.” Peter’s face reddened, both out of embarrassment and delight.

“Peter, what is going on here?” Ego said lowly, reaching around Meredith to grab Peter. Before he could, Yondu stepped sideways to block him, holding up his hands defensively. “Captain, step away from my son.”

“You let your boy be, Chancellor, clearly they got a lot to talk about,” Yondu countered, half-bowing his head out of respect, though it only seemed to infuriate Ego further. “And boys, can you stop pointin’ your weapons at the kid already? You’re makin’ me nervous!” The guards slowly lowered their guns, exchanging shameful looks amongst themselves. Nebula seemed unbothered either way.

“We were yelling at each other a bunch, and then I guess I just...left her there,” Peter said, turning back to Nebula, his heart sinking. “Do you think that maybe...someone took her? Like one of the other clans?”

Her chin tilted downward, casting her gaze to her feet. “Maybe,” she repeated, her voice hollow. Then, shaking herself, she turned to leave.

“Wait,” Peter called. She paused mid-step. “I can show you where we were, maybe it’ll help you find her.”

“No, you are not to leave Arkadia,” Ego interrupted firmly, finally managing to step around Yondu and make a literal attempt to shake some sense into Peter, his fingers digging welts his shoulders. “Can’t you see, Peter? This is a trap! Their men are waiting for you on the other side of the ridge.”

“But Dad, if somethin’ happened to her, it’s all my fault,” Peter protested. “I shoulda stayed - ”

“And whoever took that girl would’ve taken you, too. You think they’re looking to make the distinction?” Ego growled. “No, you’re coming straight home with us. Let Yondu’s guards take care of the little actress down there.”

“Ego,” Meredith warned. “Don’t you go after that girl. She’s just lookin’ for her sister, she’s not here to play tricks.”

“This is the first day in months that we’ve had no attacks, and suddenly she shows up, you think that’s a coincidence?” Ego snapped, gesturing wildly in Nebula’s direction. Still, she remained unmoved, arms folded across her chest and tapping her foot like they were mildly inconveniencing her. “You take the kids home, Meredith. Right now.”

“If I may, Chancellor, I think your missus has a point,” Yondu said, clearing his throat. “Now, you know me, I can smell a rat a mile away, and I don’t smell nothing right now. Let me take your boy to help ‘er, and he’ll be safe with me.”

Peter turned to Meredith with wide eyes. “You said I could only go outside the gates when I’m with Yondu, remember?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, bending down to meet him at eye level, running her fingers through his hair, stopping to cup his chin. “I did, didn’t I? What kind of mother would I be if I went back on my word, hmm?”

“Still the best kind,” Peter said simply, smiling. Meredith laughed, kissing his cheek before straightening up. She then turned to Yondu, her expression hardening somewhat.

“You don’t go any farther than where he was with his friend. After that, you let her people, her sister, find her. You come straight home, you hear me?” Meredith ordered. Peter nodded eagerly while Ego let out a resounding protest that fell on deaf ears. “Now you two go and help bring her home.”

Peter could still hear his parents whisper-shouting urgently at each other as he and Yondu passed through the gates, could still picture Mantis’s tiny but brave face as she stood between them, wondering silently if taking their emotions would do her more harm than good. He reached out to grab Yondu’s arm, knowing he’d be embarrassed if he attempted to grab his hand. “Thanks, Yondu,” he said, grinning up at him. “It’s real nice of you to stick up for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I just don’t want no dead kids on my conscience,” Yondu grumbled. “Let’s go talk to her before she gets any ideas. I don’t like the funny way she’s looking at my boys.”

When they reached Nebula, Peter immediately noticed that, like Gamora, she was shorter than her demeanor made her seem. Even so, she was even more intimidating than her sister with her inky eyes, hardset mouth, and bits of metal seemingly dispersed all throughout her body - pieces in her skull, her neck, what he could see of her hands through her fingerless gloves. Peter had seen the occasional new glints of silver in Gamora’s face every now and then, but he was never sure if it was okay to ask. Looking at Nebula, he was certain it wouldn’t have been.

“You got some nerve comin’ all the way out here by yourself,” Yondu commented brazenly by way of greeting, his eyes flickering briefly behind her to check for any signs of movement in the forest beyond. “Your parents know you’re here?”

“We have a man who thinks he is our father,” Nebula said; that seemed to shut Yondu right up. “If you’re lying, Petr kom Skaikru, I will kill you.”

Peter swallowed. “Cool.”

It was a brief fifteen-minute walk to the tree where Peter and Gamora liked to meet, far from the battles and the bases, away from prying eyes. He thought about how he approached her just two days ago, excited to see her and talk to her and ask her all sorts of questions about what her life was like. He thought about how Ego was probably right - whoever took Gamora would have taken him, too. He shuddered.

“Tracks.” Nebula walked slowly beside the tread marks along the riverbank, taking a few steps back and then forward again, trying to judge the direction they’d come from and where they’d gone. “No extra footprints, no animal prints.”

“So maybe she just got lost?” Peter suggested, feeling rather silly. Nebula lifted her head to glare at him.

“No,” she said coolly. “Stealth ships don’t make any sound and only leave one set of tracks. There is only one clan who stole them from Father - Boudalankru.”

“Bow-dah-what?” Yondu repeated dubiously.

“You’ve been useful, Petr,” Nebula said, sounding about as surprised as Peter felt. “Now leave.”

“Wait, are you really gonna look for Gamora all by yourself?” Peter asked. “That don’t sound safe.”

“Nothing is,” Nebula said blithely. “Most of wanheda’s army was sent to look for her in Azgeda and Sangedakru. It will be too late by the time they get to Boudalankru. It has to be me.”

“I wanna help,” Peter volunteered. Nebula looked at him incredulously, though before she could say anything, Yondu grabbed him by the wrist and unceremoniously yanked him aside.

“Hey, I promised your mama I’d take you straight home,” Yondu reminded him. “I know you feel bad ‘bout your little friend, but there ain’t nothing we can do. We don’t know nothing about this boh-dal - ”

“Boudalankru,” Peter repeated, remembering the time Gamora had tried and failed (on his part, that is) to teach him all the clan names. It seemed so long ago. “There’s gotta be something I can do, Yondu. Please?”

“No,” Yondu said firmly. “We’re goin’ home and you’re goin’ straight to bed, or your mama’s gonna skin me alive.”

Gamora’s palms were scraped raw, her fingernails broken, her skin cracked. She’d torn a strip of fabric from the bottom of her shirt, then ripped it in two and wrapped it around her hands to suppress the bleeding. Her throat burned from the lack of water, her stomach ached from the lack of food. It had been at least a day since she was taken, and the guards had refused to relieve her of any of her discomforts for her insolence. Now, she was sat cross-legged on the floor of the dirty, damp cellar, contemplating her next move.

Think, Gamora, think, she muttered inaudibly, running her hands over the length of her body for the thousandth time, checking to see if they’d somehow left something sharp on her person, and somehow she hadn’t noticed until now. Then her thumb snagged on the zipper of her jacket, and oh, she thought, there it is. With a quick jostle and a sharp yank, she broke the zipper head clean off its teeth.

She crawled toward the cellar door, then flattened herself against the ground so she was eye level with its bottom hinges, silently assessing the size of its screws. Grimacing, she got back to her feet and began pacing the length of her tiny confinement, running her fingers along its stone walls. She startled a little when she felt a sharp pinprick on the pad of her finger, enough to draw blood. Gamora stepped closer to examine the spot in question, how invisible it was, even to her enhanced eyes, then lifted the tiny zipper head to its surface. Slowly, but surely, she began to file away at its edges.

Long, arduous minutes went by as her shaking fingers moved back and forth, sometimes catching her skin instead of the metal, sometimes slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. Once she was satisfied with her handiwork, she knelt back down and slotted the sharpened metal into the slot of the screw, turning it ever so slightly. She stretched upwards to reach the top hinges, too, straining with every last bit of strength she had. She stepped back, taking a moment to let her breathing slow to something that wasn’t threatening to swallow her up. You will not die in here.

Gamora stepped forward and rattled the bars. “Chek ai au, bushhadas!” she hollered. “Ai laik yu heda!”

It took less than a minute for the guards to return. “You’re a noisy little thing, aren’t you?”

She merely glared at them. “I’m hungry,” she said, her tone that of an impatient child.

The soldiers exchanged glances, then laughed. “We already told you, you are in no place to make demands, heda,” one of them sneered. He pushed his spear between the bars like he’d done earlier, its end hovering mere inches from her nose. “Why don’t you tell your father we have demands to make of him?”

“He is not my father,” she growled. With that, she gripped the head of the spear and yanked it towards her, jolting it right out of the soldier’s hands so it hit the cellar bars with a loud clang. Using her momentum, she then shoved forward, both her hands braced on either end of the spear, and the door collapsed onto both guards, the hinges shrieking precariously as it fell. They both cried out in shock, their hands scrabbling desperately to get a grip on her somewhere - her hair, her wrists, anything they could use for leverage - but she had them pinned down, the door weighing heavy on their bodies. “If you have demands, you tell them to me.”

The only noise that escaped either of them was an awful, guttural choking sound, sputtering and spitting as the metal bars and the spear laid perfectly across their necks. Gamora got to her feet, pausing to stare at them, swallowing down the acid burning in her throat. They will live, she thought urgently, her heart racing. You didn’t kill them. Not this time.

She sprinted up the stairs, finding herself in a small entryway that seemed to branch off into a whole series of stairways that led to other cells. There, she found her utility belt and weapons tossed aside, and she quickly gathered them up and slipped them back on her person, staying alert to the sights and sounds nearby. When she was ready, she took a deep breath, then pushed her way out of the prison entirely. She was greeted by the blindingly bright sun and the sound of a dozen soldiers’ war cries descending upon her.

“Can’t believe you talked to me into this nonsense,” Yondu grumbled. He, Peter, and Nebula were hidden just outside the vicinity of the guardsmen quarters, where the vehicles were stored. While the Grounders used all manner of technology, as old-fashioned as horses and as high-brow as cloaked ships, the Arkadians kept close to their base, and therefore never needed much more than a few ships and a fleet of armored cars, courtesy of Ego’s limitless powers. “If we don’t die out there, we gonna be dead when we get back. Your daddy’s gonna spear me like an Orloni, then he’s gonna whoop your ass into shape ‘til you’re his age.”

“Do you people ever shut up?” Nebula hissed before Peter could protest. “Why are we hiding from your men?”

“Some of my men are more loyal to the Chancellor than their captain,” Yondu said begrudgingly. “Now get in there ‘fore they see us.”

Their initial take-off was a bit of a tumble since Yondu hadn’t flown since they arrived on Earth - it certainly didn’t help that Peter was trying to push all the buttons on the console in a futile attempt to make himself useful - but then they were airborne, heartbeats pounding rapidly in their ears as they watched the ground get further and further away. Nebula shoved Peter out of the co-pilot’s seat to assist Yondu, grumbling under her breath about his poor steering. Peter then situated himself in the passenger’s seat directly behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“You know how to fly a ship?” he asked, awed.

“Yes,” she replied shortly, though she almost sounded proud of herself.

“Does Gamora?”

Nebula huffed. “How did a goufa like you become friends with my sister?”

“By being awesome,” Peter grinned, leaning back into his chair.

Now it was Yondu’s turn to snort. “Alright, buckle up, kids, I ain’t responsible for you two flyin’ out the window if you don’t.”

Meanwhile, back in New Arkadia, Mantis was curled up by the large bay window at the front of their living room, her face and hands pressed against the glass. She watched as the telltale lights of the underside of Yondu’s ship soar up into the night sky, then peel off into the darkness. “Baby, I thought I told you to go to bed.”

She let out a startled squeak, turning to see Meredith standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. “Sorry, Mama,” she mumbled. “It is just...Peter is not back yet.”

“Your daddy already sent some guards to go looking for ‘em. Nothing we can do not but wait and hope for the best,” Meredith said soothingly, moving to sit beside Mantis by the window. She reached over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling when Mantis nuzzled affectionately against her hand. “You want me to tuck you in tonight, maybe read you a book and take your mind off things?”

“I do not think I can sleep,” Mantis admitted. “My stomach hurts.”

“I know you’re worried,” Meredith nodded, clicking her tongue sympathetically. “I won’t pretend I’m not worried, too. I know you can see right through me. But we have to take comfort in the fact that Peter isn’t alone. This isn’t like that night, okay? This isn’t like when he ran off trying to protect us.”

Mantis shuddered in memory of that fateful night, the night where the Grounders made themselves known to the Arkadians, storming their camp and chanting their war chants, crying their war cries. The night where Peter was there one moment and gone the next, leaving nothing but a trail of light behind him. He had returned with a sort of haggard look in his eyes that no one ever expected to see on a child. He’d collapsed into Meredith’s arms, mumbling about how tired he was, reached out for Mantis’s hand so he could squeeze, so he could know she was still there for him to look for. In that moment, Mantis felt everything he felt - shock, guilt, disgust, and oddly enough, the tiniest glimpse of hope. Now, she wondered if that was the night he met Gamora, if she was the one who helped him feel just a little bit less like that night was the worst night of everyone’s lives.

“Mantis?” She shook herself out of her thoughts to see Meredith staring at her, brow furrowed in concern. “I asked if you wanted some tea for your stomach. I don’t want you on any medication of any sort unless you really need it.”

“Yes, please.” Mantis turned back to the window while Meredith went into the kitchen, silently pleading for the lights to come back, to bring her brother back so she would know he was safe. She closed her eyes, antennae glowing faintly, trying to see if she could detect Peter above all the noise of the thoughts and heartbeats of their people.

“Mantis?”

She turned again, only to find herself looking up into Ego’s face. “Mama is making me tea before I sleep,” she said before he could ask. “My stomach hurts.”

“Worried about Peter, huh?” Ego sat in Meredith’s place, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, you heard me back there. I made it very clear to your mother that letting him go off wasn’t a good idea, but unfortunately, she’s about as stubborn as I am. We all are. So let’s just hope Yondu makes good on his word because I’m certainly going to have a few for him if they come back.”

“If?” Mantis repeated.

Ego’s face softened. “I meant ‘when’,” he said quietly.

“And what about everything else that is out there? Those bad men who took that girl’s sister?” she asked.

“That’s what I'm trying to protect you from. All of you,” he insisted. “Because they aren’t men. They’re animals, trying to keep people like your mother from getting their planet back, from taking back what’s theirs. And I’ll be honest, I don’t like that Peter decided to be friends with one of them. Not one bit.”

“But she is a child, like him and me,” Mantis said defensively. “She needs friends, too. Maybe she does not have any.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ego said, chuckling derisively. “They may inhabit a planet of humans, but there is no humanity left in them.” He got to his feet as if to leave, only to stop when he saw Meredith approach them both, holding two steeping hot mugs of tea. “Meredith.”

“Ego,” she replied. “I thought you went to bed.”

“It’s hard to, when our son is out there, possibly dying or dead. I’ll be surprised if any of us get any sleep tonight.” His voice was low, dark; he didn’t wait to hear Meredith’s response, turning and sweeping up the stairs to their shared bedroom without a backwards glance. She stared after him for a moment, then carefully rearranged her expression into something that resembled a smile and rejoined Mantis by the window.

