nostalgiabomb: (097)
Peter Quill ([personal profile] nostalgiabomb) wrote in [community profile] riverviewlogs 2018-01-10 11:55 pm (UTC)

[ Right, right.

Little pieces of encouragement wrapped in little bundles of tough love, and normally Peter would see it for what it was, would recenter himself and try again, but—

That prickling energy burns in his gut, raises his hackles, blinds him for a quick second. It lances through him, a bolt of lightning, and when he recovers from the kick, this time, he doesn’t waste time to fall back into his defensive stance. Instead, he lashes out, makes himself some space, and when Gamora inevitably backs up, so does Peter. Only instead of maintaining his distance, as habit would have him do, he closes the space at a run, kicking off with his back foot to jump into the air, reeling back his fist.

That energy surges through him, then, driven by his frustration and his anger. He centers on that feeling despite a small voice telling him to calm the fuck down, what the fuck is even with you—

And Gamora will surely avoid the attack, inelegant as it is, which is just as well. Because when he throws a downward cross with a frustrated shout, his hand is wreathed in flickering, blue light. He lands on a knee, and he drives his fist through the practice mat, blue fire licking up his arm. ]

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