#cuz ive had two glasses of wine but that is simply not enough. but that was all i could find

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[copias-thrall]

I really liked the Papa III x F! S/o where the s/o was a typical shy and cute introvert, but this huge dork with those closer to her. Would it be alright if I requested the same with our dear Papa Copia (god I’m so happy to call him papa now :) )

Of course, nonny! Let’s get some sweet Papa IV up in here.

(Reference Prompt here. 😊)

Copia notices you because of your quiet nature. There are lots of Siblings that are vying for his attention and favors…and then there you are: sitting quietly during mass and reading the hymn book.

(He doesn’t have to know that you’ve been reading the same page the whole time while you admire him from out of the corner of your eyes.)

Every time he looks out, all he sees is your quiet dignity, and it speaks to him on such a personal level. While he’s grown to enjoy and embrace the showmanship of the Ghost project, he’s not a natural extrovert. So, when he sees you existing in your subdued state, he can’t help but yearn to be right there with you.

He sees you reading your book in the quad on a nice day, and he immediately pictures himself with his head in your lap as you read to him. When he spies you daydreaming in the library, he imagines what it would be like to play footsie with you under the table. As he comes across you sweeping the halls with your headphones on, he pictures giving you a homemade mixtape to listen to while you work.

Really, he wants to worm his way into the rich inner life he knows you must have.

He never does anything about it, though—in his mind you’ve been perfectly clear about your indifference to him. And he’d rather not stammer through an invitation that you’re only going to reject.

The mess hall is always a sticking point for Copia. He loves the attention—he does; it amuses him to watch the Siblings fight over who acquires his meal and who gets sits next to him. He’s still a man with an ego, and he likes it to be stroked.

But.

Some days, the whole scene just gives him a headache. On days just after an important sermon, or when he’s just back from tour, or when he’s spent the morning on a stack of paper Imperator has given him, “ASAP now, please, Papa”—it’s simply too much for him to have to be On for his admirers.

On those days, he has his Ghouls create a distraction (and Dew is always more than happy to set a fire) so that he can get in and get out with no one noticing. Then, he tries to find a quiet, out of the way place to eat his food in peace.

And that’s how he encounters you cavorting about with your friends.

You're out on the grounds because it's a fine spring day, and he can't believe that his this reserved, demure Sister is running about and chasing her fellow sister with a worm! You're laughing—not a coy titter, but a full belly laugh after you make a ribald joke about Imperator and a Brother!

Copia gapes.

You have a secret side that only your intimates know about? Well! It’s a circle he desperately wants to be a part of! (Even if he’s contractually not allowed to jest about the Seestor.) 

He imagines your laugh ringing out in his quarters as you let his babies crawl all over you (someone who doesn’t mind worms surely wouldn’t mind rats, yes?), and how you'd make him laugh with your uncouth humor. He can almost taste the domesticity.

But…he decides to stay out of sight—he doesn't want to ruin the party (which he’s sadly come to realize that, as Papa, he does quite often just by virtue of his presence)—and that’s when he realizes he actually has a hope.

You’re lying back in the grass, watching the clouds roll by, and you say,

“Hey, that one looks like a rat,” to which your friend responds, “That’s just cuz you have Popia on the brain.”

“I do not!”

“You think he’s gOrGeOUs, you want to KisS him, you want hUG him,” he singsongs.

“Shut it!” you screech as your face flushes and you throw a balled up napkin at him. 

He blocks it easily, and you lie back down with a huff.

“Whatever. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

Embarrassingly, the conversation shifts to how you’ve done it to yourself and if you’d just look at Copia instead of doing your best impression of a church mouse, that would be a good start.

Your face burns the whole time. I mean, having his intense focus just on you? 

You shudder. 

Surely you’d combust.

Copia bites his fist.

He could…? Have you??

***

Perhaps any of the other Papas would have been on you like white on rice…but research has always been more Copia’s thing.

Which means he spends the next few weeks slinking about like a bad spy (seriously—he might as well have on Groucho Marx glasses) trying to figure out what all your favs and interests are. 

And the Siblings are beginning to talk about it.

“He was behind a column, and I thought he was a statue,” hisses one. “He moved, and it scared the crap out of me!”

“I saw him petting the potted plants in the west corridor like a weirdo,” whispers another. “I hope Primo doesn’t hear about it!”

“I went into the broom closet to get cleaning supplies, and when I pulled the light on, he was just…standing there!” laughs someone else. “I was too surprised to be startled. He just coughed and excused himself!”

The only weird thing to you is that you seem to be the only Sibling who hasn’t witnessed Copia being adorable odd.

You often sit by that pillar to read when it’s chilly outside, and that area in the west corridor is where you sweep. Heaven!—that broom closet is next to the wash station you use! How haven’t you seen him even once?

