Happy Hanukkah!!!!

This art is so amazing. I’m so in awe of it.

Entanglement

Story by @hibatasblog all the way to chapter 12. one was done by the fabulous @crimsonkingart! With the others done by myself. I’m not a fan of my most recent addiction, but can’t wait to do others. I love this story so freakin much. All the creativity!! Ahh! It sends me!

A while ago we had a floor leak and it destroy from stuff before we could really notice. A lot of these being one of them. But makes these extra special to me.

A little linguistics, a little flirting, so why is my heart hurting?

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter fifteen. soufrise. [new 6/28] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 15/30+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter fifteen. soufrise. ART: pearl's character design | pearl & rocket's bunk

pearl teaches rocket to speak groot. see below for warnings & notes.

“I am Groot,” Groot says to her as he sits on the flightdeck floor, just a few feet from where she’s perched in her chair. He’s enchanted by Rocket’s sludgy coffee, stirring his mugful with one thick barkish finger, and then popping the digit in his mouth. “He’s usually awake first,” she admits, eyes sliding over to the bunk she’d crawled out of a half-hour ago. It’s the first time she’s woken before Rocket — not counting the night she’d sneaked down to the nook behind the bulwark while he’d been sleeping. He’s usually so attuned to his surroundings that he jolts awake as soon as she stirs.  “I am Groot?” She flashes a glance over at her Taluhnisan friend just in time to see the faint mischief in his otherwise-soulful eyes. Her cheeks flush hot.  “I didn’t know Taluhnisans had such good hearing,” she says, trying to sound as peevish as Rocket does — but she’s sure the words just come out vaguely wilted instead. 

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

not my favorite chapter, so i hope it held your interest. thank you for bearing with me! especially since this is such a long trek. i'm really happy with how the next three are turning out though, so hopefully they make up for this one. you deserve the best.

WARNINGS for this chapter: would it even be a rocket fanfic without a lil post-orgasm angst?

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

Beautiful and sweet.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part one. prepare for departure.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 1/6 | word count: 1371.

rocket gets a very-important mission from danvers and needs a partner to go with him. enter the witch.

It is a well-documented fact (I know you know) that in the comic books, many of the marvel ladies have a thing for Rocket Raccoon. How could they not? Eyes like red beryls and pyropes, teeth and wit both so sharp they can kill long before the perfectly-aimed gravity-blast. Intuition off the charts, not to mention the things they've heard he can do with that tail...

Alas, this is not the comics. This is the MCU, some time between 2018 and 2023.

And while everything else remains more or less the same, Wanda Maximoff was not turned into ash.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes.

Wanda isn’t sure what to call him. He looks like a raccoon, but insists that he isn’t one. Maybe he’s an alien. Maybe he’s something else. Either way, he’s rolling his eyes at Natasha, so hard that his whole head rolls with them.

“Look, I got a very important mission from Danvers, and Nebs is busy right now, working with Kraglin to make Knowhere a more hospitablistic place for Snap refugees. D’you wanna fuck over a bunch of Snap refugees, Nat?”

He crosses his arms and raises a brow up at the new leader-apparent of the Avengers. If Wanda hadn’t felt so — nothing at all, actually — she might have let a smirk curl the corner of her mouth. He’s kind of a brat, and he knows how to get under peoples’ skin. When she’d been a child, she would have found that entertaining. Endearing. She supposes she’d used to have a soft spot for scrappy survivors. Then she’d had to stop having a soft spot for anything but her brother.

Then —

“Goddammit, Rocket. Go to Washington, then. I don’t care. But we still need the Benatar.”

His challenging look turns into a glower. “Fuck off, Nat. What am I supposed to do, then? Drive your frickin’ car?”

Natasha flaps a hand at him distractedly from behind her desk. “Yes, that’s fine, take the car—”

The look he gives her is withering. “I can’t reach the fuckin’ pedals, Nat. So unless you’re giving me permission to take the whole inefficient machine apart an’ put it back together to suit my needs, you’re gonna have to—”

“I can’t spare anyone, Rocket,” the Russian snaps.