“Sorry, baby,” she murmured after they’d taken their first few sips. “I keep tellin’ myself not to fight with your daddy in front of you, but we both got tempers we ain’t proud of.”

“I am used to it,” Mantis shrugged.

Meredith shook her head adamantly. “No, Mantis, don’t get used to it. It’s not healthy, for us or for you and Peter.”

“I am trying to listen for him, but it is so hard.” Mantis pressed her palm against the glass once more. “I can only hear our people. They think about him.”

“Don’t let those powers of yours take over your life, baby,” Meredith urged, reaching to gently pry Mantis away from the window and pull her against her chest, Mantis’s head resting over Meredith’s heart. “What you need is to drink your tea, go to bed, and when you wake up, Peter will be home. I swear it.”

“Can you stay with me?”

Meredith’s heart simultaneously broke and swelled at the same time, pulsating so sharply she was sure Mantis heard it. “Of course, baby. Always.”

It was pitch-black by the time they reached Boudalankru territory, but Peter was still wide awake, perhaps a little too wide awake. He’d spent the last half hour of their trip trying to formulate a plan for how to find and rescue Gamora, and was promptly shut down by Nebula every single time.

“Leave it to me, Petr kom Skaikru,” she insisted, twirling one of the many blades she had on her utility belt, something that reminded him too much of Gamora. “Stay here and don’t get in my way.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Yondu commented as he brought the ship down to land.

Peter followed Yondu and Nebula off the ship despite their protests, looking around in awe at their surroundings. Boudalankru was more modern than its name implied; Yondu and Peter had expected old-fashioned stone huts and gravel paths, but instead were met with a micro-city juxtaposed against the impossibly tall trees that masked the horizon. Modern buildings made of limestone and glass were lined up in a too-straight line along the paved concrete roads, small passenger ships were parked neatly beside them. Metal signs were embedded with what looked like Kree language, and seemingly brand-new lampposts flickered overhead as they continued walking down the barren streets. The most jarring thing of all was just that - there was not a single person to be found.

“Are we in a horror movie or somethin’?” Peter whispered uneasily. “I don’t hear or see nobody.”

Yondu let out a low whistle, prompting his yaka arrow to shoot out of its pouch and hover by his temples. He gestured for both of them to get behind him, but Nebula ignored him in favor of walking up to the nearest building and pressing her face against the glass, peering inside for any sort of indication that they hadn’t just stumbled across a ghost town. Peter hesitated, then ducked into Yondu’s side, though he kept one hand extended, letting it glow faintly to lead the way while they continued on, the street lights getting dimmer the further they went.

The minutes dragged on forever, Peter’s heart beating so rapidly he thought it would collapse, until they finally heard something - suddenly a lot of something, the sounds of victorious shouts in alarming numbers. Yondu sprinted in the direction of the noise, the children following closely at his heel, and found themselves in proximity to what appeared to be an outdoor in-ground arena, the kind with endless rows of seats and blinding floodlights, filled to the brim with every last member of Boudalankru. The three of them quickly made their way to the edge, pushing their way to the front of the crowd, and looked down, astonished at what they saw.

In the middle of the whole spectacle was Gamora, blood streaked across her face, her torso, her everywhere (Peter was starting to become more accustomed to seeing her with blood than without, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing), thrusting her short blade above her head in the clear universal sign of victory. Lying at her feet was a boy who looked no more than sixteen, panting and heaving and wounded by more than just his pride. Around them, the crowd stomped their feet, clapped their hands, chanted: he-da, he-da, he-da…

“Yo laik ai kru,” Gamora shouted, her voice amplified by the device that was wrapped tight around her neck. “Ai laik yu heda!” Everyone roared back with vigor. Nebula recoiled.

“What the…” Peter turned to look at Nebula, speechless. “What’s goin’ on?”

“She called for a Conclave,” Nebula murmured. “And she won. As she always does.”

“She don’t look like she needs our help,” Yondu said, sounding half-impressed, half-terrified. “But alrigh’, let’s go get ‘er.”

They continued to shove their way through the throng of people, though Peter and Nebula soon found themselves constantly getting knocked aside due to their obvious height disadvantage, clinging onto the tails of Yondu’s coat before they could lose sight of him. Eventually, Peter’s impatience got the best of him, and he simultaneously let out a frustrated shout and a blast of light, startling everyone within a fifty-foot radius. They managed to sprint the rest of the way down to the arena ring without trouble after that.

“Sister!” Nebula shouted. She didn’t wait for Peter and Yondu, instead vaulting herself over the electric fence perimeter like it was nothing. Gamora’s eyes lit up with a different sort of elation upon hearing Nebula’s voice, and she ran to embrace her, much to Nebula’s chagrin.

“Nebula!” Gamora burrowed her face in Nebula’s neck. “It’s so good to see you, sister.”

“Do not - ” Nebula wrestled out of Gamora’s grip and shoved her back; she was now covered in blood, too. “You’ve been gone for two days, and suddenly you rule Boudalankru?”

“Something Father has never done before,” Gamora said gleefully, her face shining. “Do you think he will be proud?”

“Is that why you did this? Is that why you hurt their champion?” Nebula looked over Gamora’s shoulder to the boy, still crumpled on the ground, now being tended to by his people’s doctors. He blinked blearily up at them in a daze, though one of his eyes was swollen shut.

Gamora faltered, the light in her eyes starting to dim. “It was either a Conclave or my death, Nebula. I chose to survive.”

“Of course,” Nebula said hollowly. She nodded behind her. “Your lukot is here.”

“My - oh.” Gamora finally seemed to notice Peter standing there with his mouth hanging open, now that he could see her up close, see the story of her battle written out on her clothes, her skin, her face. “Petr...what are you doing here?”

“Nebula found me and told me you were gone, and I wanted to help.” He stepped forward, shooting her a strained, but hopeful smile. “I feel real bad about all that stuff we said to each other. Your people are just as important as mine, and maybe...maybe if your dad and my dad talked, all of this could just...stop. I don’t wanna fight anymore. Me and you, and my people and your people.”

“You don’t know our father,” Gamora sighed, though she looked relieved to see him regardless. “He does not want peace. He will not talk. He didn’t even look for me.”

“That’s not true,” Nebula interjected. “Father sent nearly his whole army looking out for his beloved heda.” Gamora narrowed her eyes at Nebula’s tone, though she decided not to comment on it. Instead, she glanced up at Yondu, who was stood firmly over Peter, staring down at her in mild perplexion.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Captain Yondu Udonta of New Arkadia, and Quill’s chaperone,” Yondu replied gruffly. “And you are the scariest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her entire expression shifted into something far more childlike, and Yondu found himself regretting his choice of words. “I do not want to be scary,” Gamora said, hastily trying to wipe the blood off her face; it only rubbed it in further. “I just wanted to survive.”

“Well, you did just that.” Yondu tried not to look at the Boudalankru boy, tried not to listen to the way he cried out when the doctors lifted him onto a stretcher, cursing heda to the heavens. “Let’s go ‘fore these boo-doll folk get any ideas about looking into me n’ Quill.”

“Boudalankru,” all three children said in unison. Yondu threw his hands up in defeat and motioned for them to follow.

Getting back to the ship was easy enough despite Yondu’s apprehension, with the crowd parting like the sea for Gamora, letting her and the others pass through. When he asked her about it, about the Conclave and the little things she and Peter had said about her father, she had a strange, far-away look in her eyes and merely said, “You still don’t know much about life around here.”

“An’ I’m guessing you won’t tell me,” Yondu had replied, getting an affirmative nod in return.

The walk back would’ve been silent if not for Peter’s incessant chatter, pestering both girls with questions until Gamora silenced him with a single glare. Once they were on board, though, she quietly took a seat beside him, gratefully accepting the medical kit when he set it down on her lap. He wordlessly began to help her dress the wounds she couldn’t quite reach while Yondu and Nebula sat at the controls, getting them back in the air.

“Thank you,” she murmured, craning her neck to watch as he placed the last bandage over the puncture wound in the small of her back. “And...I feel bad about what I said, too. I’m sorry. I’m not good with...words, I suppose.”

“You talk way more like a grownup than I do,” Peter countered.

“I mean like...how I say things, not what I’m saying,” Gamora explained carefully. Her face fell again, remembering what Yondu had said to her. “Do I scare you?”

“I guess...a little bit,” he admitted. “I don’t wanna lie to you anymore, so...yeah, a little bit. But that don’t change the fact that you’re my friend, and I want you to be my friend. Not just ‘cos you’re teaching me Trig and stuff, but ‘cos I like hanging out with you.”

“Ai lukot,” she said, smiling tentatively. “My friend.”

Peter smiled back, taking her less-bandaged hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ai lukot,” he repeated.

“Father is calling for us.”

Gamora shot to her feet, instantly letting go of Peter’s hand. “What?”

Nebula held up her communicator, her mouth set in an even harder line than usual. “Maw heard of the Boudalankru Conclave and sent spies to find you, and now he knows you’re not alone. Father wants to meet with us...all of us.”

“Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me,” Yondu groaned. “This is already the longest damn night of my life, can’t I jus’ drop you two off and take Quill home?”

“If you don’t do what Father wants, he will kill all of your people, just like that.” Gamora snapped her fingers. Peter shivered.

“Is he gonna hurt us?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“If he is in the mood,” Nebula replied bluntly, scratching at the now-dried blood on the front of her jacket. Peter wasn’t proud of the whimper that escaped his throat.

An hour later, Gamora stirred, not realizing she had even fallen asleep in the first place, startled to find she had dozed off on Peter’s shoulder. All four of them had been restless the whole way, a tense silence filling the entire cabin, none of them daring to speak about what was ahead or what was already behind them. Even Peter had been too anxious to ask, because as much as he wanted to pester Gamora with a hundred questions about Thanos, he had the feeling that no answer would ease his worries.

They touched down outside of Sanctuary; the first thing Peter was thrown by was the sheer size of the ship, far outweighing the Ark, stretching far above the fences that were meant to contain it. The front gates were also similar to New Arkadia’s settlement, with watchtower guards waving them in, though their armor only reminded Peter of the night he and Gamora met and the young, dying soldier who looked a little bit too much like Kraglin. “Monin hou, heda!” one of them called.

“‘Welcome back, Commander’,” Gamora murmured in Peter’s ear. He watched in astonishment as every last person they passed bowed their head in her direction, muttering words of respect under their breaths.

“You’re the commander?” Peter asked, agape. “What about - ”

“He is wanheda, the commander of death. I am heda, to be wanheda someday.” She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. “Only some factions listen to Father and his generals. Boudalankru was one of our biggest enemies.”

“And now what, they like you or somethin’? I still dunno what happened back there,” he admitted.

Gamora smiled ruefully. “Neither do I.”

They were accompanied by two guardsmen through a winding series of hallways, though Gamora and Nebula seemed to know exactly where they were going. Peter could see Gamora was itching to reach for Nebula and take her hand, but Nebula had flattened her palms against her thighs in a very militant-like posture, her footsteps even heavier than Yondu’s. He took a moment to look around, amazed and horrified at how different Sanctuary looked from Boudalankru. It was far less friendly-looking than the original Ark, with wide corridors and tall ceilings, all dark and hollow and intimidatingly massive.

Finally, they reached a huge set of double doors; stationed in front were two alien beings who seemed impossibly tall, wielding weapons that stood higher than the top of Peter’s head. Unlike the other Grounders, neither bowed upon their approach. “Corvus, Proxima,” Gamora said tightly. “Is your army back?”

Proxima’s lip curled into a sneer. “We’ve called off the search for our precious heda, yes. And Father has heard of your victory in Boudalankru.”

“I had no choice.” Gamora glanced down at her hands, fiddling with the gauze wrapped around her left thumb, causing its exposed end to fray. “Their champion still lives.”

“Then it is not much of a victory after all,” Corvus drawled, keeping his head straight forward, refusing to look at her. He and Proxima stepped aside, allowing the guardsmen to open the doors, a rush of ice-cold air hitting all four of them in the face before they entered the throne room.

Like seemingly everywhere else in Sanctuary, it was dark and damp and unfriendly, devoid of anything that could make it feel remotely welcoming. There was a single long platform that led to the center of the room, where two thrones sat side-by-side. One was significantly shorter and unoccupied, and it made Gamora shudder when she saw it. She only ever sat in it once per year, on her birthday, a time when wanheda liked to remind everyone who his successor was and what she was capable of. The other throne was concealed in the shadows, but there was no doubt as to who was sat upon it.

Yondu and Peter stared dumbfoundedly at the impossibly large man as he got to his feet, turning so his back was to them, casting a darkness down the length of the platform and across their faces. “I’ve been told of your call for a Conclave, Gamora. Bold of you, considering they are only meant for the most dire of situations, for a threat to your title.” His voice rumbled, bouncing off every surface, shaking everyone’s ankles and knees from the vibrations in the floor.

“They were going to kill me to weaken you,” Gamora said evenly, bowing her head out of respect despite him not looking her way.

“And your first Conclave was to be when you turned fourteen,” he continued, ignoring her. “You could have died tonight, little one.”

“But I did not.” She tilted her face back up, held her chin higher; Nebula’s entire upper body seemed to slouch in contrast. Peter and Yondu still weren’t sure what to do with themselves, glancing around helplessly, but neither sister made any attempt to guide them.

“No, you did not.” There was a hint of a smile on Thanos’s face as he finally turned around, the full effect of his vastness overwhelming Peter, who took a few steps back, heart pounding rapidly in his ears. Though he wore simple armor, it was his face that caught them by surprise; the violently purple eyes narrowing in their direction, the mottled constellation of battle scars covering every inch of his skin, the sneer of a man who had looked upon gods and found himself wholly unimpressed. “This is the boy you’ve been meeting in secret? Petr kom Skaikru?”

“Yes,” Gamora murmured. “Ai lukot.”

“How did you meet my daughter, Petr?” Thanos demanded. “And how did you come by her in Boudalankru today?”

“I - uh - um.” Peter cleared his throat, fiddling with his thumbs in a failed attempt to stop his hands from shaking. Thanos looked bored already. “My camp was attacked by your army. I ran away so they would chase me, and that’s when I met - ”

“Why would they chase you?” Thanos interrupted. Maw and Cull, who were stood at the foot of his throne, turned to look at Peter, to really look at him, Maw’s gaze flickering up and down with clear distaste in his otherwise soulless eyes. Thanos gestured to the guards stationed by the doors, and they opened them for Proxima and Corvus to step inside, both of them lifting their weapons so they were pointed directly at Peter’s back. It sent a short, but clear message - impress me or die.

Peter inhaled sharply, then held out his hands, forming a glowing orb of light no larger than a piece of fruit. Then it grew bigger, big enough that it dwarfed his own head, obscuring his face from everyone else, causing Proxima and Corvus to stumble back, blindsided. He then pulled one hand away from the other, splitting the orb in two. The one in his right hand morphed into a light dagger, the other into something he had never been able to do before - a flower, fresh and vibrant and the exact same shade of red as Gamora’s hair. He turned toward her, holding them both out for her to take. Astonished, she wordlessly accepted them both, her heart thumping in concern when she noticed the wetness in his eyes from his concentrated effort.

He looked back to Thanos. His voice shook when he spoke again. “Once I stopped running, I was real lost. That’s when I met Gamora. I asked her to help me find my way back.”

