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roughentumble · 2 years ago

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written in the stars wip? 👀 so glad I'm not the only without super detailed titles asdkfl mine are like 'learning', 'sleepy'

my titles are generally even LESS descriptive than this, 99% of my works are entitled variations of "ugh why am i so self-indulgent" because for some reason i get embarrassed writing out my ideas unless i somehow Explain In The Title that yes, indeed, i know writing is a little embarrassing. then i go in later and give them vague titles when they start getting confusing, all being named the same thing XD

anyway. CONGRATULATIONS you stumbled on the non-witcher crackship fic from like before 2018!!!! 🎉 the pairing issss *drumroll*.......... max rockatansky/peter quill!! i remember my logic being "i want to put max rockatansky in space. i want him to kiss a boy. star-lord is, to my knowledge, 1) in space and 2) a guy and 3) was the first one that came to mind, so he's the big winner". looking at the file this thing is..... jeez, i somehow wrote 5k words about this way back when, according to the software. i'll put the logistical breakdown i wrote for myself here, then under the cut i’ll put..... basically everything i wrote, give or take, because this is the only time it’s seeing the light of day anyway

1) the premise

An au so extreme none of the characters are recognizable

Like. Apparently in canon the world went to shit while MAX WAS A NORMAL ADULT WITH A COP JOB???? he's a cop?????????

Like. I guess thats a thing. Who knows. Anyway my point is, thats not relevant here. He kind of knows that he's on earth but like, no one alive was around for when earth went all Fucked, that was a looooooooong time ago. And some people have had old knowledge passed down through oral tradition, but most books are ruined or at least really hard to come by, and some of the knowledge has been warped by time. like, irl we have awesome communities that have INCREDIBLE oral records, but here you also just have folks who don't have time to remember correctly, or make up bullshit to sound cooler, or like. Like you don't have the same communities that are required to properly maintain oral traditions, and when you do they tend to be closed off since that's how they stay safe from all the Bullshit.

ALSO also they're kinda considered crazy, since theyre weird hermits who never talk to outsiders and their knowledge is a little kooky by wasteland standards.

Because thats the impression I was under when I watched fury road, so, thats, what it is here!

Quill was stolen as a kid, but not from earth, cuz, thats not. A thing. No more. Earth is a wasteland! some scientists saw that earth was going to hell, and started a project probably called something real cheesy like "the new eden project" and then they packed up a ton of people onto a spaceship and sent it out into the Great Beyond. at some point on the trip they had some awful bullshit go down, they got thrown off course, and then through other random bullshit they loose track of their old course and have no clue where earth is. They lose their old path in the expanse of space(that seems easy enough to do imo) and after some continued planet hopping, eventually settle on a viable planet(probably called some corny spaceage junk like "eden prime")

quill was born on EDEN PRIME, and no one on eden prime knows how to get to or remembers earth(it was so long ago). some scientists want info on Terra Classique(tm), also theres general like "if you find earth you get an Award/get into guiness book of new world records", and also like it's got a weird air of mystique surrounding it. no one really, like, hardcore cares, but everyone's a little curious about it? it feels a little fake and mythlike.

also everyone knows about aliens, too, its an integrated part of society. nothin to worry about on that front.

SO quill accidentally stumbles on earth, not knowing its earth(maybe??? i'll have to fiddle with some logistics on this, but I think it'll come down to"it's one tiny speck in the whole of space, so the likelihood that you'll just happen upon it when you have full 3d maneuverability is just pretty damn low) and helps out max. Max eventually lets it slip it's earth(not knowing its A Thing) and peter flips out like "YoUrE a TeRrAn?!?!?!?!?!? A FOR REAL REALSIES ACTUAL FACTUAL TERRAN???? BORN AND BRED?????? AHHHH????????!?!??!??!? we are going to be RICH, we are going to have our names IN THE HISTORY BOOKS, we FOUND EARTH, holy SHIT"

Also they grow together probably, and max heals from his Garbage Planet and is Entranced by Eden Prime, maybe folks from eden prime go to try and fix up earth/terra/homeworld/whatever, maybe not, idk. actually that sounds like a great way for things to go terrible from multiple angles, very quickly. but still. Stuff like that. Also they fuckkkkkkk because theyre two handsome men and I am Gay! merry xmas thats my idea.

2) the snippets

"Fuck!" Quill exclaims, snatching his hand away from the offending panel and shoving a slightly sandy finger into his mouth to suck. He glares up, but the tangle of wires seems completely unrepentant.

