Peter Quill, aka STAR-LORD!! 🌌🌟✨🌠💫

( Is he fine? Probably, maybe, totally. Completely. One hundred percent. And by fine, possibly burning away some of his life force with that new form of his, but that's likely nothing to worry about at all. Surely. )

🌟// ooc
note—— due to the event, prior threads will be dropped, but let me know (via DMs) if you'd like to start another thread post-event (can even be the same premise or situation but just post-event ^^)

bsky.app/profile/lege...

Maybe Earth's gravity wouldn't reject him so violently this time. Maybe it'd be kinder. Maybe. Or, as always, he could be a fucking dreamer.

He was half of one.

It was close enough, right?

Like rotating a misshapen puzzle piece, trying to cram it into a hole where it didn't belong, just to get the space filled. To complete the puzzle.

The Terran planet named Earth. The one he'd sworn time and time again had nothing to do with him. Yet the yearning in his heart always kept it on his mind.

The place he was always kicked out of, but what was another hundredth try? It was where humans like him were supposed to be, right?

It was funny.

Like a running gag, a recurring joke.

His bleary, glowing eyes lifted from the crook of his elbows, just enough to see what was in front of him.

If time passed, he didn't acknowledge it. If change happened, he didn't acknowledge it.

He wanted to go home, more than anything else. But he didn't have one. He was an alien, he should stay in space. He was a human, he should stay on Earth.

He hugged himself as each soundless sob racked his chest, digitigrade, metal-plated legs pulled upwards to curl himself into a ball-like shape. His metal bodysuit seemed to conform to him, becoming skin, encasing him. Cradling his too-human, too-alien self.

His entire body shook, metal fingertips— clawtips, gripping his sides as he keeled over. Eyes watered - both his eyes, his four eyes, his six eyes, splitting apart from each other as the stars themselves spilled from their edges.

The only constant he could rely on. As he found himself alone, his anger shifted.

Emptiness. Loneliness. Heartbreak. A hollow void. The undeniable urge to cry.

He had already flown that far away from it. How easy it was, to just leave it all behind him. No wonder they left all the time.

The chill of outer space that now enveloped him was something of a comedic embrace, the warmest hug he'd ever receive from anyone.

The ship dwindled out of sight. He was gone.

What did the universe ever do, for him?

His vision was blurry as the frustration came to a head. As the ship drifted from his sight, the anger overcame him. Why should he bother trying to play hero in outer space, a one-man laughing act for everyone else? He didn't even belong here. What'd the universe ever do for him, anyway?

Peter activated his helmet's visor and hopped out of the airlock, into the darkness of space, the metal comforting against his cheek. As he pushed off from the ship, it was like something was finally clicking into place inside him.

Peter headed to the airlock of the ship. It was on auto-pilot, traveling through the stars on her own.

He hesitated only a moment. His ship, technically, even if a certain someone always acted otherwise. Well, he could have it now. Isn't that what he always wanted?

He left his room. Left it unlocked. They would go into it and snoop regardless of whether or not he locked the door anyway.

Everyone was either out, or asleep. He knew their schedules, their whereabouts. Not that they'd ever given the slightest damn about his.

One last look behind his shoulders was all he gave towards his room before closing the door. The posters, the stuffed tiger toy limply laying on his still wrinkled bed, the photos, the few precious possessions that escaped the previous ship clean-ups. It was the last time he'd see all of it.

It was always his stuff that got tossed, and rarely without even asking him in the first place. Nobody ever offered up their things. Just pick on the human who can't offer up any defense for his belongings, who was too weak to be scary or fight back. It always came back to that, didn't it?

He wouldn't bother bringing any of his personal possessions when he left. He had no doubt they'd be thrilled to clear out his "junk" and throw it overboard, as they always threatened to do whenever the ship needed to reach a weight limit.

He took only his element guns, his helmet, and the clothes on his back. He didn't even bother bringing along his jet boots - he wouldn't need them. And besides, they would only weigh his heart down.

Everything he sacrificed or did for the team was considered the minimum of what a leader should be doing anyways.

Why did they always just get to leave? It was about time he got to.

back to health and coax them back into some resemblance of a team, just in time to save the galaxy or some planet again and again. With no thanks to him afterwards. They would always pretend his accomplishments never happened, they were never grateful for the falls he took.

It wasn't like they ever gave him much of a reason whenever they left the team after various disagreements - oh, besides of course, pinning the blame on him, obviously. And then they'd leave him to pick up the pieces of their team, time and time again, to nurse their wounded ties

Peter didn't take anything with him when he left. Only leaving a note on the display screen in the cockpit - only a short message:

"I quit."

No reasoning, no nothing. That was all they got.

horribly just because his stupid human existence was within a mile of it. What did they even keep him around for? Anyone could shoot a gun. And he wasn't even good at aiming.

scapegoat in a pinch. That guy.

But when things worked out? Well, of course, it was because of the other team members that pulled it off. The schematics, or the muscle, or the cunning, but never him. It was a miracle anything had gotten done when he was around, the plan could've gone so

all down.

The guy who did nothing but sit around and look pretty at the best of times, or needed rescuing or help all of the time. The annoying one. The guy with the Terran music everyone made fun of or complained about. The guy who contributed nothing to the team except being the perfect

A build-up of insults, blame, and a lack of anything resembling sympathy.

Oh, it was never their fault when things went south, it was always the leader's for having a stupid plan. The fact their ship went down or the skirmish fucked up was because the useless human tagged along and weighed them