Thanos sank into his throne, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “And today?”

“Nebula came to New Arkadia to find me ‘cos Gamora was missing. I took her to where I saw her last, an’ then we went to Boudalankru together. The Conclave was over by the time we got there.” Thanos nodded slowly, his brow raising in surprise at Peter’s somewhat-correct Trigedasleng pronunciation. He then waved for the Black Order generals to leave the room so only he, his daughters, Peter, and Yondu remained.

“You have strength, Petr kom Skaikru, and abilities I have never seen before in my countless years of crossing the galaxy,” Thanos commented. “You are no mere human, are you?”

Yondu, who had been mostly petrified (not that he would ever admit to it) throughout the entire encounter, finally moved silently to warn Peter, to stop him before he gave it away, but - “I’m half-Celestial.”

“You are the son of the man who is calling for the death of my people?”

“And you’re the one callin’ for the death of ours,” Peter retorted suddenly, clenching his glowing fists. Gamora let out a startled noise, barely noticing the way Nebula clutched at her arm automatically to brace herself for his retaliation.

Thanos merely chuckled, albeit in a very sinister way, and leaned back. “I like this one, daughter. He is too naive to know what to fear and too vulnerable to know how not to trust. Yet, he holds the powers of the universe in his hands.”

She stepped forward. “Father, I - ”

“You want this war to end, don’t you, Petr?” Thanos asked, silencing Gamora with a single raise of his hand. “You want to grow up in a world where you know nothing but full bellies and clear skies.”

“Don’t everyone?” Peter slowly unfurled his fingers, though they still remained alight. “Then no one’s gotta die for no reason.”

“And if there was a reason?” Thanos cocked his head to one side, seemingly staring right through him. “What then?”

“I - ” Peter faltered. “I guess...well, people die ‘cos of reasons, right? Like, when they get sick or hurt or just...old. That don’t mean it has to happen. It just does. And war makes it happen faster. Makes it happen to kids like me. Even if we don’t die, our parents do. My mom is a medic, and she has to tell families all the time that people didn’t make it. I don’t want no one to have to tell her that I didn’t make it, or someone to tell me that she didn’t. I want my mom to see me grow up. And...I think you wanna see your daughters grow up, too. You sent a whole army lookin’ for Gamora ‘cos you wanna see her become your heda. There won’t be no heda or Chancellor or nothing if everyone is dead.”

Thanos hummed, contemplating; Gamora and Nebula sucked in their breaths. “When you return to your father tonight, you tell him I will make peace with your people under these terms: we cease all fighting immediately, and neither of us are to pick up a weapon again for six months. Consider it a show of good faith. Then we meet in Polis to discuss the future of this planet and what is to become of those who live on it.”

Gamora made no attempt to hide her astonishment, glancing rapidly back and forth between Nebula and Peter with wide eyes. Even Yondu looked stunned despite being largely unfamiliar with what was happening, realizing the gravity of Thanos’s offer, the levity of its generosity. “I will,” Peter said, the light dimming entirely from his hands. “Um, thank you.”

“You thank me too early,” Thanos drawled, smirking. “My last condition is that you will not speak to my daughter until we convene in Polis. I can only imagine what sort of insights and intelligence she has shared with you in your time together. I will not let it happen again. The potential resumption of your companionship will be determined in my discussions with your father.”

“Wanheda, I never said anything - ”

“You keep interrupting me, little one, but I assure you, I will speak with you another time. Know your place,” he growled. “Now leave, and do not let me see or hear of you until then.” Peter shot Gamora one last pleading look before he and Yondu were promptly ushered out of the room by Corvus and Proxima, caught one last glimpse of her before they were taken back to their ship and told to never return. “Gamora, leave us.”

“I...thought you wanted to speak with me,” she said quietly.

“I did not mean now,” Thanos said, instead directing his attention toward Nebula. “I have words for this one first.”

Gamora’s legs felt heavy as she made the walk back toward the doors, trying desperately to shut out the continuing conversation behind her. “I have returned your heda, Father, something the gonakru could not do - ”

“You do not speak ill of those under my command, Nebula. In fact, you should not speak at all.”

Gamora was numb by the time Maw escorted her back to her quarters, thanks to what seemed like a never-ending night, barely listening to his non-stop chatter about “that funny-looking Skaikru child” or her “bushhada of a sister”. She felt like she only just managed to make her way through the motions as she bathed, finding it impossible to get all the blood out of everything, changed into her sleepclothes, and approached her bed. How she wished she had the chance to finish her conversation with Peter, all the conversations they’d been having since they met, about how her world worked, what it meant to be heda, what his agreement with Thanos really meant.

Instead, she knelt on the floor to pull out the box from beneath her mattress, setting it down and opening it to reveal all of Peter’s little misshapen gifts, still in their imperfect perfect condition. She put both the dagger and flower inside, surprised to find the latter hadn’t wilted in the hour that had passed since its creation, wondering if it was Peter’s doing. Smiling faintly, she put the box back in its place and turned off the light. As she climbed into bed and under her sheets, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight. Not when she could hear Nebula’s screams clear across Sanctuary.

a/n: Hey all, it's been a minute - sorry this chapter is so incredibly late, my semester had been going terribly and I barely had time to do much of anything outside of school. When I did have time for fic writing, I indulged in a little Scott/Hope (here and here if you're interested) since it was a lot lighter and less plot-heavy than this fic, but I promise I haven't abandoned this!

I know there's a lot of world-building going on right now but the next chapter will be more about character relationships - there hasn't been a ton of focus on Drax, and Rocket and Groot haven't even shown up yet, so that will get rectified soon. Also, I hope y'all enjoy Endgame when you get a chance to see it! I'll be going on vacation two days after it comes out so I'll be late to the post-movie fic party, but I'm very likely going to be posting at least three (I'm thinking Peter/Gamora, Scott/Hope, and Carol/Valkyrie, because yes) one-shots. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)

Trigedasleng translations: plangona - warrior woman / shilkru - guard / goufa - child Koken hainofi...tsa bants. - Crazy princess...let's go. / Heda, nou hainofi. Bushhadas. - Commander, not princess. Cowards. Ai ste lufa Petr kom Skaikru au. Ai laik Nebula kom Trikru, strisis kom Gamora. - I am looking for Peter of the Sky People. I am Nebula of the Forest Clan, little sister of Gamora. / Ai laik Petr kom Skaikru. Weron laik Gamora? - I am Peter of the Sky People. Where is Gamora? Chek ai au, bushhadas! Ai laik yu heda! - Look at me, cowards! I am your commander! / Yo laik ai kru, ai laik yu heda! - You are my people, I am your commander!

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Pillows and Pocket Knives [2]

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Language (can’t help myself sorry I'm not)

A/N: Finally, apologies for the wait! This is kind of more introductory stuff to Bucky and Y/N, but the action (in the loosest sense of the word tbh) begins soon. I’ve been tweaking this for days and there’s something off with it but I can’t seem to fix it so I’m just throwing out there now and running away into the shadows.  

Prompt: Everyone is the God of something. Unfortunately, it’s usually something mediocre. 

ONE // PILLOWS AND POCKET KNIVES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Two - 1892 || Training: Just Beginning

“So what does this do?” Bucky asked, and you wondered exactly how many times he’d asked exactly the same question in the last half an hour.

“That’s just a calendar,” you muttered, trying to continue your work, swiping through some of your favourite insomniacs whose pillows might need a little plump before they were able to nod off. From just how many people were always wide awake in the dead of night, you desperately wanted to have a word with the Goddess of Sleep to see if she’d ever thought about doing her job properly.

“Ohhh, I get it,” he nodded solemnly, as if committing what you’d said to memory, and you realised he probably was. Pushing yourself up from your desk with a small sigh, you walked over to the far wall and pushed a button that hadn’t been there when you left the house that morning. As you did, the cloudy wall of the room parted and revealed a new room, Bucky’s room, brand new and still sparkling. You inhaled sharply.

“Well, this is just fucking fantastic,” you hissed as you took in the room. It was perfect. Walls and floors of wooden panels, beams stretched across the high roof, rustic furniture and a roaring fire in the corner. A room of chestnut and sepia and mahogany with no white in sight. It was your dream room.

Your only comfort came from the fact that his pillows didn’t look quite as comfy as yours. There was no way you were going to plump them for him.

“It’s a bit...beige, don’t you think?” his nose wrinkled and you turned your head to him in surprise, annoyance only seeping further into your bones at his lack of appreciation, “I prefer yours.”

“But mine’s all white. Literally, just white,” you couldn’t hide your confusion.

“At least it’s bright, though.”

“...I give up. I need to work and you don’t start until tomorrow so just make yourself at home,” you tried to smile, really, you did, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. Bucky seemed to like it anyway though, if his grin was anything to go by. It was hard to work out if you liked it or you didn’t.

“Okay, see you in the morning, Pillows!” he strolled into his room and sat down on his bed, but the nickname left his lips just as you were about to press the button and basically force him to leave you alone. Instead, you closed your eyes and leaned the side of your head against the doorframe.

“Don’t call me that-” you said through gritted teeth, opening your eyes to say, “-please.”

“Oh, I was under the impression that’s how people referred to each other in-”

“It is but...not me,” you insisted and you expected Bucky to question you more but the cheeky grin simply returned to his face, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“In that case I either call you doll-” you shot him a glare, “-or you can finally tell me your real name.”

You paused. A moment of hesitation. Since when had even just telling someone your name felt like giving away too much?

“Y/N.”

With that you pressed the button and watched Bucky’s grin fade away as your view was clouded - literally. Once the wall was back in place, you returned to your desk to continue the work you’d been attempting to do, running your hand over your face as you began the monotonous task of plumping pillows yet again.

Then the noise came. Once. Twice. You strained to work out what it was but then it hit you. A snore.

You tried to ignore it, you were already behind on your quota for the day and it was only a faint sound.

Just as you thought that, the rumbling got louder. You quickly realised it was getting louder with each individual snore. You set your jaw.

Why in all the Realms would the Ultimate God create a God that bloody snores?

Turning off the screen in your desk for good, knowing that there was no way you’d be reaching your quota, you stalked over to the new door, hitting the button with the palm of your hand and walking straight in. There he was, lying under the covers already, lights off and the incessant snoring even more prominent without the clouds to muffle it.

Without hesitation, you walked over, clicked your fingers to turn the lights back on and threw the covers off him.

“Right, you’ve literally just been created, there is absolutely no need for you to have a bloody nap right...right…” you couldn’t quite finish your sentence when you suddenly registered his state as he turned to smile at you. You could have sworn you saw just the hint of a blush adorning his cheeks.

“Don’t you knock?” he asked, but he was teasing as you quickly threw the duvet back over him and turned away.

“Why the fuck did you strip to your boxers for a nap?” you quipped back sharply, your aggression masking your growing embarrassment. Not that Bucky was having any of it.

“Why the fuck didn’t you knock?”

“Why the fuck are you dodging my question?” you whirled back around to face him, grateful that he’d gotten up and at least put some trousers on although he was still lacking a shirt. Your eyes flitted downwards involuntarily and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing them back upwards. His smirk at your actions was infuriating.

“Why the fuck do you swear all the time?” he asked, clearly caught up in this questioning loop without answers. You jabbed your finger at him.

“You’re swearing too, jackass.”

“Ha! I win!” he taunted and you gawked.

“What do you mean ‘you win’?” you asked incredulously, your finger still pointing at him ominously. One step forward and your finger would have touched his chest. His still bare chest that was just one step away and...and you really needed to stop getting sidetracked by the chest.

“You didn’t ask a question, therefore,” he took the one step and your finger hit his sternum. You gulped as he lowered his voice to a sinful level, “I win.”

You hated that you were having to look up at him because he was too tall. You hated that he was looking at you like he was amused at your anger. You hated that he still hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. You hated that he was here, living in your house, in a room nicer than your own even though he was only created today.

But the hate coursing through you seemed to be confusing itself with something else, the passionate hate morphing into simple passion. You had a sudden and overwhelming desire to grab the back of his neck and pull him closer.

That thought alone was enough to snap you out of it.

You held your hand out to your side and a shirt flew into it which you shoved into his chest, making him take a few steps backwards, finally giving you the space to breathe.

“Get dressed. We’re going out,” you said calmly, folding your arms and rooting yourself to the spot in which you were standing. He tilted his head in confusion and you rolled your eyes, “I’m not leaving and risking you falling asleep again.”

“Where are we going?” he asked after a few moments, pulling the shirt over his head and finally dissipating the remaining...tension in the air. There was still an angry tension but no more of the other kind of tension that you had no time for whatsoever.

“I’m taking you on a tour, Pocket Knives,” you announced, walking out of his room and then out of the house, hearing his hurried footsteps to try to stay by your side, “So make sure you listen up.”

“Hey, if I can’t call you Pillows, you can’t call me Pocket Knives,” he pouted, looking at you beside him despite your insistence on staring straight ahead of you, “And I’m guarding Swiss Army Knives anyway, so you-”

“Does it look like I give a damn?” you asked, finally looking at him and refusing to smile at the sight of him half-jogging to keep up with your brisk pace. He muttered something incoherent in reply but you didn’t bother to ask what it was. A part of your heart ached for how rude you were being but you’d spent too long building your walls up to let even one brick crumble for the likes of someone you’d just met.

You’d never felt bad about your attitude before, though.

“First up, the fast travel station. This is how we get around in this realm, just stand on a black square, press the right button and the gods in the travel realm will instantly whisk you to wherever you need to be,” you explained and Bucky nodded.

“Like this?” he asked, hopping onto a black square and pressing a button at random. You reached out to stop him but he was gone before you could open your mouth to speak.  Sighing heavily, you leaned in to look at just where it was he’d travelled to.

Element Realm. Your eyes widened in panic.

You didn’t have long to worry though as a gust of wind later and Bucky appeared, a wisp of smoke rising from the front of his hair. Upon closer inspection, you could see that it was slightly singed.

“You are so stupid!” you exclaimed, fanning your hand at the smoke to try to dissipate it a little. Bucky grimaced.

“Hard to argue with you when my head’s on fire,” he muttered to himself, trying to swat your hand away from his head, “Why did they throw a fireball at me, anyway? I only just managed to duck in time for it to not hit my face!”

“We aren’t allowed to travel between realms, idiot! Security’s pretty high over there too-” you shrugged before thinking better of your answer, “-which is basically code for they’re just all assholes.”

“Noted,” Bucky nodded, reaching up to comb through his hair which was finally smoke-free, “Let’s continue, shall we?”

“Only if you promise not to touch anything,” you warned and Bucky put a hand to his chest.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you once.”

You continued walking, pointing and naming the occupants of the other houses on your street, although you did slow your pace just slightly so that it was easier for him to stick by you. Just so that he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t, of course.

“...and this is Tony Stark’s house, he has a sports car for no reason and you should never never mention it or him to Goddess Potts otherwise she might just stab you with one of your own knives.”

“Why would-”

“Trust me. Just don’t.”

“If you say so, boss.”

“Next to Tony is Nat, she’s in training like you but she’s more competent than most of the 1000 year old Gods I know. Don’t stare at her too long, she might gut you,” you warned and Bucky gulped.

“Is everyone this violent?”

“Everyone I associate with anyway,” you shrugged.