He grumbles softly to himself as he wiggles out from under his ship gracelessly. His movements work at least two handfuls worth of sand up into his jacket, and it leaves behind a thin layer of coarse irritation when he finally sits up and the bulk of it pours back out. He curses again at this, and tries to shake it out without much success.

This planet-- or at least, this particular corner of it-- is a fucking hellhole, if you ask him.

Sand's getting into every nook and cranny of his ship's equipment like it's its' personal mission to muck up the Milano's hardware, the star he's currently orbiting seems intent on turning the desert sand to glass, and he's yet to see a single sign of life in the days he's been parked here. He's hot and irritable and sweating and filthy and, worst of all, bored. Bored and lonely. Fuck it, he thinks to himself bitterly, it's not a core problem, anyway. He kicks the panel shut and crouches down to screw it back shut. The angle's awkward, but he's tired of being on his back.

He's just gathered and stowed his tools, intent on high-tailing it off this godforsaken rock, when a sound starts rolling over the sand dunes. He pauses at the top of the ramp, and it's silent for a long moment. Quill wonders, briefly, if he's starting come down with a nasty case of cabin fever, but then-- There it is again-- It sounds a bit louder this time, a gentle rumble creeping across the vast expanse, and... Well, it could be nothing. It's probably nothing. He says this to himself a few times, turns away from the open door and everything. This planet'll be a speck on his horizon in seconds. But...

But he's curious, dammit. So, with excitement slowly starting to creep up around the edges, he puts on his helmet and hops on a speeder, grinning from ear to ear. Finally, something interesting.

[insert “quill saves max with space guns” scene here]

+++

Quill is woken from his daze by a flurry of movement, and instead of 'good morning' he gets his own blaster in his face. So much for gratitude.

After he'd gotten the man back to his ship, he'd cleaned and patched him up as best he could. He was still pretty filthy, since cleaning any part of him other than his wounds had seemed like a breech of privacy, but otherwise he had been set for the time being. All that was left was to wait for him to recover and wake, so Quill'd taken the opportunity to rest up himself on the bunk across from his guest's, leaving the ship on auto-pilot. Now he's been woken up(rude), had half of his favorite set of guns stolen(double rude), and has had his stunning display of hospitality thrown back in his face(triple rude, the charm). He becomes distantly aware that at some point, while he was still getting his bearings and not entirely cognizant, the man had demanded Quill let him leave.

"Looks like you're up." He says, raising an eyebrow. The man doesn't look amused, just shoves the gun more incessantly into Quill's face. "Hey, whoa, easy," Quill says, hands raised to chest-height in mock-surrender. There's a tense silence where they both just stare at each other, then he snaps into action, using one hand to smack the gun to the side and drawing his second blaster with the other. The man squeezes the trigger a moment too late, firing into the wall, and he scuttles backwards immediately, slamming back against the other wall in an effort to get space between the two of them.

Minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly as they stare each other down. The man gets increasingly agitated as the standoff wears on, glancing around the room in search of an opening, but the bunks are essentially situated in a hallway, just long enough that there's nowhere for him to duck for cover if he makes a break for it. Plus, he's accidentally gotten wedged up against the corner of the cot, which puts him at a rather severe tactical disadvantage. Finally, he grits out the words, "I won't be your blood bag." His lips curl in disgust around the words.

"Blood bag?" Quill says incredulously. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand what that means. Suddenly, he remembers the tattoo spread across the stranger's back, the one he'd discovered while patching up his side. He hadn't fully understood the meaning when he found it, but now the words universal donor appear in his mind, unbidden. His stomach churns. He thinks I took him, his gun waivers, to keep as a slave. As a human meat locker. Quill looks at the man before him- really looks- and nothing about him is screaming 'aggressor'. He looks frightened. Pissed off also, obviously, but he can see it in the man's too-wide eyes, the tension wound up so tightly inside him that the tendons in his neck have popped out clear as day.

He looks like a caged animal; or, even worse, someone who's been made a slave before.

Quill sucks in a breath and then slowly sets his blaster on the ground and kicks it over to the man. He raises his hands in earnest this time. "I don't want to hurt you, and I won't make you a blood bag."

To say he looks unconvinced is an understatement. His eyes flick between the weapon on the ground and Quill. Another long moment passes and Quill's mentally berating himself for doing something so stupid- wondering if he somehow misread the situation and wracking his brain for how he could recover from the extreme tactical disadvantage he's just put himself in- when the man finally speaks up again. His voice cracks this time, it sounds like from disuse. "Why?"

