Not on your life, cupcake. [ All the same, he flashes her an encouraging wink; he’s glad she’s getting into it, at least, and he slips his hand into hers, fingers interlocking.
They reach the boarding ramp of the aliens’ ship, guarded by two tall, bulky, and presumably male officers. They’re still roughly human in appearance, though their facial features are far more angular and sharp, with large, black eyes the and narrow, pointed noses.
(Looks like you’re dealin’ with Bilosians, Peter had helpfully identified, when they had been desperate enough to call on the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy; it wasn’t too long after the queen had landed and made her intentions to blow up the planet known. They’re, like, these militant hippie dudes? Which, I know, makes about as much sense as Papa Smurf with a machine gun and a survival knife, but there you go. They’re all about twoo wuv and music and the arts and shit, but they also really, really hate what a lot of species do to their planets, so they blow ‘em up. Start from scratch. They’re usually nice about sending a warning, though.
When asked how soon they could be planetside to help, Peter had muted the audio on the Guardians’ end, though he neglected to cut the video feed as well, so what followed was an animated but silent conversation between the team members. There was a lot of shaking of heads and accusatory pointing and a whole lot of hand waving. And presumably, if one could read lips, Peter may have said, “Guys, you’re making us look really bad in front of Captain America.” And while it may have been harder to read the lips of a talking raccoon, one could make out Rocket clasping his hands together and possibly saying, “Ooooh, the Captaaaaaaiiiin.” No lip reading was necessary to see that Peter most definitely flicked him on the forehead, though.
Eventually they agreed to arrive within forty-eight hours, and all of the Guardians had presumed they would be shooting things. None of them, Peter least of all, expected to get roped into a con job.)
As it is, the guards cast the couple wary glances, and Peter puts on his biggest, most charming, most rakish smile. ]
Hey there. Mr. and Mrs. Star-Lord, here to see the queen.
[ … Perhaps it was too soon to say he was taking this seriously, after all. ]
shit this got long i'm sorry :c
They reach the boarding ramp of the aliens’ ship, guarded by two tall, bulky, and presumably male officers. They’re still roughly human in appearance, though their facial features are far more angular and sharp, with large, black eyes the and narrow, pointed noses.
(Looks like you’re dealin’ with Bilosians, Peter had helpfully identified, when they had been desperate enough to call on the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy; it wasn’t too long after the queen had landed and made her intentions to blow up the planet known. They’re, like, these militant hippie dudes? Which, I know, makes about as much sense as Papa Smurf with a machine gun and a survival knife, but there you go. They’re all about twoo wuv and music and the arts and shit, but they also really, really hate what a lot of species do to their planets, so they blow ‘em up. Start from scratch. They’re usually nice about sending a warning, though.
When asked how soon they could be planetside to help, Peter had muted the audio on the Guardians’ end, though he neglected to cut the video feed as well, so what followed was an animated but silent conversation between the team members. There was a lot of shaking of heads and accusatory pointing and a whole lot of hand waving. And presumably, if one could read lips, Peter may have said, “Guys, you’re making us look really bad in front of Captain America.” And while it may have been harder to read the lips of a talking raccoon, one could make out Rocket clasping his hands together and possibly saying, “Ooooh, the Captaaaaaaiiiin.” No lip reading was necessary to see that Peter most definitely flicked him on the forehead, though.
Eventually they agreed to arrive within forty-eight hours, and all of the Guardians had presumed they would be shooting things. None of them, Peter least of all, expected to get roped into a con job.)
As it is, the guards cast the couple wary glances, and Peter puts on his biggest, most charming, most rakish smile. ]
Hey there. Mr. and Mrs. Star-Lord, here to see the queen.
[ … Perhaps it was too soon to say he was taking this seriously, after all. ]