“Makes sense,” he grinned despite himself and you forced yourself to keep a straight face, but then he seemed to remember something, “Apart from Steve, am I right?”

“Oh Steve can and will hold his own,” you mused and a small smile came to your face as you thought about his first few years, “He used to get into so many fights. But you’re right, not so violent anymore.”

“What changed?”

You scoffed.

“Love changed him, the sappy fool,” you shook your head, but it was fond and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the realisation that there was an end to your harsh exterior somewhere.

“And what about you? Hasn’t there ever been a love to change you?”

“If there had been, don’t you think I’d be just a tad bit different?” you deadpanned but Bucky didn’t look ready to let it go just yet.

“But you’re basically 10000 years old, surely you must have found-”

“You’re on thin ice already here, Pocket Knives, I kindly suggest you tread carefully about my age.”

This time he seemed to take the hint.

“So who else lives in our street?” he changed the subject deftly and you were grateful.

“I honestly don't know. In case you haven’t realised, I’m not the most social of the Goddesses.”

“I never would have guessed.”

You shot him a warning look but couldn’t help your smirk upon seeing his own.

“A smirk isn’t quite a smile, but I’ll take what I can get.”

*

if crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for some reason - sorry! all tag lists are open so please just drop me an ask ^-^ these better work i swear

permanent tags: @mightyhemsworthy @aheadfullofsherlock @ign-is @buckysboobear @bibibucky @thefridgeismybestie @avengersbabe13 @mixedupsammy @memyselfandmaddox @ginger-rxchxo @stephie-senpai @hottrashformarvel @queenoftrash97 @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @yknott81 @mell-bell @dolphinpink310 @sgtjbuccky @dreamerinfinity @selenasoftly @spiderlingss @slightlycatdependent @shamelessbookaddict @vintagepigeon @bodhi-black @realgreglestrade @demoncrypt1066 @skeltn @bucky-at-bedtime @hanscait @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @milkywaybarnes @scurtscurt2021 @jitterbuck @slowly-but-shurley @jaamesbbarnes @yesdruidess @dixonsbugaboo @lortise @whiskeybucky @n-lafayette @theassetseyeliner @mylovelymarvel

bucky tags: @residentdemonhunter

pillows and pocket knives: @sebastiansass @marvel-biatch @theglowstickofdestiny @sami-raye @cutiepiemimi13 @thebadassbitchqueen @wisestydia-15 @captainlogolepsy @futuremrsb-r-main @part-time-patronus @vixenoftheocean @justahopingwriter @diinofayce

[thekingofsadness]

Examining DW9′s Liu Shan

This is for dear ol’ @punishedkrauss for being just plain awesome and for @daolunofshiji for being Zhong Hui + beard but with Liu Shan cutscenes. I’m grateful for both of you guys.

OK now into the meat of this. A big obvious SPOILER ALERT is in place because this is Dynasty Warriors 9′s Liu Shan and let me tell you, he’s NOT the same as DW7/8 Liu Shan. I’ll be covering Liu Shan’s story (chapters 10-13 in DW9) INCLUDING his ending cutscene as well as what’s up with his personality. This will all be in great detail so yeah, if you don’t want to get spoiled, don’t read this.

TLDR it’s EVERYTHING I ever wanted from Liu Shan, and more. I love it, and I’m sure you will too.

A lot of characters in DW9 have gotten more character and personality when before they did not. Zhu Ran’s not all about fire attacks anymore, Jiang Wei is just plain bats**t insane (in a good way), and Dong Zhuo now is a genuine, menacing threat. It’s all good and brings out new, interesting facets to characters that were before just one-note and downright boring.

That’s not what happened to Liu Shan. What they did to Liu Shan in DW9 was change the focus of his personality. But to explain what happened to his personality, I gotta explain his story.

Now, Liu Shan’s story is much more based on his historical counterparts actions. He’s a young emperor eager to fill in the shoes of his father and because of a lack of experience, he initially leaves everything to Zhuge Liang—not before, of course, listening to what must be done. He’s ultimately a very passive ruler but that does not mean he is not trying. He makes sure to listen to everybody’s plan because giving his permission and he makes sure to help in the pre-battle preparations whenever he can. Of course, things go great, the Nanman are pacified, and soon the Northern Campaigns against Wei start.

A thing I never even considered but shows up brilliantly is Liu Shan’s concern about rest for people. If you play Liu Bei’s final chapter (chapter 9), it is the death of his sworn brothers that sends Liu Bei to a rage, and he is merciless and tireless until his brothers are avenged but it comes at the cost of rapidly declining health, resulting in Liu Bei’s death. Liu Shan knows this, he is worried about this happening again, and every single time before a major battle, WITHOUT FAIL, he beseeches Zhuge Liang (and later Jiang Wei) to make sure to rest.

He’s basically the group mom, always worrying about everybody’s health because of his unresolved fears about his own father’s death. Unfortunately, his worries are very much valid because Zhuge Liang dies in the Wuzhang plains precisely BECAUSE he worked himself to the bone. Just like Liu Bei before him.

With Jiang Wei now at the helm instead of Zhuge Liang, he plans to carry on his predecessor’s legacies and makes more campaigns against Wei, all of them ending in failure. Jiang Wei motivates the new generation into a frenzy, getting them all riled up for war but slowly Liu Shan understands just how detrimental it all is. Jiang Wei is bringing up everybody’s hope for a battle that cannot be won, bringing more chaos and destruction. Liu Shan tries to reason with Jiang Wei and everybody else but they’re all too caught up in the madness and their own personal agenda with Wei. So they don’t listen to him, and admonish him despite being the only voice of reason. The only person who listens in the end is Xingcai. (Video link here)

With Jiang Wei’s failures, he starts butting heads with everybody’s LOVE-TO-HATE GUY, Huang Hao. Whatever Huang Hao’s intentions are (bad, very very bad), he is trying to be the voice of reason in Liu Shan’s stead, trying to dissuade Jiang Wei from more pointless battles. There are now two factions within Shu and unfortunately, most of the playable cast happen to be in Jiang Wei’s camp. This builds up to Jiang Wei’s final campaign where he’s called back to the capital, Chengdu, because Huang Hao used Liu Shan’s name to bring them back. 

Then the conquest of Shu occurs. Everybody is scattered and Liu Shan is trying to minimise casualties but he feels he is lost. Unlike everybody else, he doesn’t have a role model to guide him, and he feels he is lost, without a purpose. He needs to make a decision once and for all and he needs to make it fast. He defeats the first assault but Jin’s main army is fast approaching. He decides to end the madness by surrendering Shu, basically making sure everybody is spared. Jiang Wei approaches Liu Shan after the surrender, finally understanding his lord’s intentions but ultimately rejecting them.

In Liu Shan’s ending, he is to enter a carriage to go to Jin’s capital of Luoyang, leaving Chengdu behind forever with Xingcai. He tries to give a comforting speech about enjoying life but the peasants, Jiang Wei’s propaganda still fresh in their mind, call him a coward and throw rocks at the carriage as it drives away but Liu Shan only smiles. It’s only in the carriage that he laments his mistakes, feeling guilty for surrendering Shu. Xingcai tries to comfort him but he pushes her away because he is going against everybody’s wishes to keep them safe. Xingcai also feels upset but he comforts her, insisting that it is his fault alone that Shu is gone, a final “please” to tell her that he is responsible and that she should not feel guilty too. (Video link 2 here)

AND THEN THEY KISSSSSSS!!! AW, COME ON, KOEI, WHY DIDN’T THEY KISS?! IT’S MUCH MORE BLATANT THAT THEY’RE TOGETHER SO WHY CAN’T THEY GET THEIR MOVE ON?! I bet they were gonna kiss, I BET YOU CUT IT AAAA—

A-ahem, sorry. Anyway, it’s time to get into the differences in personality between DW9 Liu Shan versus DW7/8 Liu Shan.

The first and most important difference is that Liu Shan is NOT a fool. No one calls him a fool (except the ending, but for different reasons) and he makes no pretense of hiding his intellect. He’s the voice of reason for Shu, he sees the big picture, but everyone except Xingcai are too ignorant to see it. He is passive initially out of lack of experience and remains passive only because he knows he can’t get through to people.

Which brings me to the second difference. DW9 Liu Shan is not as silver tongued as his previous counterparts. In fact, DW9 Liu Shan clearly has a lot of things going on in his head, so many ideas and opinions that he wants to tell the world but the problem is that he doesn’t know how to convince people to his side. He doesn’t know how to express his true feelings in a way that people will understand. It’s the complete opposite of DW7/8 Liu Shan who used people’s perception of him to manipulate their understanding. While DW7/8 Liu Shan is deceptive and manipulative with the best intentions living in the cover of the fool, DW9 Liu Shan is honest but incapable of expressing his feelings, leading others to assume he’s idiotic. He doesn’t know what to say so he’s quiet, and it is this inaction that leads to the spiraling chaos in Shu.

The third difference, is that Liu Shan is not at all lazy in this incarnation. Sure, he gets tired easily, and he definitely does prefer keeping his strength rather than exerting himself, but when hard work is needed Liu Shan will help and with little to no complaints. In fact, he’d be very much happy to help others but thinks his ability to help is limited or that he will get in the way of the more capable, which is why he’s usually sitting around all the time.

I guess the best way to sum it up is that while DW7/8 Liu Shan works with people’s expectations and plays the fool because he thinks it’s easier that way, DW9 Liu Shan actively tries and fails to defy people’s expectations and his efforts to try and help others go nowhere because no one listens to him.

Well, actually there’s only one person who listens to him. And that’s Xingcai. And I gotta talk about this because I am way too obvious about how much I ship those two together. LIU SHAN X XINGCAI IS CANON, BABY! WHOO!

In DW9, Liu Shan’s and Xingcai’s relationship is even less ambiguous than before. She’s his loyal bodyguard and retainer and most importantly, Liu Shan’s only confidant. She’s the only one who listens to her lord and he tells her effortlessly what’s on his mind and it’s hinted at not-so-subtly that there’s definitely something more between the two. She’s not swept away in the chaos of war and listens to Liu Shan, who is probably the only voice of reason left in late Shu. If you’ve seen the first video, she crouches down and puts her hands over his, a pose that is almost identical to the one Zhenji makes in her ending to her husband (video here)

Then there’s Liu Shan’s ending, where she tries to comfort him once again but he gently refuses her help, saying he must carry the guilt. And she’s shaking, equally tormented as he is because she also feels guilty. She may be able to support her lord but she is a soldier first and foremost. She follows orders, not makes them, and she knows she can’t be Liu Shan’s voice when he is silent because she too is bad at expressing her feelings. In fact in the two cutscenes, she doesn’t express her emotions in words but in action. Crouched down and hands over her lord’s hand in comfort, the shake of her body as she takes a shuddery breath to stop herself from crying, the slow loll of her head when she realises she can’t help Liu Shan. That’s how Xingcai expresses herself. And that’s why she too feels guilty in his ending.

A thing that was mentioned briefly towards the end of Liu Shan’s campaign is his remorse for not having someone like Zhuge Liang by his side. In the end, Liu Shan does not have a rolemodel to guide his actions. He only really has himself to motivate him. Xingcai supports him, there is no question about it, but she doesn’t stimulate him or give him ideas about how to go on because she too is equally clueless. And if you think about it carefully, he’s the only ruler without a clearly defined rolemodel and supporter. Liu Bei had Zhuge Liang, Fa Zheng and his sworn brothers; Cao Cao had Xiahou Dun, Xiahou Yuan, and almost all of the strategists; Cao Pi looked up to his father but also has Sima Yi for support and in turn when Sima Yi takes over he also looks to Cao Pi’s rule as inspiration with his wife and sons to help him. All of the Sun rulers have family, by blood or by bond, and that guides them. Even Zhang Jiao has his brothers, Dong Zhuo and his granddaughter Dong Bai, Lu Bu and Zhang Liao, every ruler, EVERY RULER, had someone to look up to. Not Liu Shan.

Liu Shan does not idolise his father. In the game they have few interactions. Liu Bei’s story ends before Liu Shan’s begins and in the end, Liu Bei’s only legacy in Liu Shan is heightening Liu Shan’s fear of people wasting away by overexerting themselves. Zhuge Liang is not a role model. He controls Liu Shan and there’s no real relationship outside of strategist and ruler, and Zhuge Liang dies in the same way Liu Bei did. Jiang Wei is not a rolemodel, in fact if Liu Shan doesn’t dislike Jiang Wei he certainly holds the strategist in some contempt because he’s clearly not at all fine with his bull by the end of the story. And like I said, Xingcai is emotional support only. A steady rock. But rocks can’t give him advice or tell him what’s right and what’s wrong.

That’s why Liu Shan’s final command to surrender is so powerful. Because HE made the decision. Not Jiang Wei, not Xingcai, nobody forced him into this decision, he alone made it. In sparing many lives he ended an era, a kingdom, and he has to take responsibility for that decision. He chose to make that decision even if he knew it would earn him the ire of his people, even if he knew people would brand him a coward and a fool and curse his name until his death. It’s probably the most difficult decision anyone in the game has to make—whether to fight a futile war or surrender and be villified—and he had to make it himself and that is probably Liu Shan’s shining, greatest moment. He’ll carry the guilt and he’ll carry the blame because that, he believes, is what an emperor does and he will carry it until the end of his days.

All in all, Liu Shan is a tragic figure in DW9. He has a fine ability to see reason in a world of madness but no one can see the world through his eyes. He’s not as talented as everybody else but he is still smart and he is still strong and capable but with everybody taking responsibility, he’s forced to keep to the sidelines and watch Shu crumble beneath his feet. It’s not the obfuscating stupidity he had before. He never truly lies, he just keeps to himself because when he tries to open his mouth he’s almost immediately shut down. Even if he did take control, stood up for his beliefs and forced people to listen, there was no way Shu would have survived for long. Perhaps it’s a sin of inaction but ultimately the fate of Shu was out of his grasp from the get go.

I really do love this interpretation of Liu Shan. I liked the sneakiness of DW7/8, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not easy to see the truth behind the mask he wore. In DW9 he is far more sympathetic and far easier to understand his motivations. He’s flawed in that he did not act when he should have, a far more understandable flaw than pretending to be an idiot to manipulate others from the background, regardless of intentions. And I love Liu Shan’s ending. It’s everything I hoped for: Liu Shan x Xingcai moments, bittersweet ending, NO ‘le bu si shu’ scene, it’s perfect! I feel like they tailored that ending to me, like KT was for some reason looking at my opinions and then altered the ending to suit my criteria.

Liu Shan is great in DW9. I love him as a flawed character and I really do think you guys will enjoy it too. It’s a slightly different but refreshing take on his character, more defined by his historical actions than his villainous romanticised version, and his story is heart wrenching. I’m sure that if you didn’t like his character before, you will feel for his struggle and maybe, just maybe, feel a little bit more sympathetic for his plight.