Dew thinks this is great fun. He’s been suggesting even more ridiculous schemes (that Swiss and he giggle about back in the Ghoul dorms) for Copia to “overhear” you and your party—which Copia is taking down in earnest.

Aether thinks Copia’s being a dumbass and guesses he and the girls will have to fix this mess. Cirrus thinks Copia just needs to learn the hard way (“He’s taking advice from Dew—how does he not know better?!”), but Cumulus agrees. The two of them coral Copia into the practice space where they firmly, but gently, tell him to stop pussyfooting around and just kiss the girl already!

Copia stutters out a series of awkward rat noises before simply nodding.

“I have been procrastinating, eh?”

“You can do it, Boss.”

“Who’s the best Papa!”

Copia straightens his posture. “I am.”

***

You’re staring out the window in the classroom—woolgathering instead of dusting—when you hear a quiet throat clear behind you. You nearly jump out of your skin and hurriedly turn to make your excuses.

What you’re expecting is Sister Imperator on one of her shadow runs—but what you see is a one (1) Papa in his casual blacks (that still seem vacuum-sealed onto him) looking at you with eyes full of mirth.

It’s with great effort that you yank your eyes from his thighs up to his face.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency, sir! I-I-I…” you stutter before composing yourself. “If you need the room…?”

A smirk turns up one side of his lips as his white eye twinkles at you.

“It is you I wish to be seeing.”

You toss the duster to the side and smooth down your habit.

“M-me?”

“Sí.”

Did you do something wrong??

You worry nervously at the sides of your habit.

“I—” Copia starts, then suddenly looks unsure. He runs his hands over his head, smoothing his thick hair back into place.

He starts again, his speech clipped and formal.

“Would you do me the honor, Sister, of joining me for dinner?”

 “I—dinner?” Like a staff dinner? Or...?

Copia blinks at you.

“I am asking you on a date.”

You blink right back.

Just you and him? Alone… 

His face turns into lines of apprehension.

“Mi scusi—perhaps I am mistaken.”

He starts to back away, and you finally find your voice.

“Wait!”

When he stops, you gulp and take a deep breath.

“I would like that, Your Dark Excellency.”

A look of relief smooths his worried expression right before he smiles at you.

“Ah…‘Papa’ is fine, Sister.”

He takes his leave of you, closing the door behind him.

You manage to hold yourself together for another moment before you let out a loud whoop and jump up and down (and unbeknownst to you, Copia is standing just outside the door, beaming).

***

Dinner went over smashingly (literally—between the nervous energy of two of you, a plate, a goblet, and a wine bottle all ended up in pieces). Copia was the perfect mix between awkward rat man and smooth Papa, and you felt comfortable enough to engage easily in conversation with him. 

You’d been a little trepidatious about after dinner (Copia certainly had not absented himself from the pleasures afforded to a Papa), but the only thing you’d done in his quarters was to meet his rats.

He’d walked you back to your room, then asked if he could kiss you. It was just a press of his lips to yours as he’d cupped your cheek, but it had felt like a promise.

The two of you end up making a perfect couple, actually. Copia, of course, respects your quiet demeanor, but it’s more than that—he understands it. The only time he singles you out is when you need to be his date to a clergy function or Abbey party—and he always gives you forewarnings for those!

On the flipside, you and he have the high capacity to be total dorks. The two of you feed off each other's humor, often being the only two in the room cracking up as you wheeze half-uttered statements at each other while the rest of the gathered looks on with pained expressions.

But neither of you care. 

You finally have your Papa, and he’s made all of his imaginings with you a reality. 

[youngmistressofchopchop]

I did it. Now I dont write, I draw so this is not gonna be so good. Its been through many revisions and I realized I spelt "Yuseke" as "Yueske the entire time so forgive me ill fix that next chapter. My Kuwabara x oc story:

It was finally cold again. Miyoko was overjoyed, she had never liked summer. Sure there was no school and she had more time with friends, but she couldn't stand the heat. She detested those sweaty nights, or how the bugs always bothered her, actually she didnt care for any part of summer.

Miyoko had dropped so many hints over the years and yet somehow, Kuwabara still had no clue. His air-headed-ness was cute, but it made things difficult for the shy girl Miyoko was. She just couldn't work up the nerve to say something, and when she did, something would always interrupt her. However, today she planned to change that! Miyoko got dressed up as cozy as she could, ready for what her and her friends had planned and with a gleam of excitement in her eyes, she headed out the door. 

