Love These!

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.

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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reminder to:

straighten your back

go pee goddAMN IT STOP HOLDING IT

go take your meds if you need to

drink some water

go get a snack if you havent eaten in a while

maybe wander around the house/stretch a little if you’ve been sat at the computer a while (artists especially: sTRETCH THOSE WRISTS)

reply to that text/message from earlier you’d forgotten about

maybe send a nice lil message to someone having a bad day?

I adore these head cannons! What a delightful little deviant this version of Rocket is. Love that he canonically fucks.

eidos-rocket headcanons

nonnie asked: Do you have any head canons for Eidos Rocket with an S/O?

sweet chickadee, do i ever. sfw & nsfw headcanons for eidos-rocket behind the cut. my headcanons are too long tho so thursday i will post the lil minific that i wrote you. gn reader & it's just a tiny bit spicy (i'll link it here once it's posted). i hope you enjoy! ♡♡

also please bear with me if there are any major inconsistencies with game canon. unlike the movies, i couldn't really rewatch a million times, nor is it quite as easy to do research to fill in the gaps as it is with the movies.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

sfw headcanons

eidos-rocket dates a LOT. he's a big fan of the idea that two (or more) people can enjoy themselves and each other without any strings attached. unfortunately for you (and himself), the only people he's ever felt (or allowed himself to feel) committed to were lylla and tella, and to be honest, he's got a lot of hang-ups about both of 'em. one sacrificed herself so he could be free of the kree and he still feels like he owes her; the other stole the ship he hacked for her and left him to the wolves. if he's had any scrap of personal affection or optimism for biologicals left after rak-mar, it had evaporated then, and had only been resurrected by groot.

nevertheless, he'll get along with you as well as he could be expected to get along with any new person in his life. maybe you're a newbie on the guardians team, or maybe you're a stranger he picks up at a contraxian bar. hell, maybe you're a dancer at that place he likes so much on knowhere. he'll put up with you the same way he puts up with mantis: a little baffled at what he perceives as your weirdness, and surprisingly receptive to whatever endearments you accidentally levy against him. but whether your presence in his life begins with a sexual proposition, a date, or a job on the milano, once he starts developing more intense feelings for you, he'll shut down. even having a crush will feel like a betrayal of the otter who gave her life for him to escape the kree. he'll spend way too much time hating himself and trying to push you away - usually by blaming you for petty slights that he knows he's either made up or exaggerated. of course, every time he does, he'll feel like scut about it. he'll have a powerful urge to grovel, but he won't let himself - at least not till he finally believes that he's got enough love to give you while still cherishing his memories of lylla. luckily for him, he's got you to help him get there.

remember how protective eidos-rocket is of groot? now that he trusts you and realizes how much he wants you in his life, he's starting to feel the same way toward you. well, not exactly the same way, obviously - but though it's taken him a while to come around on it, he now realizes you're just as sweet as his big best friend, and just as in-need of someone to look out for you and make sure you're not taken advantage of by all the scut n' chogs out here. you think it's just impatience at first - when he starts towing you around knowhere with your wrist clamped in his hand - but it's more about wanting to make sure he can keep track of you, and plant himself safely in front of you if any weirdos show up.

like his counterparts, eidos-rocket doesn't sleep much. if he stops thinking for long enough to rest, his mind immediately rotates wartime memories and flashbacks from the kree labs. he'll spiral out, thinking of the brain-numbingly repetitive tasks he'd been forced to do, growing more and more panicked rather than actually resting. plus, something about sleep makes his subconscious call up memories of the sensory deprivation tanks. sure, they weren't as painful or agonizing as his other memories of conditioning, torture, experimentation, and battle, but they're what he most often has nightmares of: being nothing, floating in nothing. the epitome of alone-ness. which is why he's such a sap for being touched. the first time you'd reached out instinctively to ruffle the too-soft-looking fur at the base of his thickly-velveted ears, he'd swatted at you with both hands like you were a goddamn bug. flarkin' infantilizing, he'd growled. but at some point, you'd done it again (on accidental impulse, of course; all things considered, you're probably the least invasive person he knows, so he should really cut you some slack). it had still given him a bit of panic, but no-one had been around, so he'd settled for glaring at you. fortunately for you both, it hadn't been too long before he'd admitted to himselfthat he wants you to touch him all the time.

now that eidos-rocket trusts you enough, he’s particularly partial to you grooming him. the feel of your fingers stroking through the ruff along his cheeks, running through the surprisingly-silky texture of his little beard? he loves when you braid it for him. it feels so good that he can’t help but close his eyes and tilt up his face, like a cat getting chin-scratches. if he’s in a good mood, he’ll even let you pick the beads. that’s a gesture of true intimacy, by the way. you think he’d trust just anyone to honor his aesthetic?

since we're talking about his goatee and his aesthetic, let's admit that eidos-rocket is by far the most vain of all his current incarnations. the manicured neatness of that little beard and its embellishments? the obscene fluffiness of his tail? this guy uses a high-quality oil to keep his fur and skin in good condition. it started when he stole some fancy beard-oil from some spartoi jerk for scut n' giggles, but then he'd learned the luxury was actually pretty nice. he'd eventually found a knowhere vendor he can buy some good stuff from, and for pretty cheap. he gets it custom-made, and it's mostly scentless, with undertones of something like black pepper and cedar.

