nostalgiabomb: (027)
Peter Quill ([personal profile] nostalgiabomb) wrote 2017-10-09 08:12 pm (UTC)

[ He sounds exasperated when he says, ]

Give me some credit, Gamora. I’m not gonna get—

[ He interrupts himself to yelp out another curse. The whine of several shots from his blasters fills in his silence, though it’s soon joined by a deep, guttural roar. ]

... Oh, crap.

[ When he speaks again after a few seconds, the words are panted out in a rush, accompanied by the pounding rhythm of his boots in the dirt as he runs: ]

OkaygottagoI’llbebacksoonbye

[ And he cuts the line.



And true to his word, Peter does not, in fact, get eaten.

He trudges back into their shared apartment an hour or two later, looking slightly worse for wear, clothing covered in streaks of dried mud. A slightly rough day at the office, admittedly, but Peter hardly seems concerned. There’s a small, scabbed-over cut just at his hairline, a few scrapes on his knuckles, and he is very likely tracking in some dirt, even after stomping out his boots at the door.

He probably should’ve cleaned himself up back at the Perimeter Guard facilities, but impatience and curiosity got the best of him, speeding his way home.

As he shrugs out of his jacket, he calls out, ]


Lucy, I’m home.

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