“And I can’t be alone right now,” he snaps right back. Wanda’s eyes flick back and forth between them. 

Natasha grits her teeth. “You said this was a mission from Carol?”

“Yes,” he hisses, tapping one booted foot impatiently. 

She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, leaning back in her chair and pressing her fingers into her temples. “Fine,” she says at last, drawing the word out — petulantly, Wanda thinks from a great distance. “Find someone who’s willing to go with you and I’ll tell you if I can spare them.”

Rocket doesn’t hesitate. Without moving anything but his arm, he’s brandishing a single dark claw in Wanda’s direction.

“I’ll take the witch.”

Five years earlier — in the first days after the Snap, before they’d left all their hope on 0259-S with Thanos’ headless body — everyone else had belonged to somebody. Cap and Nat had each other, and Nat had Banner and the arrow-guy. Rhodey had the rich guy who thought he was a genius, and the rich guy had that other redhead. Thor had maybe lost the most, but he had Banner too, and his buddies from Sakaar. The Dora Milaje had their whole sisterhood. Only Danvers might have been on her own — but as far as Rocket had been able to tell, Captain Marvel hadn’t seemed to have a lotta close ties she was mourning.

But Rocket — Rocket had nobody. 

Again.

Nobody except Gamora’s sister, whose name he’d kept forgetting.

Of course, there was the witch. 

Disproportionate number of redheads on this planet, he remembers thinking bemusedly.

He hadn’t been able to remember her name for a while either, but unlike everyone else on Terra, she’d seemed almost as alone as he was. And he hadn’t been able to help but watch her, his eyes slanting sideways to stare at her as she’d sat by herself across the room, hands anchored around upper arms. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes — they’d seemed impossibly dark, with rage or grief or something else, something haunted.  

Except for when they’d smouldered like furious banked fires. 

She’d never said a frickin’ word, either: face blank and beautiful as a statue’s. Her silence had felt more surreal than any other stupid thing he’d encountered in space, which he supposed was probably just because he’s spent the last four years with a family of weirdos who’d never seemed able to shut the fuck up. 

Still. He’d tilted his head when the other avengers had walked past her — watched as they’d seemed almost to forget she was even there. They’d barely talked to her, and once, when they’d been ordering lunch, they’d missed her entirely.

Uh — you didn’t ask the witch what she wants, Rocket had said to Nat awkwardly, and the assassin had blinked and her eyes had hunted the whole room before they’d finally focused on the other woman — like she hadn’t even known where her fellow-Avenger was. 

No. The witch had been an outcast. And Rocket has always known something about outcasts. His whole frickin’ family — both, some small part of his brain had tried to speak up before he could smother it; both families were made of the unwanted — his whole frickin’ family had been outcasts and misfits. It had made some part of Rocket’s heart suddenly stretch in his chest. It had reached with grasping fingers, trying to hang onto something he’d already known he’d lost.

Family.

The next day, Rocket had cleared his throat and told Gamora’s sister that he was gonna go starside to touch base with Kraglin on the Third Quadrant — to see if he still exists, he hadn’t said, but he’d been pretty sure the cyborg had picked it up. 

“You wanna come, Blue?” he’d asked — wincing when his nonchalance had been too thin to be believable. But the Luphomoid had inclined her head, eyes dark and steady. When that had been squared away — surprisingly a hell of a lot easier than he’d thought — he’d  shuffled to his feet, and headed to the bench outside the compound, where the witch had been sitting since sunrise.

He’d stood in her line of vision and stared at the sky too, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, tail trying to tuck itself underneath him. It had probably been a full twenty minutes before he’d felt her eyes on him.

“I. Uh. I heard you lost your robot-boyfriend.” The words had been as clumsy as an orloni drunk on fermented Asgardian figs, but he’d been trying.