speaking of fur: bury your nose in eidos-rocket's fluffy neck-scruff and you'll find that in addition to the faint cedar-and-pepper scent, he smells like iron, engine fuel, and something reminiscent of gunpowder. and maybe some kind of booze he probably didn't pay for at mantlo's - like a spicy, caramelly kind of rum. plus, he for sure smokes, so he probably smells at least a little like burnt everbloom, which gives him an additional sort of smoky, gingery scent.

nsfw headcanons

let me be real clear that rocket in almost all universes and timelines will fuck (barring certain kinds of trauma i'm not into adding to his life-story). mcu-rocket knows better than anyone that bodies aren't a good indicator of a person's worth. comics-rocket is canonically attracted to people of all shapes and sizes and numbers of tentacles or whatever. similarly, eidos-rocket seems way more interested in whether or not a particular partner or partners are going to make him feel good (and his own ability to make them feel good) than whether or not they have a certain kind of genitalia, how many limbs they've got, or their percentage of body-fat.

we mentioned how much eidos-rocket struggles with the memories of the deprivation tanks, and how much he craves your touch as a result. the truth is that having you wrapped around him for the whole sleep-cycle makes it a lot harder for his subconscious to convince him that he's still stuck in sensory-deprivation. even if he does start to drift into one of those dreams, it takes less than a second on waking to remember that he can still feel, and what he feels is you, all around him. maybe he'll press his ear to your chest: even though he can already hear your heartbeat without trying, he wants it so loud that he can taste it. sometimes, that's enough. other times, he'll wake you by pulling you fully on top of himself, needing the heat and weight of you, feeling your pulse against his mouth. if he's a certain kind of desperate, you'll wake up with his tongue or his dick inside you - as long as you've said you're okay with it, of course. i don't think eidos-rocket considers himself into somno, per se - this is far more about an urgent need for the comfort of feeling you more than kink, necessarily.

but since we're talking about kink, let it be known that eidos-rocket is the most openly-filthy rocket. he's got no problem acting out in public, touching you, trying to embarrass you. ugh, i hate gettin' wet; wet fur is the krutackin' worst, he'll say loudly in front of the whole fam. then, without skipping a beat, his eyes will dart at you mischievously. well, maybe there're some exceptions...

there's also something of an exhibitionist in eidos-rocket, as long as he's the one pulling the strings. getting you aroused in public is a fun game and it makes him smug as hell, and he doesn't generally think about being self-conscious about sex after having spent so much time on knowhere and contraxia. but on the rare occasion that you turn the tables, and he gets flustered - self-conscious, flattered, turned-on, needy - he can't hide it anywhere near as well as the other rockets. mcu-rocket might scuff his feet, scrub at the back of his neck, and look away; comics-rocket barely reveals anything beyond a brief widening of his eyes and a flicker of tail and ears (unless he's a skottie young rocket, in which case, he has no shame whatsoever) but eidos-rocket will be trying (and failing) to hide his blush so obviously that the poor guy might as well not even have any fur. i mean, hell, did you notice the scene where quill was like, "you deserve a little praise"? poor guy was curled in on himself, hiding his face, suddenly couldn't have mouthed-off to save his life. speaking of praise...

eidos-rocket generally likes to be in charge in the bedroom, like all rockets - but if you want to see his mouth snap shut, his eyes get wide, and watch him unravel into something close to subby, all you have to do is offer up some sincere, specific compliment. yeah, i headcanon all rockets as having something of a praise-kink, but how that looks can vary wildly across the multiverse. for this guy? well, let's just say that if you play your cards right and tell him just how good and deserving he is, eidos-rocket will be salivating to give you whatever you krutackin' want.

other kinks? eidos-rocket will try almost anything twice, as long as he feels safe (admittedly, that's a high bar, though you've managed to surpass it in multiple ways). but we know he's mentioned how much he enjoys "the place with the dancers." you may or may not have easy access to a pole - but offer him a chair dance, and those clever hands of his will be clutching and flexing, eyes unblinking while they drink you up. clumsy? he doesn’t care. the very idea of you dancing for him turns him on as much as actually watching your beautiful body undulate, revealing a bit more of yourself to him with every breath. let it turn into a lapdance and he'll think this is a newer and more dangerous version of the Promise — and even if it is, he ain’t tryin’ to leave. he'll fight himself to keep his hands off of you, not wanting it to end even a half-second early. eventually, it'll become a competition between the two of you: him trying to keep you writhing on him for as long as possible, and you trying to get him to break and fuck you. by the time he finally cracks, you might regret riling him up so damn much.

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Died laughing reading these.

Have some home made Rocket reaction memes using templates taken from the comics.

I will be making more.

Feel free to use these as you please.

Comics sited - Rocket Raccoon: Grounded (2016) and Guardians of the Galaxy (2020)

I too desire this hoodie.

I need this hoodie!

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY (2015)

Why do I love this dynamic sooooooo much?

Anti Semitism is real and a danger in this country.

the chant was not "we will not be replaced," it was "jews will not replace us"

i see all of you writing the former over the latter in your posts and comments and so does every other jewish person on this website.

Rocket: Makin’ my way downtown.

Rocket: Walking fast.

High Evolutionary: 89P13!

Rocket: Walking faster.

This is fucking gorgeous art. OMFG he’s beautiful in his rage and fury.

Guardians of the Galaxy: zine pt. 1