caitlin you know what I’m going to ask for. you know. I would like to see your interpretation of matt murdock and peter quill together. for science
sooo i have no idea what's happening lol, but!! using the zdarsky/anka star-lord run as a basis for a timeline, matt's a weird little butt, etc etc. i hope i did right by your rarepair!
Peter exhales a long sigh as he releases the bag of trash in his hand and drops it into the dumpster in the back alley behind the Bar With No Name.
It’s been a krutacking shitty day, okay? He’s: been yelled at, spat on, narrowly avoided being pissed on, been propositioned for… a drug (?) deal (at least he flarking hopes that it was a drug deal, because he’s not here to unpack any of the other possibilities), drenched from head to toe with the worst possible beer one could ever be drenched from head to toe with, and threatened with a firing. Just another day, working this shitty job at this shitty bar on this d’ast shitty planet that he’s stuck on, and —
When it’s just what he needs, his day is about to get a lot worse.
Look, he’s not stupid; he knows when he’s being followed. The only way to survive a war zone, after all, is knowing your environment, and he is, among a whole hell of a lot of things, a survivor. (He certainly has the guilt to show for it.) So there are things that keep happening that don’t escape his notice, like brief flashes of motion he can detect in his peripheral vision when he goes and comes from work, or two points at the top of the head of a shadow that are there and then gone.
And now, there’s the slightest crunch of a piece of stray trash under a shoe in an otherwise remarkably quiet alley; Peter doesn’t need a shadow, a profile, or anything else to know exactly what’s happening.
This flarknard again.
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