The witch’s eyes had flared, crimson-bright. “Robot?” she’d repeated dangerously.

Rocket’s ears had flicked back and he’d taken a step away, into the grass: hands extended, palms out.

“Hey, m’not trying to be a dick,” he’d protested. “I think I might be part-robot myself.” He’d stabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the Benatar, where he could feel  his new blue companion staring holes in his back. “Gamora’s sister’s almost all-robot, too.” 

He could also feel the sister in question rolling her eyes. 

“M’just saying,” he’d muttered at both of them, hunching his shoulders and half-turning to kick a patch of grass. “Some of us are solo now.” He’d gestured at the cyborg again. “Might be good to stick together.” 

“I was used to being solo,” Nebs had pointed out, and Rocket had winced. “You’re the one who got attached.”

His ears had flattened. “Whatever,” he’d growled. “Just thought — whatever.” He’d spun again, kicking more grass, and muttered bitterly under his breath. “So much for trying to be the captain. So much for trying to look out for the damn strays.”

“You’re the stray,” Nebula had replied with a mutinous jut of her chin — and how the fuck had she heard him? That wasn’t standard Luphomoid hearing range. 

Rocket had cursed whatever aural implants Thanos had given her. 

Then the witch had made a strange sound behind him — a little huff of breath.  A disbelieving, agonized little shred of laughter.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 21] | main masterlist

During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR

OMFG… I have to huff them all irrespective of any dour consequences and likely very personal harm!

rocket smells nice. (headcanon whatever)

in my head, all the rockets i write for (and the ones i don't) have a scent. if you wanna make me real happy lmk your own rocket-smells-like headcanons or give me another rocket to dream up fragrances for. i'm happy to give any rocket (canonical or not) a bouquet

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

"canon" rockets ~

eidos-rocket ~ i'm not technically writing for this guy (yet??) but i headcanon he smells like cedar & black pepper (he stole beard oil from some spartoi douche one time but it made his fur so healthy and glossy that he hasn't stopped using it), spiced caramel rum from mantlo's, iron, engine fuel, and gunpowder. burnt everbloom 'cause you know this guy smokes (i imagine it smells gingery).

universe-killer rocket ~ i don't write for this guy yet either, but i think about him way too often. burnt metal and high-iron-content meteorites. something like menthol ~ it activates your cold receptors, like you're breathing in the breeze right off a glacier. star anise & fennel. you'll be tempted to take a deep whiff of his fur but even if he decides not to kill you, you're probably still risking a lungful of toxic vibranium laser dust.

general mcu rocket ~ some kind of evergreen and foresty smell, petrichor maybe; something metallic like iron or copper, and something burnt and smoky. in the earlier years, he always smelled like some kind of cheap alcohol; in later years, a leatherlike smell from his armored-fiber uniform. i don't think this guy reads a lot of paper-books, but he definitely smells like 'em. (i use this as a template for a lot of "my" rockets)

general comics rocket (especially ewing) ~ angargal's limited batch of course (i suspect it smells like a combo of spiced bourbon and rich dark-caramel rum, once the overpowering scent of pure fuckin' alcohol has evaporated out). black-black-black coffee. dark chocolate. amber. vetiver. that burnt, gingery everbloom again.

skottie young's rocket ~ sweet almonds (see cicatrix-rocket's marzipan smell) and banana (from some kind of cousin to nitroglycerin). whatever he's using for jet fuel these days, which doubtless has a hefty dose of benzenes (sweet-smelling and actually intoxicating ~ though since we're talking about a sentient anthropomorphic raccoon i'm gonna go ahead and say the intergalactic space-faring community has figured out how to make 'em non-carcinogenic). you will get some sort of low-grade contact high if you huff his fur like you know you want to. probably also smells like some kind of alien hops, too (maybe acanti blubber ale if he's gotten any good contraband lately, though i imagine that smells like burnt tire).