[fireinclined]

mutant apocalypse headcanons

paola winding up with raph and donnie

ok so i’m gonna do a slight au of my verse for cassandra where paola ends up with donnie and raph instead of ending up with cassandra.

paola likes to pretend she’s salty that robo-donnie’s so much taller than she is, but she’s really not. more than anything, she feels bad for donnie for being trapped in a robot body.

and paola does minimal repairs to herself- any spare parts are saved for donnie. this means paola’s arms are prone to falling off, and she might glitch in the middle of her sentences. raph knows that she’s not using any new parts, but paola has sworn him to secrecy. i can imagine donnie’s figured it out, but just…doesn’t say anything. 

loss of cassandra’s ship

cassandra’s ship is incredibly dear to her and was her home for over two decades, was the birthplace of her best friend, and connects her to her lost planet more than anything else. With losing her ship, even if she’s able to repurpose the pieces of it, is a devastating blow to a woman who has lost her husband, her sons, her other adopted children, and her best friend. and, with the loss of her ship, is now essentially stranded on earth.

turtle mutants

despite maximus having killed off most turtle mutants, cassandra was able to save three, and keeps them hidden from the rest of the world for fear that word would get back to maximus. their names are cosimo, jean, and paolo, and cassandra loves them very much.

how cassandra is able to care for the mutants she takes in

it took cassandra over six months to completely repurpose her ship into the mobile fortress. and when i say mobile fortress..i do mean mobile fortress. her ship was designed to comfortably fit crews of 50+ grown capellans, so the mobile fortress is h u g e.

now, the only town near paola’s cabin is an itty bitty town, and it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to say they all either died or became feral mutants. cassandra essentially looted the entire town and stocked up her fortress. she usually scavenged the shit out of wherever she goes- and that works, but she’s well aware that it’s not sustainable.

she starts a garden in the mobile fortress, and has the kids help her take care of it. i was wondering about what they’d do for meat considering most if not all animals were mutated and i’m going with : not everyone became sentient. some just got huge and that’s it.

it’s not like cassandra said “fuck you” to all the adults- she did take in confused and disorientated adults ( i mean everyone was confused and disoriented but You Know What I Mean). so long as they helped, they were welcome. but cassandra’s main priority is these kids.

ANYWAY. MY POINT BEING: at first, cassandra had the mutants that knew how to hunt, either from human life or from being a predator animal, hunt for meat for the rest of the group. and cassandra also has these adults help take care of the kids- the LAST thing cassandra wants is kids having to raise other kids. she wants to give them some semblance of a childhood.

in summary!

cassandra stocked up on food early on and continues to scavenge wherever possible

she started a rather large garden in the fortress

she has the adults that can hunt do so to get meat for the group

yeah basically it’s like a tribe of a mishmash of mutants

mutant kids growing up and cassandra’s role as ‘goddess’

as the kids grow up, they are given the option to leave, of course, but few want to, mostly because..you know, it’s the apocalypse. so over the years, the children that have grown up have built their own vehicles and basically created this…fleet that goes everywhere with the mobile fortress.

as for what they do when attacked…well, the fortress certainly isn’t defenseless, and neither are the, uh, mini-fortresses that travel with it. in fact, most people know to just fuck off and not bother cassandra’s tribe…which is in part also due to the myth and mystery surrounding her.

cassandra reveals to very, very few people that she’s an alien, and…doesn’t discourage people thinking she’s some sort of mother goddess.

the main belief is that cassandra was created as a result of the m-bomb, and ascended to become a fire wielding, clairvoyant mother goddess. only a select few are privy to cassandra’s actual life story.

some tribes do worship cassandra, which…is extremely uncomfortable for her. she can’t stand it. but it’s far safer and better for her children if she plays this part out. she ESPECIALLY plays up the goddess aspect in an au where there’s a fragment of atlas left inside her, since she will live for centuries and whatnot.

one unfortunate side effect is that parents will sometimes leave their children in the desert at night if they can’t take care of them, completely believing that the goddess will come take them into her care.

not long after this started, cassandra visited the tribes doing this and said that they could only do this on certain dates- that, powerful as she was, she could not be everywhere at once. now, on those dates, cassandra and a small number of her inner circle go out with her to find these children.

short list of the mutants cassandra’s taken in

patches, a mutated kitten and a former pet. the first mutant cassandra takes in. patches is mutated to be roughly 8 years old and grows up to be cassandra’s right hand woman.

peaches, a parakeet who joins her on the way out of new york city. she’s roughly 15 after mutation and wears an aviator’s cap she found

cosimo, paolo, and jean, a trio of turtle mutants who were left in the desert for cassandra to take into her care, because the tribe knew maximus was coming. cassandra does admittedly favor these three, and names them after renaissance artists. 

paolo is partially named after paola though.

jean is also partially named after joan of arc  (jeanne d’arc)

cassandra picked cosimo because it looks like cosmos

patches

patches, an orange tabby kitten, didn’t know what to do when her human family was mutated. but she did remember the parents of her owner, a little boy named francis, talking about what francis should do in an emergency. so, patches searched for days for a human adult when she finally stumbled on a tall, blonde haired woman who was frantically searching through the rubble.

patches stopped the human, and asked her, if she would, please come help her family. they were all strange looking now, and wouldn’t move no matter what she did. the human looked distraught- and for a moment, patches was certain that she was going to say no. but the human came with her anyway, all the way back to their tiny apartment.

when the woman, who eventually revealed that her name was cassandra, saw patches’s family, she immediately looked sad. patches didn’t understand it at first- didn’t understand what “dead” meant, didn’t understand why her family wouldn’t wake up.

cassandra was so patient with her, even when patches began to understand and started sobbing into her shirt. when patches had calmed down, cassandra offered to take care of patches from now on, if she wanted. the kitten had nowhere else to go, knew no one else…of course she said yes.

over days, then months, then years, patches grew to be a strong, competent young woman, who never forget her first human family, but swore to protect her mishmashed mutant one.

the night of the goddess’ children

the night where tribes will leave the children for cassandra to take into her care is formally called the night of the goddess’ children.

cassandra, having been abandoned and given the -ndra suffix on capella herself, wants these children to feel loved and accepted from the moment they board the mobile fortress. that’s why they have something akin to a birthday party awaiting the new children when they come back. no one outside cassandra’s tribe knows about it, so it’s a surprise party, and it’s always a lot of fun

the m bomb

cassandra honest to god thought that the m-bomb was gonna be no big deal. they’d been through so much, so many world ending threats and come out on top almost every time. she was blinded by her confidence in her boys, and when the bomb did drop? it was like the ground gave way underneath her. for a long time, she wondered when she was going to wake up from this nightmare. when splinter was going to shake her awake and reveal everything - splinter’s death, the m-bomb, her boys going missing- it was all a bad dream. a possible future, yes, but one she could work around.

sometimes she’ll still get that feeling of it all being a dream.

hellion

hellion only adopts like 7 kids but she has an army of like 70 extremely dangerous mutants who tried to kill her and joined her after she beat the shit out of them. they protect the wasteland as best they can, frequently going up against maximus kong’s underlings. her army loves how nuts she is, doing shit like taking on huge armies all at once and by herself, challenging maximus kong in front of his rig, with no escape plan, and in general throwing herself into ultra dangerous situations.

[politicaltheatre]

The Long March, pt.2

History will not be kind to John Bolton.

As thrilled as so many are with him this week because his book exposes Donald Trump’s corrupt ass-kissing of autocratic rulers such as China’s Xi Jinping and Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan, what many can’t fail to recognize is that he could have and should have told all of these stories sooner. Much sooner.

That he didn’t is because he has a book to sell and he wanted to wait until close to its release date so he could boost his book sales. That should tell you all you need to know about John Bolton.

Oh, he was one of the architects of the 2003 invasion of Iraq that killed millions and destabilized the entire region thus killing millions more. You should know that, too.

He’d really like us to invade Iran. Right now. This minute. That probably won’t happen, but it’s definitely something you should know. John Bolton is not someone you want in power.

Donald Trump, of course, is furious, and not just because even just the few details that have emerged about the book have made him look bad in front of the “other” strongmen, but because, like all bullies, he absolutely hates being exposed as a bully. Which he is. It’s worth repeating.

We focus so often on Trump’s incompetence, lies, and buffoonery that we seem to neglect talking about his being a bully, and understanding his bullying is the key to understanding everything about him.

Which brings us to Tulsa and Donald Trump’s “fuck you” of a campaign rally. Trump is all about propaganda, which for him means pushing buttons and provoking responses, much like a bully on a playground getting a rise out of his chosen victim.

His choice of Tulsa on Juneteenth was clearly intended for this. It allows him to play the bully and it allows his supporters to cheer him on as he does it.

This, in fact, is why he lies so often. He knows his audience. Whether or not they know he’s lying, they don’t care; as long as he’s hurting someone they don’t like, they’re happy. In professional wrestling, this is called “playing the heel”, and this very much is how they see him and why he appeals to them.

Go back and look at his rallies. He’s performing to his audience, but they, like the audiences at pro-wrestling matches, are performing, too. They’re no “marks”. It’s interactive, and that carries over to all of his public appearances and especially his daily rants on Twitter.

What, then, could be a bigger “fuck you” to to those fighting racism and police brutality than defiling a day celebrating freedom from slavery in a place just beginning to remember and overcome its own brutally racist history? Even pushing it back one day, Trump still gets to take credit. As bonus, he hopes, speaking Saturday will bring more protesters and counter-protesters primed for violence.

He wants videos of protesters losing their cool. He wants “Antifa” protesters seen to be doing violence. He wants a campaign ad that shows everyone looking for some kind of justification for voting for him (again) that they are right to support a culture (and economy) that relies pushing others down and keeping them there.

As those shared videos of hammer-wielding, fire-starting not-protesters keep showing us, this generation of protesters are more than capable of recognizing the threat posed to them and their movement by being blamed for violence they haven’t done. They understand full well how images of violence may be weaponized against them.

Trump won’t get his riot, not from them. On the contrary, any attempt to provoke a riot or perform one professional wrestling-style is very likely to be captured, shared, and exposed for the fraud it is.

This is an enormous advantage over previous generations. Countless past movements in countries all over the world failed in no small part because their ability to communicate was limited, either naturally or forcibly, and they allowed those working against them to control how they were perceived.

What Trump will have, though, is the opportunity to misrepresent the phrase “Defund the Police”. Much like “Antifa”, another term sure to get plenty of misusage at the rally, what it means can change depending on whom you ask.

This isn’t exactly a shock. “Black Lives Matter” has long been misrepresented by Trump and his supporters, and surely will be again in Tulsa. When bullies can’t make a rational argument to defend their behavior, they attack and they use obvious misrepresentation to do it.

Trump’s game here is the same as the one he played recently with “Obamagate”. Use the vagueness of the term as leverage. It can mean what each listener wants it to mean. Details just get in the way.

It’s all a variation on “The Big Lie”, a con made infamous by Adolf Hitler’s PR guy, Joseph Goebbels. Tell a lie that’s obviously a lie, such as, “Jews control the world”, keep repeating it (or dog-whistling it), let people read their own fears into it, and use that to get people to exploit themselves for you.

Contrary to what Trump’s audience will hear for the next four and half months, “Defund the Police” does not mean abolishing the police. There’s already a term for that: abolishing the police.

To defund the police is to redirect money from the police budget to programs better equipped through training and better suited in mindset to handle non-violent crime, such as a man asleep in his car at a drive-thru, and social issues, such as addiction and homelessness.

This means demilitarizing the police, both in the gear and weapons they’re using and in the adversarial mindset that is so entrenched among them that many who watched those same videos of police cracking the skulls of old men and young women thought it was a perfectly justified use of force.

The hope is to make policing less about statistics and quotas and war and more about recognizing those whom they have sworn to protect as equals and treating them as they would want to be treated themselves.

This, then, is what Donald Trump will attempt to do in Tulsa. With a lot of help from his own, personal Goebbels, Stephen Miller, Trump will tell his supporters that Black Lives Matter protesters want to abolish all police, that they want criminals to run free, and that they want to destroy what makes America great. And he’ll use that one phrase, “Defund the Police”, as the anchor to do it.

Another button Trump will push, which is to say, another Big Lie he will tell, will be about the statues of Confederate leaders (and other equally racist ones) being taken down and rising support for renaming ten military bases named for Confederate generals.

Like others pushing back at this necessary change, Trump will attempt to frame it as protecting history. “Heritage” is a code word we will likely hear, likely more than once. Like other coded language, it obscures truth rather than revealing it, which is just what those statues and base names were meant to do, obstruct our memory and sell us on a lie.

The lie they told normalized the racism those men stood for. It scrubbed clean the atrocities they and others committed to hold power over others and destroy their hope.

That lie has succeeded for so long because when we had the chance after the Civil War to complete the long march towards justice and equality for all, we gave up as we so often do. We had fought a war and were weary of it, and we had achieved…something, enough for people different than us and far away from us, so we stopped.

We’ve had opportunities since and each time we’ve made it a bit farther down the path, but each time we stopped, and those statues and names were no small part of the reason why. They held stature in our eyes, and that gave the lie power. They gaslit us, telling us our own memories were lies.

As with police brutality, they have served both as an expression and reinforcement of the imbalance of power in our society. Tearing the statues down and renaming the bases deprives power to the lie of our past. It restores the power of memory. We need to do that in order to move forward.

Memory is everything. This is why Trump and the strongmen he so admires attack it. Our memories serve to protect us, to keep us from making mistakes and repeating those of the past.

It’s why Trump frenemy, Premier Xi, has built his career on suppressing memories of the massacre in Tiananmen Square. Without free speech and the memories that generates in a culture, you end up with something like we see in China, where few born after those pro-democracy protesters were killed even know it was done, or Hong Kong, where memory of Tiananmen is being criminalized.

Or worse, you end up with something like North Korea, another self-proclaimed “socialist” regime that denies its people two of the most basic tenets of actual socialism: free speech and freedom of movement.

The end of Japan’s brutal colonial rule in 1945 must have filled North Koreans with some sense of hope of those freedoms and more. Instead, they have endured a hereditary dictatorship - one that appears to be transitioning to its fourth “supreme leader”, Kim Yo Jong - that uses images of its rulers and idealized servant-citizens to suppress the truth of their misery and reinforce the imbalance of power between the ruling class and them.

Memory is everything.

The term “The Long March” refers to the military retreat of the Chinese communist army early in their civil war. The retreat lasted over a year. It saw the rise, fall, and second rise of Mao Zedong as leader of the communists. It is taught in China as a triumph of courage and will, as the test that proved Mao’s leadership and the virtue of following his lead.

Of course, Mao wrote that history. What the communists knew when they started their rebellion was that Chiang Kai-Shek was a corrupt, authoritarian ruler who was as weak - he had no answer for the Japanese colonial invasion - as he was greedy and cruel. Anyone would have been better than him.

Sound familiar?

What they got in Mao was change, but while China has finally achieved its place as a global economic and nuclear superpower, it has done so by crushing dissent, killing millions upon millions of its own people, and creating a brutal class system exactly like the ones of Chiang Kai-Shek and the emperors before him.

Ask the victims of Tiananmen Square if the long march ended well for them. Ask the people of Hong Kong right now.

It isn’t enough to make change. We must maintain it and expand it. That means holding the police accountable on body cam footage so they actually use the cameras. That means pushing them on public access. That means electing politicians who want to represent their communities rather than corporations. That means taking the time and effort to research candidates and to vote. That means finding a way to stay engaged.

Whatever has been accomplished in these first few weeks, it is just the first few steps down a long road. If this movement is to succeed, enough of us will need to go the distance, and to do so not merely following anyone else’s lead. This means asking questions we may not want to ask and passing on memories both of what we have done right and what we have done wrong.

