A Thirsty Raccoon Just Wants His Girl To Feel Good.

Baby Groot: [is crying]

Rocket: Hey, listen to me. You’re out of control, okay?

Baby Groot: [cries more]

Rocket: You’re a baby. Your life is not that hard! You’re embarrassing yourself!

Peter: Mantis is always asking about my depression like "are you okay? How are you doing?" in that special-ass voice.

Rocket: What's up, you depressed bastard?

Peter: That's preferable, to be honest.

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 God! I love this so so much! The forced cuddles, the scrappy Rocket trying to escape the forced cuddles, the curly hair! I adore every single bit of it! Thank you thank you thank you!

petra & rocket scribble

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a lil birthday scribble for @hibatasblog ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ who is arguably one of the sweetest humies in the galaxy, like a lil buttery bite of powdered-sugar cinnamon french toast. i am so grateful that you’ve survived this planet for so long and that i have been lucky enough to stumble across you and your friendship and your amazing writing. may the coming year bring you delicious food and drinks, beautiful art, good health, and countless moments of happiness. and puppy-snuggles. and excellent raccoon porn.

the universe is better for having you in it.

petra quill is @hibatasblog’s amazing and much-more-personable version of star-lord and you should read every one of the fics that features them. also yes my 03 gray marker died so rocket’s a little darker than usual but i did my best!

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I feel called out.

A Call Home ———

Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little feet With miles ahead Take it slow see it all take it in

I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little heart Dancing on So the ins and outs won't bring you down Little dream Grow up tall With a little rain A little sun you'll feel alive I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little hands -Little Hands Inland Sky

———-

Based off Marvel comic creatures and the story by @bbasmos. I finally attempted to color this and it couldn’t have been more of a chaotic day.

I saw an image from a film called Delivery Man and decided to draw it for RocketRaccoonPromptWeek. Check out the movie, the song or the story and I hope you have a good time with it.

Such amazing character development here.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip.✮part five. montana.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 5/7 | word count: 1975.

what makes a person a monster?

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

Wanda hadn’t felt much like talking since they’d left the bar. She can’t possibly describe the lurch in her lungs when she’d woken alone in the room, and found Rocket—

gone.

She peels it apart when they get in the car: silent, lost in her thoughts. Rocket doesn’t turn on his music right away, and when she casts a sideways glance at him, he looks vaguely uncomfortable: shifting in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looks like he wants to be taking something apart, inventing something new — anything to take his mind off whatever’s eating him inside. 

After the scene in the bar, when the bartender had poured Rocket’s drink so shakily that the mouth of the bottle had clanked against the glass tumbler, Wanda had sat beside her companion quietly. The bartender had wisely left the bottle behind, and then had gotten to work with the rest of the wide-eyed, ashen hotel staff to clean up the glass that had been broken in the altercation. She’d watched her furry colleague bemusedly as he sulked over his liquor, and had tried to tell herself that she had only been concerned because Rocket had been missing, and she’d known that someone walking around looking like a sentient raccoon could only get in trouble, no matter how well-intentioned and well-behaved he’d been attempting to be.

She had tried to tell herself it was just concern for a missing hero in a cruel world.

But her reaction had been too visceral to keep herself convinced. As she’d unfolded the truth of herself, wincing, she’d had to acknowledge that the way fear had suddenly ripped through her belly had been all too similar to the ache she’d felt when she’d lost Pietro: screaming hollowly at the root of her lungs, at the vagus nerve laced against her heart. A shrieking void in the center of a fiery cyclone. It had been an agony of terror: to think her new, small, sarcastic friend had been taken from her like everyone else.

When she’d seen him — safe, but on the verge of becoming a victim of his own temper — she’d wrapped her power around him as carefully as she knew how. And when she’d realized what was happening, her own temper had surged: some strange combination of fire and ice. 

She’s so tired of people being treated as less-than, of lives being overlooked. 

Especially the lives she loves. 

Rocket still doesn’t speak. They make their way through a number of national forests before he even hesitantly reaches out to fuss with the music again. She says nothing as something mellow spills from the speakers, but she can feel her shoulders ease. It takes another hour before his feet are kicking again, and he’s humming something low and husking along with the lyrics. 

“Uh, hey,” he says at last, his voice rasping as the sun begins to cast a melting-gold crust over the edge of the trees ahead of them, light hitting the western crest of the world and sprawling upward in sprays of topaz and rose and aquamarine. “Thanks for — I dunno. Sorry for fucking up at the last place. And thanks for, uh, stepping in.” He shifts next to her, one shoulder hitching uncomfortably. She watches from her periphery as his lip curls in a clenched-jaw grimace, like he’s tasted something sour. 

She weighs that quietly. 

“I was as angry as you were, once I understood what was happening,” she admits.