"my" rockets ~

space pilot & sweatshirt girl ✩°｡⋆ rocket - campfires, strong coffee, and evergreen. amber and smoke. rich dark hot chocolate and yummy bourbon, when he's with you.

blackmail material ✩˚₊‧ ♡ rocket ~ sandalwood, oak, gunpowder. the undertones of some sort of alien citrus-fruit you've seen him eating (something between a plum and an orange), and what you think at first are mulling spices but later you realize it's just where your own Xandaran body oil has rubbed off onto his fur.

window across the galaxy *:･ﾟ✧ rocket ~ blue spruce, fallen leaves, oakmoss, ozone (or maybe that's just electricity). iron and copper, engine fuel.

florescence❀ rocket ~ campfires, wet stone, the peppery-resinous scent of the kind of machine grease he prefers (his own concoction). a faint hit of vanilla-mint-honeysuckle from groot's flowers, and the clove-like spices from your cider.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ rocket ~ juniper, blackberry, and something like leather. a sharp and smoky scent, like laser-carved wood. on some occasions, a hint of yaro-root wine (which is basically a peachy hard cider, with a dangerously subtle alcohol flavor).

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket ~ blue spruce, burnt wood, and a strong, rich, buttery-sweet marzipan from the broken-down components of his C4-adjacent explosives. petrichor, labdanum and camphor, and faint whiffs of engine fuel.

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It was fucking great. A+++

just for the record ･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie is possibly the filthiest, smuttiest, most plotless thing i've ever written. far too many orgasms to be bodily possible. no storyline whatsoever. the emotional depth of a tabletop fountain. please don't expect anything but gratuitous ridiculousness omg sorry

also trying to capture reader's vibe in this oneshot has been absolute hellllll

The next Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Prompt is up on AO3! I’ll update it here later this evening after I get done with work. I hope ya’ll enjoy it! Here’s an image to give you a hint what it’s about.

Yeeeesssssss! Rocket and any sweetie of his is going to play good cop bad cop!

Peter- I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

Rocket - it’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Y/n isn’t.

You know you have a problem when you see the gang everywhere. Tell me you don’t see this too.

Bear= Drax

Fox= Gamora

Raccoon= Rocket

Bunny= Peter

Squirrel= Mantis

Bluejay= Nebula

Oh, my heart. 💔Let’s all go and save all the baby Rocket’s in the multiverse. That’s my new mission. I am deeply regretting not having Petra give Rocket a plushie. 🧸I only didn’t because she didn’t have any to give. 😭 They became each other’s plushie.

Holy shit, I am rolling on the floor hearing that lil’ gremlin shout, “Faster! Faster! Come on you can go faster than that! Stop bein’ a wimp and go!”from his little basket seat. 🚲 🧺

That last line is an emotional kick in the teeth.🦵🦷 So perfect and lovely. I am so soft for baby Rocket. He deserves the world.🌎

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boring meeting scribble time!

maybe in some other universe when baby-rocket escapes from halfworld, the universe gives him a just a little bit of overdue luck and he stumbles into you. you’re still a kid and you don’t really know what you’re doing, so he probably bites you at least once. but it won’t be too long till you’re feeding him eggs and fish and fresh summertime cantaloupe. in winter, you drink cocoa by the heat vents and he naps for days in the blanket forts you made together. the spring and autumn bring syrupy-golden afternoons where you strap a helmet on him and sit him in your bike-basket while you ride around town; he’s always goading you to go faster. on hot days the two of you set up a kiddie-sized pool (you’d ride him in your bike to the beach but he’s so metal-heavy you’re afraid he’d be in trouble if the water got over his head). you’ve given him every necessity and comfort you can think of, even though you’re just a kid yourself, but his favorite thing is the otter stuffie you gifted him with shortly after he arrived, when he was still felt uncomfortable and unsafe. he won’t say why but he carries it with him everywhere — even into the pool.

the only thing he loves more than that soft, ragged plushie is you.

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