Let someone tell you what questions need asking and what memories are worth remembering, and you hand over your lives to them, what they have been and what they can be. They will tell your story as theirs and they will change it to suit their needs.

On this day, the 19th of June, we owe it to ourselves and to future generations never to surrender that particular power to anyone ever again.

- Daniel Ward

[elstine-harboson]

Misconceptions: Power and Politics (PT.1)

Sub-Title: Nobility 

Hello, hello folks! Elstine here again to provide you all with another bit of information; granted this topic is a little more left-field than what we’re typically going over - such as armor and weaponry. However, with our recent recruitment for the business roleplay scene I thought this would be a good time to bring up some of my favorite subjects.

 In particular the struggle of power between religious leaders(the Cloth), nobility, the military, and what I would say is often the most overlooked faction: the merchants.

((Disclaimer; I already know this won’t stop at least one angry message, but understand I am acknowledging this as largely an opinionated piece (Other than the large factual parts!). This is merely suggestions, things that perhaps folks have not considered. There is no right way to RP; do not take it as such. Suggestions are suggestions, not demands.))

You mention four factions, what exactly do they consist of and how are they important?

Well, I am glad you asked mythical stranger! Let's break it down together!

The Nobles

The Nobility generally consist of powerful, land-owning families or simply individuals related in some degree to the Head of State; whomever that might be, no matter the region - from east and west Europe through the Middle East, all the way to Asia... This is generally a consistent. Now, Nobility has this nice little thing where generally speaking those of Noble-Heritage own land. Land means they can plant crops - more than what they can consume, which means they can sell said crops... But that’s a lot of land to work, so why don’t we get a bunch of peasants to do the field work for us, give them some food to barely scrape by and -still- sell the rest of the food supplies! - That’s generally how Nobility/Feudalism got its roots. (Get it, farming, hah.) But, of course as time went on the Nobles got more and more wealthy and of course more and more land, so that’d create specialized goods such as wine, blacksmiths, stables, etc!

So now you have a small group of -very- wealthy individuals that make a living in owning land and having ‘lesser’ folk work for them. If all the Nobles banded together, or even a third or so - they could heavily damage the tax supply to the king, as well as hamper the supply of soldiers and various other supplies! Not to mention Nobles has trained men on retainer, or had enough coinage to pay off hefty mercenary armies - together, they could, and have opposed kings! Not to mention Nobles are typically in the Court of the Ruler; meaning they’re well informed and have influence. 

The Military

A fantastic, if not basic example of the Military’s political power would simply be that of Julius Caesar. Essentially the idea is that if a General of the Military fights well and wins many battles with his men, essentially... Doing his job well! - The fear is that the men will gain more and more respect and more loyalty to the individual rather than the State itself; whom are at home doing their cushy day jobs. It’s not uncommon for Generals to rouse the men during King/Emperor deaths and try to storm the Capital and install themselves as the new Ruler; for Julius Caesar... This worked.

Throughout history you’ll see the best of Kings consistently swapping in and out generals to prevent the men from gaining too much loyalty to one individual; hopefully preventing any potential rebellion. But, I shouldn’t have to spell this out much further for you; very well trained men + power vacuum = not a good time!

The Cloth

Many, many, many times throughout history have Religious Heads and Heretics alike caused rebellions and outright wars with their influence. When the vast majority have the belief that one particular man is the -literal- voice of their omnipotent god, well... That person is going to have a huge influence. For example with the Tudors; the King of England wanted a divorce, couldn’t get one because the Pope denied it - so the King was like, well, we’ll just make our own religion! People -flipped- out, there was open rebellion, assassination plots were rampant, many people thought it was the -end- of England one of the world’s super-powers at the time. Another example comes from books involving Jesus Christ; the Romans knew the power of religion and they absolutely feared what would could potentially happen with yet another Religion springing up. More religions = more internal fightings = more military crackdowns = resentment to the government = rebellion; such as the Jewish Rebellion against the Romans (1st Jewish-Roman War.)

Not only did the Religious Heads have great power from their religious influence on the general public; but they were -loaded- tithes were common place for most major religions - Europe for example had entire -armies- built around their religion that were sworn to the Pope, the Teutonic Order became so powerful that they threatened to nearly conquer all of Poland - which, was a -major- feat for the time; something not even Russia (Russia didn’t exist technically.) or the Holy Roman Empire could handle.

The Merchants

Finally, the piece that you’ve all been waiting for! How in the world were the Merchants and Entrepreneurs of the world a Political Power? Very, very simple... They’re the ones making all the gold. The Merchants are going out there trading supplies, bringing back rare resources such as silk and spices that make not only the general public happy but also the Cloth, the Military -and- the Nobility who all purchased their supplies frooooom... The Merchants. Not only that but Trade Leagues, which were essentially large-scale, multi-national monopolies, could host entire fleets of ships to block trade ports, fight off invading armies, or perhaps provide much needed transport ships such as the case with the Crusaders and Venice! (First Crusade, and technically all the others!) The end all be all of wealth were the Merchants; in fact places like Florence, Venice, Ragusa, Genoa, and other major-trade ports often had their Nobility practically the same -as- the Merchants; there were very thin lines if they existed at all. If there was no trade, there was no taxes, if there were no taxes there was no gold, with no gold the State could not afford its soldiers, it could not afford to feed itself, etc! -- Some of the few times Nobility ever actually struggled was when Trade was cut off from them; because everyone suffers without trade - such is the power of Merchants! Not to mention, for example with Venice... Merchants in some cases could afford entire armies that rivaled -much- larger forces such as Venice VS Austria.

 (We will break these factions down in more details in later parts!)

 Oh, alright. So what does this have to do with anything?

Ah, another good question my invisible and quite possibly non-existent friend!

I think it’s important that we realize, notice, acknowledge that there is more in the political slogging fest then Knights and Nobles, and more over you don't need a popular T.V. show to make your particular field important or fun.

It’s important for those interested in the make-believe power dynamics to acknowledge and consider the abilities of the other factions around them; not just the Noble families worrying about Noble families. Thinking about it, if you are in House Bob and you are roleplaying a power-grab with House Ron; why would you not extend your resources and look outside for alternative solutions?

EX: Maybe House Bob should contact the local monopoly and have the vast majority of medical supplies delivered to their own House and starve out House Ron.

EX: Or maybe House Ron goes to the Cloth and convinces a High Priest that House Bob is working with the Legion and now their reputation is ruined and no one wants to work with them.

EX: Maybe House Bob gets the support of a Military Captain who is able to supply them with weapons, armors, trained soldiers, or superior military strategy.

The options are endless, and I for one think all our horizons can be expanded if we think outside our circle and try to think like all those famous characters we see on our T.V. It doesn’t always just have to be black and white, upfront conflict situation. That’s arguably not intrigue, it’s just... idle conflict.

 Alright Elstine, but a lot of people don't want to be involved in intrigue or politics! Or some folks might meta-game or god-mod!

Well, meta-gaming and god-modding are the two primary issues I have personally faced throughout my various IC political careers and such things can definitely make stuff difficult as I am sure we have all experienced... When you claim to only have 20 soldiers, and 100 gold - while your opposition claims to have endless mounds of gold and armies that could solo Argus... Well, it makes things hard. But I suppose that is why I recommend thinking logically and realistically with such things; which we will hopefully get into.

In terms of folks not wanting to be involved in politics, I’d argue 90% of RPers do want to be involved in politics - even if they aren't fully aware of such. For example: what is the typical trope in the ageless D&D?

EX: Count Bob has Overthrown the King!

EX: Duke Ron swore allegiance to the Devil and had a Demon Army to take over the Kingdom!

EX: A Military General assassinated the King and has staged a coup!

To name a few, even WoW and the lore we all love is primarily political. Gul’dan sold out his people for self-gain. Arthus was out in the field to train and prepare himself to take his Father’s place. Illidan trade his reputation and respect to save his people, tired of being in the shadow of his respected brother. Don't even get me started on the Quel and Sin dorei.

Usually the moment you say the word politics- people begin to squirm; but people also squirm from the word ‘moist’ I mean really, what is so bad about moist, I say moist all the time. Moist.

My point being, if you engage people just as you would in any other scenario and just... Roleplay rather than mentioning politics, nine times out of ten no issue.

 Alright, so why is logical and realistic thinking so important?

If you are fighting a foe that has no weakness, how can you hope to win? How can you celebrate a victory if there never are any? Even the most intense and brutal roleplayers don't want to lose -all- the time; it’s just... silly. Moreover, it’s even more so to try to -win- all the time.

If you are that type of person who has to win all the time; first ask yourself why. Then inquire, is it really winning if there was never a chance of losing? No, no it is not. It’s a security blanket, and quite frankly it is holding you back - and limiting others as well. I believe truly, the only folks that don't want to do political roleplay are those that refuse to lose.

What would House of Cards be if Frank just won over all the votes he needed all the time? Sure, he wins a lot and can pull some miracles - but he does lose, or consistently remain closer to the side of losing rather than winning. His loss doesn’t show weakness or a lack of skill, or experience rather it shows how good he is in his victories; as it shows that he is engaging people with their own minds and agendas.

Steamrolling through everything and everyone, giving yourself unlimited resources, and unbreakable defenses only shows disrespect to those you are Roleplaying an engagement with, and shows some serious self doubt.

 If the banks can fail, if nations can fail, so can one Noble family.

 Alright cool, this is all stuff I have not considered how can I get started?

(Tldr: Establish finite resources, establish goals, wants, and needs to fix resources. There is rarely a group that has -everything- in abundance.)

Well, what we have done for organizations in the past is look over what they claim to have as a family and add some realistic elements to it. If your House is claiming to be masters of Calvary, then it’d only make sense that said house has a stable of well-trained war-horses, which are insanely valuable. Horses were often traded to folks, and horses were highly valued; thus the armor.

Maybe your family is stinking rich, okay... but, why and how? You can't really be rich without reasoning, even Rockefeller had a business empire to amass his wealth; and as mentioned Nobility usually were Nobles to begin with because they owned land, when you own land you can make wine, grow wheat, make goods, etc - so figure out how and why you have wealth. I think you’ll find it'll at a flair and a depth to your roleplay; IE being well known for your supplies of wheat or lumber.

When making deals with Noble families there were many things on the table for grabs. Land, resources, soldiers, training, soldier gear, marriage, horses, land, maybe some land, boats, trade routes, etc. There are many examples and many things that can be done when negotiating, but the only way two sides can negotiate in an entertaining and thoughtful way is by having both sides having finite resources.

It is -vital- I would say for any group to have needs due to their finite resources. 

EX: Maybe you have a lot of gold, but your lands had the plague so you need troops.

EX: Maybe you have a lot of restless soldiers and you need gold; hire them out to another force.

EX: Maybe you're in need of transporting goods, but you have no ships.

EX: Maybe you have too many ships and not enough trade; so lease your ships out.

 The key is establishing finite resources, and trying to fill said resources. Fix your wants and needs as any character would; most simply default to gold. Gold does not fix all the problems.

 Many businesses want to hire people but can't find anyone to work.

 Okay, okay - you mention winning; that seems like a bad thing to encourage!

In most cases, yes. The goal of RP is not to ‘win’ - becoming the most popular kid in WrA isn’t the end goal, or at least it shouldn’t be for anyone. Winning in roleplay is a dangerous mindset; but there are other ways of winning.

The way we win, the way I win, and the way I encourage you all to win is rather simple. All parties involved in the roleplay, enjoy and enjoyed the roleplay experience, with no regrets or feeling forced moments. When everyone is having fun with the roleplay -that- is winning. At least on an OOC level.

On an IC level, it is important to realize that losing is normal, and only fair. Most guilds, groups, or individuals will simply start to avoid you if you decide your character, group, or guild is always the top dog - unless there is some odd agreement going on.

It is only fair and right for everyone, every group, and every guild to have the spotlight or victory; unless all agreed upon with all the parties for story elements. But, perhaps next time offer a storyline allowing the losing side a victory.

 Alrighy folks, thank you very much for the read, reblog, and likes - if you have any feedback, comments, questions, suggestions, please leave me a message!

There will be additional parts in the future hopefully delving into the Factions on an individual basis.

 Thanks again!

Elstine

@huntress-verlai @the-news-nerd @theodorebennas @percy-dewdancer @scassira @justtideguard @sincerelysonni @addressroleplays

[eichy815]

‘Big Brother’ Is Being Watched By Us! – Part 2

CONTINUED FROM PART 1

Season 2 (where the game’s format itself was retooled and reimagined) featured the sassy Monica Bailey, a Brooklyn candy store manager who tragically lost her cousin in the 9/11 attacks (which took place during the tail-end of Season 2).  Her best friend in the house, Krista Stegall, was a charming country girl (although housemate Kent Blackwelder constantly made references to Stegall’s alleged “Nyquil addiction”) – she and Bailey were jointly targeted in Week 6 as a “Power of Two.”  Bailey ended up coming in third place, and really should have been selected by producers for re-entry into the house during Big Brother All-Stars (she would have been far more entertaining than the reincarnated “Chilltown” duo).

Speaking of Chilltown, though, I have to give mad props to Will Kirby (aka “Evil Dr. Will”), universally regarded as the best Big Brother winner to ever play the game. Despite being put up on the block for eviction every week, Kirby managed to repeatedly squirm out of danger using a combination of psychological mind games and bouncy charm.  Everyone kept underestimating “Evil Dr. Will” as a jury “non-threat” – and he went all the way to the end with Nicole Nilson Schaffrich, ultimately defeating her in a 5-2 vote.

Nilson Schaffrich, who (along with Hill) was a sworn enemy of Kirby and “Chilltown,” also became a favorite of mine.  Initially, she came on really strong to her housemates as she attempted to fit in as this zany, spontaneous, chatterbox of a “fun girl.” But after the game’s first-ever HoH, Malin, nominated her for eviction in Week 1, Nilson Schaffrich morphed into a depressing, negative, confrontational, bitchy cloud of gloom-and-doom (she also had OCD when it came to cleaning, and deeply missed her husband, Jeff).  Will and Nicole developed a classic love/hate relationship – where Nicole would constantly threaten and berate Dr. Will, while he simply laughed it off and continued playing the role of “class clown.” 

I could relate to Nicole – which is why I think I enjoyed her, even though she was a total darkened contrast to Monica, Krista, and Dr. Will in terms of personality.  The epitome of Will and Nicole’s rivalry was when, during a competition, the producers asked houseguests to craft little puppet-style dolls in their own likenesses; Nicole refused to do it, and so Will energetically volunteered to create Nicole’s doll for her – he proceeded to draw/paint a skimpy bikini onto the doll’s fabric, and then mocked Nicole in the Diary Roll while making the Nicole-doll “talk.”