The wince lingering in the corner of his mouth and eyelids softens. “Saw that,” he acknowledges after a long minute, spooled with the crooning tones of whomever’s singing from the zune now. “Don’t know — I think only Nebs has ever, uh. Stuck up for me like that.” His voice sounds parched and cracked and starved, like he’s not certain what he’s trying to say. Like maybe the words feel disloyal, somehow, to his absent friends. Something answering cracks open in her ribs. She knows he loved the rest of the Guardians — Pete, he’d mentioned, referring to the owner of the zune. Gamora, whom Wanda has gathered had been sacrificed to Thanos’ goals, just like Vis. But it hurts her to think that Rocket’s little adopted family wouldn’t have been just as offended on his behalf as she had been. Or maybe they would have been, and he just doesn’t realize it. Either way, it hurts. It hurts to think that he believes no-one would have been moved to intercede, to demand respect on his behalf, or to offer comfort.

Pietro would have devastated anyone whom he’d perceived as treating her as inferior. And in his own gentle, wise way, Vis would have fought for her as well. 

At least he has Nebula, now, she thinks, and a space inside her loosens. She hasn’t spoken with the awkward blue cyborg — not anymore than she’s spoken to anyone else on the team, preferring to stay off to the side, needing to observe. But knowing that Rocket feels like “Nebs” would step in for him allows some of the tension in her neck and shoulders to ease.

“You — you got a lot of power,” Rocket says tentatively. “As much as Danvers, maybe.”

She feels herself go watchful and wary again. The silence is heavy in the little car, even smothering the faint music trailing from the speakers. 

“Or more,” she admits at last, quietly.

He acknowledges her addition with a mild grunt and a nod.

“Ya know, the Guardians of the Galaxy numbers are lookin’ pretty slim these days,” he says musingly. “F’you ever wanna get off this planet. Could find a spot for you, prob’ly.” He slants her a taunting grin. “Pretty sure we’re more fun than the Avengers. Less stuffy and judgy, too.”

She can’t help the delicate snort that scrapes up the back of her throat, edged with laughter. And here she’d been worried that he was scared of her. Instead, twice in two days, now, he’s made her laugh.

Regular laughter seems like such a distant memory. It is a distant memory, and a frail one. She’d had it before the Stark industries mortar shell, and then again in her time with Vis — but certainly not since. 

Other than that first time she’d seen him bickering with Nebula on the compound lawn.

“Not that every part of this planet sucks,” Rocket admits grudgingly from beside her. The last flickers of sun-gold ricochet off the distant line of tree and mountain, settling into a rosy-lavender and hydrangea-blue. “This section’s kinda nice, if you’re into that sort of thing. Reminds me of specifical parts a’ Berhert or Foresteria.”

She considers the Montana terrain. “Are you into that sort of thing?”

He smirks. “Not enough places to get into trouble for me,” he says with a sideways toss of his head. “No gambling. Or booze.” He pauses to waggle his brows at her, so exaggerated that she can see the gesture even in her periphery. “Or tail.”

This time, when she laughs, it hasn’t crawled up her spine: it’s as bright as it had been the other day, so merry in the air that it’s utterly foreign to her ears.

“You are ridiculous,” she tells him, but he only gifts her a shit-eating grin.

“What about you?” he asks. “You ever think about runnin’ away from Terra? Come hang out with the cool kids in the stars?”

She snorts again and glances sideways at him in the melting velvet shadows. How does the space inside Natasha’s car, with its ruined dashboard and sound system, feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been in the past five years? How does it feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been at all, unless it was with Vis?

“Not exactly,” she says quietly.

“Not exactly?”

She hesitates and chews the inside of her lip at the corner of her mouth. 

“I think about making a place for myself,” she admits after a handful of quiet breaths. The song on the zune blurs into something new. “A place where… where things are the way they’re supposed to be.”

The quiet expands. Doubles.

“Whaddaya mean?” her companion asks at last. There’s tension in his voice, but it’s surprisingly quiet. As soft as she imagines his fur.

She hesitates. “I could — I think I could do it. Make a place — like in the old TV shows. Somewhere perfect, where people can be happy. Where I can be happy.”

The silence drawls through the music, and she can feel Rocket’s anxiety. She’d been silly to think he might be scared of her before, because now she can feel it — crackling and tense. But… it’s also careful. Testing. Cautious. She knows if she’d said something like this to any one of the Avengers, they’d probably try to lock her up immediately. They don’t understand her magic, and they don’t understand her. And they certainly don’t understand her pain. 

After all, they’ve always been able to look away.

And while she can tell that Rocket doesn’t like what she’s shared — the dangerous little truth she’s laid out between their armrests — somehow, she doesn’t feel judged.