"Why-- ? Because you were hurt. You would've bled out. I couldn't just leave you there, with those... those fuckin' vultures." Quill is met with an unimpressed glare. "Honestly! I just... I wanted to help because I wanted to help. Because it felt like the right thing to do." The man's expression remains unchanged. "Alright, fine, I guess if I'm being totally up-front, I also sorta' did it because those guys were pieces of shit and I wanted to kick their asses. But mostly it was the good guy thing!" The man's eyes are boring holes in him at this point, and he's a little freaked out because he's not entirely sure what he could say to convince this dude, but then the gun lowers. Not a lot, but it's enough to make Quill grin with relief and he nods enthusiastically, as if that'll encourage the man to complete the motion. "And I'll let you off wherever you want, I'll even put you back right where I found you if you want. I was just trying to help."

The movement is stilted and jerky, but his gun-arm finally drops to his side. He looks incredibly tired, pale from blood-loss, and he leans fully against the wall for support, reaching up to cup his injured side. Quill curses quietly and reaches out to help the man into bed. He springs back into action at the movement, blaster raised and eyes wide. "Easy, just helpin' you lay down." Quill presses forward, steadfastly ignoring the weapon as he places his hands on the other man's shoulders, again mentally crossing his fingers that he's reading the situation correctly and this is the right move. There's an initial flinch, but once he realizes Quill isn't hurting him, he sags like a puppet with his strings cut. Quill barely suppresses a grin- yay, progress!- and carefully maneuvers him in the right direction. [[ALT:: Quill carefully maneuvers him in the right direction, easing him down onto the cot. It seems like the guy's in too much pain to be completely alert, and Quill makes a mental note to find some pain meds for him.]]

Once he gets the man situated, he moves to take his blaster back, and in response the man not only tightens his grip but growls. Actually growls at him! Quill can't fight back his grin this time, and he pats the man's shoulder appeasingly. [[ALT:: Quill can't help the amused tilt of his lips at that, but then he remembers all the reasons to be on guard that this stranger seems to have, and the expression fades. He pats the man's shoulder appeasingly.]] "It's alright," he says softly, "you keep it." He does pick up and holster the one on the ground, and he spares one more glance at the man on the bed before slipping out of the room.

About half-way back to the cockpit to check on the auto-pilot, a realization strikes him. "Dammit," He mutters, "I forgot to ask his name!" [[ALT:: Just cut entirely. Way too cheesy]]

+++

Quill's just finished fiddling around with the panel on the outer hull that had given him all that trouble on the sandy hellpit when the motion detector alarm beeps quietly inside his helmet. It felt a bit wrong, monitoring his guest's comings and goings, but he'd yet to wake up since their initial encounter and Quill was starting to worry that the man would never wake up, or that he'd try and sneak off with some of Quill's shit in one of his ship's escape pods(which, honestly, would just be downright rude.) [[ALT:: Maybe add; He was just worried for the guy's safety, and maybe also his things' safety a little bit.]] He figures(hopes, really) that if he uninstalls the motion detector after a single initial triggering, it won't be quite so wrong, morally speaking.

Now he scurries back inside to find the man cautiously investigating a panel set into the wall a few feet over and a set of stairs up from the bunks. It's pretty limited in its capabilities, so he isn't super worried about his guest breaking anything, but it is a rather cute sight. He acts like he's never seen a coms panel before, Quill muses to himself. He tries to telegraph his approach, but it still elicits a jump, unfortunately. The guy appears to relax once he sees it's Quill, but not by much. He nods a greeting, then turns back to the panel, seemingly intent on sussing out the mechanics of it.

"It's a coms panel." Quill leans his shoulder against the wall next to the panel, looking the screen over to see what the man's accessed. He looks lost, and he repeats the words 'coms panel' in a questioning tone, like he's testing them out. "I mean, technically it's a CDD panel, but see-dee-dee panel doesn't roll off the tongue as smoothly." He's going for joking, maybe even a little flirty, but instead Quill's met with a blank stare. The man seems to be able to navigate the panel just fine(no surprise there, the UI's pretty straightforward), but it doesn't seem like he's heard either term before(more surprising). "Communications and Diagnostics Display. CDD." He clarifies, and the man nods a bit, absorbing this information, though he still seems pretty curious about the full extent of the panel's capabilities. He's got plenty of time for that, though, and Quill is /dying/ for a little human interaction. "I'm Peter Quill, by the way. People call me Star-Lord." He puts on what he considers to be a fairly charming smile, but the look he gets back is completely flat and unimpressed.