Despite the bad casting of Season 3, I did enjoy another unlikely alliance formed:  that of Jason Guy, a born-again Christian videographer in his mid-twenties, and Danielle Reyes, a mouthy and brassy media buyer (and mom to two daughters).  Their alliance went largely unnoticed by other houseguests (except for the season’s eventual winner, Lisa Donahue).  Although I’m usually not a fan of born-again Christians, Jason was just an all-around nice guy and good person; meanwhile, Danielle made me laugh and kept me entertained with her colorful, verbose, and cocky Diary Room confessionals.  Once that season’s evicted houseguests went home and watched Danielle’s sessions in the Diary Room, they viewed her as entitled and pompous...which was largely why she lost the jury vote to Lisa.  This was ultimately why, beginning with Season 4, Big Brother producers shrunk the size of the jury while keeping jury members sequestered in a plush Jury House (so they wouldn’t be swayed by what was said in the finalists’ Diary Room confessionals).  

Season 4 had David Lane, a former Army ranger who was evicted early in the game (Week 3) but was a likable dude very much in the mold of Jason Guy. That season’s winner, Jun Song, shepherded the “floater” strategy (alongside the even-more-reviled Alison Irwin, with whom she went to the Final Two) while having the house wrapped around her fingertips as she played the simultaneous roles of “house chef,” “chic chubby girl,” and “firebrand comic relief.”  Song even earned the vote of her ex-boyfriend, Jee Choe, on that season’s jury.

Pilates instructor Erika Landin, who would later return for Big Brother: All-Stars (where she placed second to Malin, after entering an ill-conceived “showmance” with him) was competitive-yet-boring, but I enjoyed her if only for her gaudy pink hat that she was forced to destroy during a wardrobe-burning competition.  Irwin’s ex-boyfriend, Justin Giovinco, was the leader of the Three Stooges Alliance (consisting of him, Jee, and Erika’s ex-boyfriend, Robert Roman).  Giovinco had the most charisma and best leadership skills of the “Three Stooges” (which is probably why the rest of the house targeted him before Jee and Robert)...plus he looked great with his clothes off!

The standout of Big Brother 5, by far, was Nakomis Dedmon, a Goth-like Texas hostess whose chill-but-assertive gameplay got her all the way to the Final Four.  Nakomis helped to conceive and execute the first “backdooring” strategy (evicting someone by NOT initially putting them on the block, and waiting to nominate them until after the Power of Veto has been used).  Her in-house reunion (which had been secretly orchestrated by the producers) with long-lost brother Michael Ellis (aka Cowboy) was rather poignant...even though they ended up at odds with each other, and ultimately, estranged.  When she returned for Big Brother: All-Stars, Dedmon was the second houseguest evicted due to her reputation from Season 5 as a strategic threat.

I also enjoyed Will Wikle, a gay R.N. who was a part of the Pinky Swear Alliance put together by Nakomis.  His strategy wasn’t that great, but Wikle was carefree, outgoing, and had a fantastic body.  Drew Daniel, the winner of that season, was both sexy and humble...and, really, the only redeeming member of the Four Horsemen Alliance.  Sadly, in the years since, Drew has followed the paths of Jasinski and McDonald, being tasered by police when resisting arrest after having domestic violence charged filed against him.

Marvin Latimer, Season 5’s resident house chef, was a South  Carolina mortician who shared tentative partial-alliances with both the Four Horsemen and Pinky Swear Alliances.  His “floater” strategy got him eliminated mid-game, but he brought a lot of high energy and many entertaining quips to his time on the program.  Latimer now hosts a YouTube broadcast known as “The Marvin Show.”

In spite of her creepy and pathological obsession with Cappy, Season 6 runner-up Ivette Corredero was someone who I actually found endearing with her outspokenness and fiery Latina personality.  I thought Janelle Pierzina was amusing in blending her “ditzy blonde” demeanor with fierceness in winning competitions, and I can understand why she became a “fan favorite.”  Howie Gordon was a loud, overbearing train wreck – but I have to give him points for being amusing to watch...mostly due to his obsession with “boobies,” his sexually-unbridled banter, and the fact that he made life miserable for Lewis (coining the nickname “Busto” for her).

Big Brother All-Stars was so disappointing that I will skip over most of it.  I just couldn’t get past Malin’s atrocious presence (for which Rosie O’Donnell later called him out, on The View).  One of the few highlights was when Nilson Schaffrich, Song, and Latimer returned as guest co-hosts for a food competition (since they each had histories of cooking extensively for their respective housemates).

My favorites from Season 8 were Kail’s onetime alliance mates in the short-lived Mrs. Robinson Alliance.  With Kail being the middle-aged mother figure in the house that season, she initially aligned herself with three young guys:  Mike Dutz, a contractor/model who got himself evicted by targeting Evel Dick; Nick Starcevic, a former college football player remembered for entering a “showmance” with Evel Dick’s estranged daughter, Daniele, who was paired with her father as part of that season’s “Nemesis” twist; and Zach Swerdzekski, a dimwitted-but-likable graphic designer who had a penchant for self-deprecating nudity.  Out of all of them, only Swerdzewski made it deep into the game (placing third to both of the Donatos).

Even amid the trash heap that was Big Brother 9, there were a few decent houseguests:  TMZ reporter Parker Somerville, who was shafted by the season’s “Soulmates” twist; Alex Coladonato, a charismatic Staten Island DJ, who, much like Somerville, was voted out early due to the twist; and James Zinkand (aka “Crazy James”), who went on to become the “fan favorite” due to his garishly-dyed hair and adventurous personality.

Season 10 marked a resurgence in quality for Big Brother.  There were more twists, better casting, and heightened drama.  Brian Hart was the handsome and charismatic techno-entrepreneur who had the distinction of being the first one voted out, due to houseguests’ perception of him as a Nakomis-like strategic threat.  Despite her perverse friendship with Jerry/Ollie/April, I found Michelle Costa to be saucy and spirited...and I wish she would have lasted longer.

Then there were the season’s two Dynamic Duos:  Keesha Smith, the outspoken sweetheart who bonded with the baudy and lovably loud Renny Martyn (a hairdresser from New Orleans, who always sported garish outfits amid a spicy tongue with which she lashed out at household troublemakers).

However, Season 10’s winner, Dan Gheesling, and runner-up, “mixologist” Memphis Garrett, formed the memorable Renegades Alliance.  Gheesling perfected an under-the-radar strategy by being down-to-earth and endearing, staying out of all the boisterous drama of the house...basically laying around and reading (especially his Bible) while everyone else shouted each other down.  He defeated Memphis in the show’s first unanimous jury vote once they cruised into the Final Two together.  Gheesling’s Diary Room confessionals – where he borderline-shouted his observations, probably as a consequence of being a high school football coach – were priceless.

Season 11:  this was the season that marked a turning-point for the power of “showmances” in the house. “Fan favorite” Jeff Schroeder (single-handedly responsible for getting Jessie evicted via the “Coup d’Etat” twist) and Jordan Lloyd formed one of the show’s most memorable and enduring “showmances.”  Jeff fell on his sword by overplaying, midgame; but Jordan was rewarded with the half-million dollar prize by taking the much-hated Natalie Martinez with her to the Final Two. And, to this day, the relationship between “Jordeff” remains solid.

Other likable contestants that season were brainy scientist Michele Noonan, who tried to play a low-key game but was later forced to embrace her role as a “quiet devil;” Kevin Campbell, the gay graphic designer who aligned with Jessie’s allies while keeping his distance from Jessie himself; and Casey Turner, a fortysomething married father and DJ who was just plain fun and chill.

In spite of the disappointment that was Big Brother 12, I have to give major props to that season’s winner, Hayden Moss – jovial, loyal, humane, free-spirited, uninhibited, and competitive.  It’s not surprising that Moss went on to compete in Survivor: Blood vs. Water (where he placed seventh) – the first Big Brother contestant to do so. Pharmaceutical rep Britney Godwin was also hilarious in her Diary Room confessionals, and Reilly’s “showmance” partner Brendon Villegas was overall a really good (and hot!) guy, despite being utterly clueless.

Out of the newbies in Season 13, Dominic Briones (who would later go on to marry housemate Daniele Donato in real-life) was a convivial and boisterous dude who was evicted way too early (due to Schroeder’s bullying). Likewise with Cassi Colvin, a bold and candid young woman evicted right after Briones (due to Reilly’s bullying). And, although she was evicted during the jury phase, Daniele was given a much greater opportunity to shine this season compared to four years earlier when she’d played second banana to her father.

Season 14 was when Big Brother began to get really good.  The “Coaches” twist (and especially the returns of Gheesling and Godwin) featured some of the most eclectic newbies in years.  Among them:  Frank Eudy (son of professional wrestler Sid Vicious), a mop-headed competition beast whom Malin adopted as the newest member of “Chilltown;” JoJo Spatafora, a cheeky Staten Island bartender who, much like Somerville, Hart, Briones, and Colvin in seasons before hers, was evicted way too early; Jenn Arroyo (known affectionately by housemates as “JennCity”), a lesbian heavy-metal rocker; Shane Meaney, a hunky Vermont house-flipper who also dominated the physical competitions; and, of course, the lovable Ian Terry, a nerdy-but-shrewd Tulane graduate (and eventual winner of Season 14) who, as a lifelong fan of Big Brother, memorably blindsided Malin – his own former “coach” prior to the reset.

Just last summer, even amongst the “racists and fools” of Season 15 were some gems:  McCrae Olson, the pizza delivery guy who formed a “showmance” with house bully Amanda Zuckerman; David Girton, a studly lifeguard who was the first one evicted (after forming a “showmance” with house racist Aaryn Gries) that summer; and the season’s “housemother,” Chicago political consultant Helen Kim.  

Unfortunately, the season’s winner and runner-up, Andy Herron (Big Brother’s first openly-gay winner) and GinaMarie Zimmerman, also displayed much bigotry and depravity...which was witnessed by those watching the live feeds, but didn’t make it into their television edits (which, because they were so favorable, caused me to really like them both).  Also, GinaMarie developed an obsessively-entertaining infatuation with houseguest Nick Uhas (the second player evicted), a cute-and-hilarious pro skater who, like so many others before him, went out way too early.

As I write the above recollections from the past fourteen years, it only reinforces to me how Big Brother is a microcosm of our flawed society.  Sometimes people get rewarded for bullying or idiocy, and sometimes they get called out on it.  Sometimes entertaining and sociable people make it far in life, but other times they’re stymied by those who view them as “a threat.”

This is probably why I find myself getting wrapped up in who stays and who goes, as I watch, every summer.  When I love a houseguest, I want her or him to make it far in the game – because it’s like spending an hour a week with a good friend.  By contrast, if I loathe a houseguest, I want him or her to be evicted (and to see them humiliated based on their negative antics) because that’s one less week I have to endure them on my TV screen.

And, of course, there are always the “train wrecks” – houseguests whom I enjoy watching solely for entertainment value, even though I can’t take them seriously as a contestant (and, in reality, they have no decent shot at actually winning).  Often times, these overwrought players will function as “tokens” who create hilarity and chaos in the house (giving my favorites more of a chance to go farther in the game).  

Just some of the most hilarious memories from Big Brother history...

Identical twins Adria Klein and Natalie Carroll revealing the “Twin Twist” to their Season 5 housemates, as they’d been switching clothing and spots in the house for weeks at that point.

Newly-minted HoH Pierzina chanting “Bye, Bye, Bitches!” after putting up two members of The Nerd Herd (Ausburn and Vasquez) on the block.

Stein revealing he was secretly “America’s Player” during the Big Brother 8 finale.

All the drama caused by the Season 10 houseguests on Keesha’s birthday...which was all instigated, of course, by Jessie.  It culminated in the houseguests serenading Keesha with a half-hearted version of “Happy Birthday” – after which, the fighting picked right back up (again, no thanks to Jessie!).

Jeff using the Coup d’Etat, which led to Jessie’s eviction.

Kevin becoming exasperated when Natalie, Lydia, and Chima basically formed a “mini-cult” venerating Jessie in the aftermath of his eviction (which was eerily similar to the “Cult of Cappy” perpetuated by “The Nerd Herd” in Season 6).

The “wild child” and much-tattooed houseguest, Lydia Tavera, having an epic meltdown after her ally, Jessie, was evicted.

Julie Chen interviewing Malin, Reyes, Pierzina, and Evel Dick about their views on Season 11 (watch for the moment when, after Malin partially defends Chima’s state-of-mind which led to her expulsion, Evel Dick tells Malin that he “should jump off a bridge”).

Britney calling out Malin, after he stopped ignoring her, six days into the “Coaches’ Season” (Big Brother 14).

Malin watching his “goodbye videos” after his blindside eviction...and learning that Ian had a large hand in his demise.

Gheesling orchestrating his own “funeral” (after emerging from a solitary confinement punishment) in order to get himself off the nomination block.

So far this season, I have my least favorites.  Two of them have already been evicted:  Devin Shepherd, a mashup of Godderz and Littman (with a little bit of Kass McQuillen, from Survivor: Cagayan, thrown in), whose strategy and logic were completely nonexistent during his three weeks in the house; and Paola Shea (known as “Pao-Pao”), a walking caricature of the “deceitful Filipina” stereotype...who, based on her individual behavior, was just plain annoying.

Then we have Donny Thompson, the kind-hearted Duck Dynasty reject who is clearly designed to be Cowboy 2.0 (although he’s a lot smarter than Cowboy – not that that’s saying much).   Caleb Reynolds is a young redneck whose romantic obsession with housemate Amber Borzotra borders on pathological, rivaling that which GinaMarie had toward Nick last season (or that which Natalie Cunial had toward Matty in Season 9). And there’s Victoria Rafaeli, a complete waste of space due to her utter pointlessness (could she become the next April Lewis or Adam Poch?)...obviously, her audition for Shahs of Sunset didn’t work out.

Who do I like this season?  Along with Amber, I’m really digging Tucson barista Christine Brecht (and her “chickmance” with fellow geeky housemate Nicole Franzel).   Hayden Voss (one syllable away from the namesake of Season 12’s winner) is a super-cool surfer-like dude who doesn’t actually surf (he drives a PediCab in Long Beach).  Palm  Beach economics graduate Zach Rance and sales account executive Cody Calafiore would totally be my “bromance” partners, if I was in the house.

And I want Frankie Grande (the real-life brother of pop music superstar Ariana Grande) as my husband!

This season, Grodner has introduced the “Team America” twist, where America voted for three houseguests (Donny, Frankie, and Rhode Island cop Derrick Levasseur) to perform acts of sabotage all season long; each member of Team America will be awarded $5,000 for every mission they successfully complete.

Also, every week TWO Heads of Household are crowded, and each of them nominates two houseguests for eviction.  Then, the four nominees compete in the “Battle of the Block,” where the victorious pair automatically comes off the chopping block and overthrows the HoH who nominated them.

So what twists would I add to the Big Brother House? How about a season where we return to there being only one HoH each week – and he or she has the choice to nominate two, three, or as many as four individual houseguests for eviction.  If four different houseguests are nominated for eviction, there would be two Power of Veto winners in the veto competition; and if one or both of those veto-holders chooses to leave the nominations intact, then one or two of the nominees would automatically come off the block based on an online vote (the result would still be the same:  only two houseguests remain on the chopping block when it’s time to vote for eviction).

But why would an HoH nominate more than two people?  Isn’t that just extra blood they’d be getting on their hands (pissing more people off)?   Maybe – but, alternately, it could be a good strategy for targeting a large alliance, for taking out one of many multiple threats (strategic or physical), or for trying to get a “floater” evicted by stacking the chopping block with several covert allies.