“I get that,” he says at last, his voice grudging and slow. “Wanting that. Me myself, I never had the — I never had the power to sort of…  reshape the galaxy into what I wanted.” He pauses, and she can feel him gathering his thoughts in the dusk like the fireflies that used to litter the Sokovian summer grasses. When he speaks again, his voice has grown as dark as the world outside their car: grim and solemn and hard. “But I definitely been one a’ the poor morons who got caught up in someone else’s idea of perfect, and I can promise — you try to tie other people up like that, and you’re only gonna become somebody’s nightmare.”

She takes her eyes off the road, even though she shouldn’t — not here, in the dusk and the trees and the mountains. Her eyes find his in the shadows: glowing red to glowing red. She flicks her gaze over him: the broad shoulders that should be sloped inward, the opposable thumbs where there should only be dexterous fingers, the hard-packed muscle where she would expect a soft layer of fat. She’d decided that maybe he was an alien — and perhaps that’s true — but now she realizes there’s more to it than just that. 

Someone’s shaped him into this.

Who was your nightmare? she thinks, and remembers Ultron again. Trying to reshape the world. It’s not the first time in the last five years that her fantasies of recreating a small slice of the world have given her pause — but it is the first time that the uneasiness has outweighed the solace. 

Then she thinks of the labs. Of Hydra, yes — and the other one. The one she still isn’t sure if she remembered or dreamed up.

Rocket clears his throat, as if he knows she’s wondering what happened to make him the way he is. 

“Take that asshole Thanos,” he mutters at last, and there’s a darkness to his tone that matches her own midnight vortex of thoughts when it comes to the Mad Titan. “So frickin’ committed to what he thought would make the universe better, that he killed half of it and broke everybody else.” Her companion scowls and mutters something in a language she doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter, because his words have already opened up a pit in her belly: pinching and frightened.

“I wouldn’t be killing anyone,” she says, and she’s surprised by the stubbornness in her voice. It makes her flinch, and that cramp in her belly tightens apprehensively — but she goes on anyway. Trying to convince herself, she realizes, even as she speaks. “I’d give them perfect lives. I’d make them be happy.”

He lifts his head and even though her eyes are back on the road, she feels his heavy, quiet, steady stare. 

“Can’t make anybody be anything, witch.” He clears his throat, and his eyes release her. “Not without making yourself a frickin’  monster.”

sometimes i fuck around with comics-canon and throw it into my mcu fanfics so uh be ready for that with the next chapter. we're gettin weird

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Ahhhh!!!! Too of the head kisses are so perfect! Look at the tail wag and closed pleased eyes. They are so happy and cute. I’m so in love with this. Your art is so, so good.

Entanglement

This chapter had so many cute scenes. Little Rocket is entering bratty boy mode, but still butters up for Petra. For @hibatasblog! One of the sweetest people ever! This was very relaxing to draw.

Every friend group should include:

A bimbo: Ayesha.

A mean bisexual: Peter Quill.

An even meaner lesbian: Nebula.

She/theys: Gamora.

He/theys: Groot.

A token straight that’s on thin ice: Drax.

An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart memorized: Mantis.

And a short king: Rocket.

I think I died while reading this.

LAST LINE TAG

RULE: Show the last lines you just wrote, and tag how many people you'd like!

im so flattered @mcsquared789 ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)*.ﾟ thank you for tagging me!

CONTAINS SPOILERS for future chapters of cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

“And then what?” he asks once he’s got his voice grappled into something reasonable and taunting again, as he sinks back into her. She’s so slick he can hear it — the sounds of his body and hers fill the air, just under her little pleading moans. “You gonna turn in the Luphomoid for her bounty? Use the funds to buy yourself something soft and pretty?” He can already tell she’s shaking her head, even as her hands find a spot to curl into his fur and tug desperately. “Rocket—please—” “Nuh-uh,” he scolds, and pinches at the pretty little jewel between her folds. He revels in the way her fingers slide deep into his fur and pull: little electric shocks zinging over his nerve endings, radiating from the places where she’s got her grip knotted and tugging on him. Beg me, you sweet, needy little slut. “You tell me the whole plan, kitten.” “Dunno,” she gasps. “Just wanted time to think — but — she’s like us—”

if you're not too busy and you wanna: @hibatasblog ♡ @lilfoxay ♡ @caesarhamato22 ♡ @elegant-fleuret ♡ @nyxivy ♡ @mrwolfhare ♡ @thirteens-lucky-tardis ♡ @whitedragoncoranth ♡ @thejudgyboiao3 ♡ @menacinglemon ♡ @aliasrocket ♡ anyone else who wants to!

i know some of you haven't updated recently but hell, if you're still writing and you see this, i'd love to know what you're working on. ♡♡♡