"Star-Lord." He says it slowly, enunciates both syllables, as if it's a new nickname Quill thought up last night and he's trying to talk Quill out of it. Like saying it slower will somehow make Quill snap to his senses and realize it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. Neither of those things happen. Instead, Quill just adopts a slightly exaggerated wounded expression.

"Aw, c'mon, no need to be a dick about it. Star-Lord's cool!" He insists. The man flicks his eyes up and down Quill once, then in a rather clipped tone hums 'mhm', as if to say 'yeah, you seem like the type who'd think that's cool.' Quill clicks his tongue against his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest. "What's your name, then, oh-arbiter-of-good-names?"

The man presses his lips together and turns back towards the coms panel. The seconds tick by as he taps back and forth between screens. It honestly seems like he's not going to answer, and Quill's just about given up on waiting when he hears a quiet, tentative, "Max."

Max. He smiles softly, turning the name over in his head. "You've got a point... That's a pretty good name." Max scrunches up his face, looking confused. "It suits you." He stares for a moment, like Quill is a puzzle that he's trying to solve, but then he just grunts his agreement and turns away again. "Star-Lord's still a cooler name, though." This prompts an eye-roll, and Quill grins from ear-to-ear.

+++

Max's fork stops halfway between his plate and his mouth. "We're... in space."

Quill nods like it's nothing special. "Yeah, we've been off-world a while now. Since I picked you up. And like I said before, I'll drop you off wherever you like." He speaks in between bites, taking no notice of Max's hesitance. "I'd go with the nearest hub, if I were you- put that awful ball in your rearview mirror and never look back- but if that's where you wanna' be dropped I can't really stop you, so. 'S your call." He shrugs with one shoulder and finally looks up.

Max doesn't even need to say anything. 'This fucker's crazy' is scrawled across his face clear as day.

Quill's own face screws up in confusion at that. "What? Seriously! I didn't want any scavengers harassing me while I fixed up my ship, so I hopped a few rocks over. Easier that way."

"Of course. Perfect sense." He doesn't sound like he believes Quill; he sounds like he's placating a delusional man. He turns back to his food, but he watches Peter warily out of the corner of his eye. Quill can feel a muscle in his eyebrow twitch.

"Seriously! What the hell, dude, my ship's not that much of a junker. She's perfectly functional and got us here no problem. Just needed a little tune-up's all. Which is the only reason I stopped on your planet in the first place."

"I'm sure your... ship... works fine."

Quill huffs. "Alright, c'mon." He grabs Max by the elbow and tugs him up, then ushers him out of the room and into the flight deck. He points emphatically at the scenery beyond the glass. "Does that look like the dust ball I pick you up off of?" Max goes very still beside him, and he can feel all of the muscles in Max's arm going tense. When he finally looks back, Max's face is rapidly loosing color and his breathing's become uneven. Peter's grip and his tone both soften, though he's still incredulous when he asks "Haven't you ever been off-world before?"

Max shakes his head minutely, eyes glued to the scene before him. He takes a few steps forward, reaches out to gently rest his fingertips on the windshield. "This isn't," he mumbles around numb lips, "It's... not possible." His face is twisted up in shock and disbelief.

Quill steps a little closer, nudges his shoulder against Max's and grins down at him, attempting to lighten the mood. "What, never expected a lovable rogue to swoop into your life and finally get you off that backwater hellhole of a planet?"

"I didn't know there were other planets," Max says quietly. A stunned silence falls over the room as Quill absorbs this information. He drags his eyes away from Max to stare in the same direction, taking in the he sights of the planet he'd stopped on. He'd stayed in the same system for a variety of reasons(he had no idea where Max wanted to be dropped off, he didn't want to waste fuel backtracking, he had a few minor repairs he was itching to finally get off his to-do list...) It was all fairly insignificant, and he suddenly finds himself wishing he'd taken them somewhere prettier.