I also would switch up the “Haves/Have-Not’s” competition (including the food reward and penalties) each week.  First, while putting the losers on “slop” was entertaining during the first few seasons when it was used as a punishment, it’s gotten old.  I still think there should a be “food restriction” for losers, but it should become a bit more creative than merely placing the losing team on “slop” and two bizarre items.

What I would do is turn it into a three-team competition where three separate groups of houseguests compete to become either the “Haves,” “Could-Haves,” and “Have-Nots” each week.  Additionally, during weeks when the number of competing houseguests isn’t equally divisible by three, the statuses of “Haves,” “Could Haves,” and “Have-Nots” would be assigned via a collective house competition (everyone other than the HOH receives the same status, depending on how they do), or perhaps dispersed on the whims of a reward competition winner, or maybe even be based on failure to meet an endurance standard in a timed competition.

Under my blueprint:

Haves would receive:  an unlimited gourmet food selection (compiled from a lengthy grocery list of their choosing), unlimited access to all of the Big Brother House’s amenities, and even some luxurious theme parties (which the “Could-Haves” and “Have-Nots” would be unable to attend).

Could-Haves (most likely, the runners-up in the competition) would receive: basic food rations (including, but not limited to, peanut-butter-and-jelly) that fall into every category on the food pyramid, standard house privileges (including hot showers and comfortable beds), but zero access to “special events” (with the exception of things specifically approved by producers, such as celebrating a houseguest’s birthday).

Have-Nots would receive:  a very limited selection of approximately one dozen “bizarre” foods that are voted on by America, cold showers (producers turn off the showers’ hot water when a Have-Not is preparing to shower), and horrible sleeping conditions.

These “bizarre” foods (assigned to the “Have-Nots”) would be items that fans could vote on through the CBS website each week.  The top twelve foods (voted on by America) would be the only edibles (aside from water and condiments) which the “Have-Nots” may consume during that week.  These “culinary delights” could include morsels such as escargot (snails), tofu, mole, seaweed, pickled peppers, sea cucumber, whelk (sea snail), squid, octopus, sea urchin, frog legs, ostrich, kumis, fava beans, chicken hearts, kielbasa, reindeer, salo (pork belly), head cheese, jellied eels, herring, conch meat, duck livers, mussels, fish maw, Spam musubi, lutefisk, roti (Indian wholemeal bread), fresh durian, salak, ube (purple yam), wheatgrass, flax, nettles, etc.

Also, “slop” would still be available for the “Have-Nots” to exclusively consume – but only on a voluntary basis.  So why would any contestant voluntarily agree to eat that rancid stuff?  For every full bowl (16 ounces) of “slop” that a “Have-Not” is able to successfully consume during their “Week of Hell,” that contestant receives $1,000 (per bowl).

There are countless twists they could add...and, most certainly, countless seasons of Big Brother ahead of us.

As you can see, based on how long this article has run, my addiction to Big Brother is one that I’m not going to kick anytime soon.

[relnhart]

The Blanegard Family, and some history on Reinhart. (To be continued)

Reinhart Blanegard age 24 A farmhand at bentbranch meadows. Has a scar going from the nape of his neck on the right side to across his chest. (received from a Coerl attack when he was 16) Joined the lancer's guild 5 years after the Calamity. Raised his own red chocobo from birth. Has a huge crush on Taimu Dolores. Has a basic understanding of Thaumaturgy and Conjuration. Did not consider himself worthy of the title of warrior of light until given Hraesvelgr's Eye. Titled as the Viridian Dragoon, as Estinien is referred to as Crimson and Shiro as the new Azure Dragoon. Cannot hold his liquor and gets drunk easily. Prefers not to drink because of this.

Reinhart Blanegard, Son to Elaena Blanegard. Is the heir to a bloodline born from Allagan expermentation, who used human slaves as guinea pigs to further their own twisted ends. Tiamat had imprisoned herself in Azys Lla, mourning over her beloved Bahamut and the monster she created throught the help of Ascian machination. The Allagans took full advantage of their prisoner, taking her blood experimenting with it. Among which were transfusions into human hosts, Creating mindless thralls turned dragon to send out as monsterous reinforcements for their armies. One such dragon overcame the deadly effects of the blood and eventually regained their human form, seeking out to live their life peacefully away from Allagan rule. This person would later be the progenitor of the Blanegard bloodline. with each generation carrying that slight bit of draconic essense. Though not apparent at first glance, Traces of their draconic ancestry can be found in dominant hereditary traits, such as two toned hair colors. Reinhart's case being black and dark green. A small Draconic rune symbol embrazoned on their body a sa birthmark, and their eyes taking on a draconc appearance in times of extreme duress (A faint blue energy exudes from them, as well as their pupils stretch more vertically to match that of a dragons). Likely connected to Tiamat herself, when confronted with extreme sorrow, regret, or anger. Emotions that Tiamat feels since her imprisonment. Lastly would be their greatest treasure, the dragoon soul crystal. It's creation made when Zaryn Blanegard, the first of the line, gave his life defending his homeland and family in Mercydia from the Allagans. His lover kept the soul crystal safe, until it's purpose was made clear to her grand daughter, who was gifted with the echo and carried the crystal as a warrior of light. It would later be passed down generation to geenration.

To begin the story of Reinhart, we shall start with his mother, Elaena Blanegard. Elaena Blanegard is the daughter of Wilfred Blanegard and Vivian Gallione. Will heralded from the central continent Isalbard, an accomplished Dragoon who fell in love with the budding Red Mage Vivian of Gyr Abania. Her skills not of the greatest calibur but was always determined to make a difference to those around her. The two would settle in Ala Giri and later raise Elaene there. Elaena is what some may call a prodigy, others a perfectionist, Solitary, and quiet. She was adept at learning both lance and magic, but sometimes would struggle to find common ground with her peers. Often being teased doe her quiet nature. She hated losing though, so she works hard to stay at the top, this in tandem with her quiet nature made her hard to approach at times. Then the Garleans invaded Eorzea. The campaign to defend her homeland would span across the country. Her bold tactics carried a certain uneasiness to them. But The ferocity of her resolve inspired many to follow. Alas, Gyr Abania was fated to fall under Garlean control despite her efforts. It was around this time she would meet Reinhart's father, An Ishgardian midlander by the name of Cross Volieur, of House Volieur.

Cross Volieur was born into the noble family of House Volieur, Who's forefront role was that of a mercantile house, Making a lucrative business out of winter coats and quality furnishings. Cross himself though was far removed  from the expectations of his father, he'd rather keep a quill in his hand as an author rather than Learning the ins and outs of running his family business. As the eldest son of the house, he upheld sole responsibility to keep a commendable reputation in Ishgardian society. Cross himself liked to speaked his mind freely, to the ire of his parents. Being scolded again and again that his was the attitude of the commoners. Regardless, he was a rebellious soul, never wanting to step in the heels of his father's footsteps.

With a last attempt to keep his son in line and to keep a good repuation with the family name, He set Cross up for an arranged marriage with the daughter of one of his competitors, to ease tension between businesses. It was around this time Ishgard would get involved with the defense of Eorzea against the Garlean advance. Cross, wanting to escape his fate, gave up his scholarly studies and joined up with the Ishgardian military. Making the promise to uphold his duties as heir to his father's legacy upon his return. With the help of some of his freinds at the scholasticate as well as his commanding officer, they landed him a deal to work as an on site correspondant. letting him write in his free time about the war at the Eorzean front. His written articles would later boost morale among the soldiers and the Ishgardian populace.

Cross' life as a soldier took getting used to. He initially saw enlistment as a means of escape. He rarely took his training seriously got an earful from his commanding officer on more than one occasion. His behavior also cost him the ire of his fellow men, seeing him as a liability than a soldier. He was later forced into the roll as an errand boy in the medical ward for a week, and i was there he got his first taste of the harrowing truths about war. He spent most of that week frantically delivering medical supplies throughout the ward to the chirugeons that needed them, rarely having a moments rest. His time there forever changed the man, making him realize the responsibility of having the lives of his comrades rest upon his shoulders, he turned his attitude around and took his role as a soldier seriously from that point onward.

Cross would then set out with the rest of his squadron, having been tasked with meeting up with the joint efforts of the Immortal Flames and Ala Mhigo. It would be here that Cross would meet Elaena, although only by circumstance as soldiers. Cross of course being a no name private, and Elaena appointed as a leiutenant. The next month would be of them systematically sabotaging Garlean outposts, communications, and intel. This mix mashed unit slowly became clsoer as a whole, and began seeing themselves as one cohesive unit rather than the three seperate forces they  were composed of. They would be periodically receive orders, and carry them out discreetly. Never directly engaging Garlean forces unless under the cover of surprise. One night however did not go in their favor. One order was meant to be a standard surveillance sweep in Northern Thanalan. An encrypted Garlean message was decoded and the Immortal flames decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Their unit was to confirm the location of a convoy of prisoners and report for further orders via linkpearl.

The convoy was located in the dead of night, with some prisoners taken out for exercise under close watch and then loaded back onto the ground transports. Theyw ere then given the task to ambush the Garleans and liberate their captives. The ambush was successful, Many of the guards were taken out without notice, What was odd though was that upon closer inspection, they were unarmed Garleans. . . that were chained. That moment of realization was when their trap sprung, they were quickly surrounded by Garlean forces and the transport emptied out with the prisoners, armed with Garlean weapons.

The Garleans were using glamour prisms and swapped appearances with their captives. Someone tipped them off about the raid and they were fully prepared for it. The guards that were taken out were in fact the prisoners they were tasked with rescuing. Too much risk was involved to take the extra time needed to confirm the true idenity of the guards they ended up slaying. They were given order to retreat and sustained heavy losses in the ensueing conflict. of the 27 remaining soldiers of their task force. Only 8 managed to escape, 2 of which would later succumb to their injuries. Elaena took the substantial loss hard, she had never faced such an overwhelming defeat. She was always known as calm, quiet, and collected. But the lives she had sworn to fight alongside were now gone, she was the sole survivor of the Ala Mihgan's assigned to this unit. Much to everyone's surprise, she completely broke down. She couldn't give orders the next day. The Link pearls they were given were not working, perhaps by some interference from Garlean technology, none can say. They were deep in enemy territory and needed a way out. Yet her words carried trepidation with each sentence, She doubted her capabilities and could not bear to give orders out, fearing it may be their last. It was also at this time the draconic nature of her eyes took hold once more, some curiously asked her about it. She explains to them it's a trait from her father's side, it's not completely understood, and is linked to their emotions, commonly grief, sadness, and anger.

Although some may be consumed by tragedy, Others would be defined by it. Cross would later take lead, spurring what little morale was left from the remaining squadron, and slowly sneak their way out of Garlean controlled terrirtory. He made it a point to keep talking, whether it be about food, politics, the weather, anything. Silence only brings them back thoughts of that harrowing night. Encouragement to talk about home kept their spirits from breaking. After some prodding even Elaena started to open up a bit more during their travels. It would be a week before they reached the first signs of Eorzean controlled territory, Their rations gone, they subsisted soley on wild game and vegetation.

Cross gave a full report to Ala Mhigan command at an outpost near Gyr Abania. Given leave and much needed rest while they await further orders. Elaena was taken in for psychiatric evaluation diagnosed with severe PTSD, Having react negatively to the sounds of gunfire and magitech cannons. Ealanea would given considerable severance pay for her outstanding service to the realm. Even offered a full time position as a battle instructor for the Theordrain's elite guards. She declined, and spent time with Cross and the others. Showing them around her homeland. The two grew close and eventually started dating, Cross comming to visit when he was on leave. A year of this would pass before they would get married. Elaena took up body guard jobs for caravans to help keep her skills sharpened, refusing to let her shortcommings stop her from honing her skills. She would eventually move in with Cross in ishgard, though her name and deeds would be known throughout most of the realm, They did not reach the ears of Ishgard. She saw this as an opportunity to reinvent herself. She hid her famed spear at the bottom of a canyon in Coerthas central highlands. hoping to bury her bloody past along with it.

Cross' father though dismayed at his son's actions, welcomed her with open arms, working out some sort of other deal with the rivaling family. Elaena took up Carpentry under the tutelage of Cross' father. Another two years would pass, Cross would continue his military career, and Elaena would continue to impress her Father in law with her adeptness and determination. Or stubborness as he would say. Elaena would bear a Son, Reinhart. Cross father around the time grew ill, and though overjoyed to see his grandson, he did not live long after his birth. It was only a month later that treachery would befall the rest of the Vollieur Family. Cross would be caught with a Dravanian Idol, of how he came into possession of one, none are certain. He never had any motive or reason to side with the heretics. Nonetheless, His other family memebrs would also be caught with one as well. Someone was setting them up, but due to the timing of Nidhogg's awakening, Tensions about heretical activity had been a all time high. Judgement from the high Inquisitor was swift, there was no such investigation made.

Of course they were all sentenced to fall from Witches Drop and prove their innocence before the fury. One by one they did, many forcefully. Elaena  would eventually jump, of course using the training she had to disperse her fall, and then fake her death. Cross begged them to spare his son. It was decalred that due to him being so young, he couldn't possibly be tainted by such blasphemers yet, and would be spared. Relieved. Cross Jumped off peacefully, landing near Elaena, Miraculously he survived the fall, only barely. His injuries would be too severe to survive. Having been satisfied, the Inquisitors would wisk Reinhart away to be orphaned in the Brume. After their departure, Elaena would get up and spend a few moments with Cross. Whom, barely alive would let her know Reinhart will be spared, thank her for the love they shared. and to Save their son, before finally passing on. She set off down the canyon and recovered the lance she buried some summers before. Kept in a case to help resist the weather.

She returned, The look of fury in her eyes, Blood was taken from her and it will be repayed in kind. Obviously the guards stopped her at the gate. She refused to stand down and jumped the gate. and evaded pursuit until she was within the city's walls. Walking out in the open near the front gates, for all to see. Many saw her, afraid, she firmly planted her lance and called out the Inquisitors. That Justice will be had. Laying bare the false accusations made against her and her kin, and that no trial was made in accordance to their laws, and now that the enirety of House Volieur was condemned to the Witch's drop. She was but one woman in the eyes of the the inquisitors. But the scene she made caused quite an uproar with the populace, and one soon became many. Not wanting to upset the delicate station they had made for themselves. She had survived the drop, the inquisition countered that she is a heretic for surviving the fall. But the populace was beyond outraged for their conduct. House Volieur would be claimed innocent, but she would not. She demanded her fair trial there then. They could not sweep this fiasco under the rug, they demanded a trial, and a trial would be had.

By combat, she chose. Elaena fights one of the heavensward champions, though victorius, she loses one of her eyes and gets a deep scar across her face from the battle. She retires back to Gyr Abania with her son and lives in peace with her parents for a few years until Reinhart is the age of 5. Garlemald encroaches closer to the Ala Mhigan border and the mad king of Ala Mhigo continued to opress his people. For fear for her son's safety, she makes passage to Bentbranch meadows and requests Gustavian to take care of Reinhart while she joins the resistance in Ala Mhigo alongside The Crimnson Deulists as a Red Mage, leaving behind her soul crystal with Reinhart They slay the mad king and are immediately set upon by Garlemald's forces, who were lying in wait for the moment to strike. Many of the Crimson Deulists fell to Garlemald's assault upon the palace.