He'd chosen a random moon, and from their vantage point on it they can see a planet striped with swathes of reds and browns, backlit by the distant sun. It's nice enough, but nothing breathtaking, the surface of the moon consisting mostly of dull, rocky formations. Quill gets bored of the view easily enough, but when he looks over he sees Max enraptured. His hand is fully pressed against the glass now and his lips are parted in awe as he openly drinks in the sight before him. He blinks slowly, inadvertently showing off long lashes, and his expression is so much more open than Quill has ever seen it. [[ALT:: cut; possibly. Or rewrite??? either lacks something or is unnecessary I think]]For an instant, he's entirely unguarded, and it leaves Quill's chest tight and his cheeks warm, swallowing reflexively at the sight. All of the sudden the view here seems more than adequate for taking his breath away.

He clears his throat awkwardly and tears his eyes away from Max, attempting to tamp down on his blush as best he can and mentally pulling away from such a cheesy thought.

+++

"So what's it short for?"

Max glances at Quill out of the corner of his eye, baster still held in front of his face in examination. He makes an inquisitive noise that seems to communicate What's what short for?

He's really good at that.

"Your name. Max," Quill explained, plopping down on the bed next to Max, who slowly lowered the blaster as he realized that Quill was intent of having, horror of horrors, yet another conversation. There was also a tensing of shoulders that implied he hadn't been invited to sit, but he either didn't notice or steadfastly ignored it. "What is it, Maximillion? Maxwell? Maximus?"

"Nothing," He said simply. "Just Max." He nodded slightly to himself then started examining the blaster again, seemingly under the impression that he'd completed the interaction.

Quill's face screwed up. "Just Max? Who names their kid just Max? You should at least do them the courtesy of making it something badass, like Maxium Overdrive or something. Oh!" The words had been rolling off his tongue, but he exclaimed when he processed the name he'd come up with. He looked excitedly over at Max.

"Just Max." He repeated, ignoring the now crestfallen Quill, who flopped back against the bed.

"You're no fun," He insisted. "No fun at all."

Max just hummed in agreement.

There was a beat of silence, before Quill broke it yet again. "What about last names? You can't be just Max, right?"

More silence, as Max debated whether or not to tell him. Quill slowly sat up on his elbows, watching Max's shoulder; he'd learned by now that rushing him would just turn him into a brick wall, though the waiting did make him fidget. Max slowly took in a deep breath, as if realizing this was a bad idea, then closed his eyes and said "Rockatansky."

Quill snapped to attention, sitting straight up. "Dude! That-- that name's fucking awesome, what the hell! Why don't you lead with Rockatansky? I'd never go by anything else, ever."

"Bit of a mouthful." Max explained. He tried to keep up his veneer of cool, detached disinterest, but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he quietly revealed "Some people call me Mad Max."

Quill's eyes got wide and he gasped theatrically. "Your name is Mad Max Rockatansky, and you introduce yourself as Just Max?" He lightly smacked Max on the shoulder. "Philistine!"

"Usually in a rush," Max explained with a shrug. "All those syllables'd get me killed." He flipped the blaster over to examine the other side, seemingly intent on having something to look at other than Quill. "Didn't exactly pick 'Mad' either. It was just given to me."

"Okay," Quill said patiently, then clapped a hand on Max's shoulder, "but it's super fucking badass, and you're a fool if you ever introduce yourself as anything other than Mad Max Rockatansky." He said it slowly, really emphasizing his words.

Max chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes as the glanced sideways at Quill. He tilted his head back just slightly and said "Guess I'm a fool then, hmm?"

Quill felt the air rush out of his lungs at the sight. Something about the quality of the light, the way it wrapped around the edges of his profile, the glint in his eye, even the exact angle of his head... It was like a picture in a magazine. Peter wished he had any way at all to capture it, but it left at quickly as it came, Max refocusing on the weapon in his lap and turning away from Peter. He still looked striking, backlit with head bowed and a rare smile on his lips, but now that his attention was no longer on Quill, it was a little less overwhelming and a little more affectionately domestic.

Quill still swallowed hard at the sight. "I could show you how it works!" He blurted out suddenly. Max raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "The... the blaster. I could show you how it works. I don't, uh," Peter hedged awkwardly, glancing away from Max, "totally know everything about how they work? But I know enough to fix them when they break. Mostly. Usually. So, uh, yeah."

The amusement returned, a little stronger this time, and he held out the blaster. "Go ahead and show me, then, Mr. Expert."[[ALT:: idefk, something other than expert here maybe.]]

#reading through what i wrote its pretty funny how shockingly ''geraskier before i knew what geraskier was''#i managed to make some of these interactions #writing tag

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