 That was apart from going to see her crush, Kazuma Kuwabara's baseball games, he would play every summer. When they were younger, he played in an official team wearing his "Mötor Head" jersey and smoking every opposing team he played against. Miyoko never missed a single game! Every home run, every strike, and every fight that broke out because of a bad call, she was there. When they got older, she would be there to watch him play against his friends, still wearing that jersey. She was always supportive of him, she was madly in love with him, and had been for awhile.

"Urameshi!! Where do you think you're going?? I was talking to you!" Kuwabara's feet hit the sidewalk with force as he sprinted after Yueske, who had walked only a few feet, forcing Kuwabara to stop abruptly frantically trying to steady himself without falling. After regaining balance, Kuwabara grabed a fists full of his friend's jacket to pull him close aggressively. 

"D-Dont tell anyone! Or I'll break your mouth, so you cant tell anyone nothin' ever again!!" Kuwabara's face was as red as the setting sun. Unfazed, Yuseke stared at Kuwabara blankly for a short second before sighing and shrugging the big flustered fool off of him. 

"Listen man, I wont say anything. But this is getting really annoying. Ive told you before that you should just go through with it. Whats your problem with admitting to her anyways?" Yuseke looked to the helpless man and immediately regretted asking. Kuwabara looked off dramatically twords the orange and red sky. His shoulders slouched, slumping over, and fiddling with his hands. 

"I....Shes really pretty, ya know? And...Im well...ya know?" His voice trailed off, as if wanting reassurance he was being foolish. When there was no reply, Kuwabara peeked up with a quivering bottom lip. 

Yueske stood with his hands in his pocket saying nothing, only wearing a furrowed brow and tight lips. Suddenly, he burst into laughter. Causing Kuwabara to stand up straight and look at him even more embarrassed, and ready to punch him.

"I never thought I'd hear the great Kuwabara, warrior of love, admit to being ugly!!" Mocked Yueske. He bent over shaking his head and slapping his leg, resting his other elbow on his knee and laughing loudly. He straightened and wiped a fake tear from his eye. Kuwabara gasped in shock. 

"What?? Ugly??" Again Kuwabara grabbed at his friend, this time missing and falling. He quickly got up and held up a threatening fists. 

"Im not ugly!! Im just not a romantic type!!" He rubbed his fists on his chest. 

"I am a warrior of love, so I know how to treat a lady and how to talks to girls, I just....." He paused, his mouth moving like hes trying to remember how talking works. "She's different!!" He finaly blurted out. "She reads them girly romance books that Kurama likes!!" With a frustrated grunt, Kuwabara rubbed his neck nervously and spoke in a much more serious tone.

"Ive known her a real long time, and I cant tell her yet cuz I'm kinda worried she only thinks of me like how Shizuru thinks of me." Yueske picked up on the seriousness of the situation and scoffed trying to lighten things up again. 

"Well you are ugly, but I think she likes you anyway. Besides man, why asks me? You think I read them werid books?" Yueske pat Kuwabara awkwardly on the shoulder. 

"No way. I asked cuz you have a girlfriend!!" Kuwabara turned to look at Yueske who was moving his arm away. 

"So? Doesnt mean I know what im doing, just asks Keiko." The boys laugh, seeming to have calmed down a great deal. Before much more could be said, four familiar and approaching voices could be heard chatting playfully. 

"Oh dear, you didnt actually take me seriously did you, Miyoko?" Botan said in a teasing tone. 

"I did!! I'm gullible, you cant just tell me anything about spirit world.I will believe it!! Everytime!" The two girls laughed. 

"I've noticed," Interjected Kurama. "You have managed to retained alot of attributes from your childhood haven't you? I find that interesting." Kurama continud, wrapping an arm around Botan. 

"Alot of people say that...is that a bad thing? I'm not immature am I?" Miyoko felt nervous now. Maybe that was the why Kuwabara never seemed to return her feelings, perhaps she wasn't mature enough for a relationship.

Keiko quickly spouted, "No no! I don't think he meant it like that, I think it's cute!" Keiko put a reassuring arm around Miyoko and smiled a friendly smile. 

"Ofcourse! Its an admirable trait." Kurama said as Botan giggled. 

Botan wagged her finger and pointed it at Miyoko with a knowing smile "Im on to you! You shouldn't feel so insecure!" Botan pulled her arm back and used it to hug Kurama's arm. "Don't be so hard on yourself, I know you're simply nervous, so you're being extra critical of yourself, but you'll do fine!" Botan hummed encouragingly. "And, we all look fantastic!" Botan added as they all rounded the corner.

Keiko stopped dead in her tracks, and started tapping her foot. "Well, most of us are...Yueske! I thought I told you to dress up!!" Keiko pouted, walking over to her boyfriend's side. 

Yueske was the most casually dressed out of all of them. Just wearing his usual faded blue jeans, black converse shoes, plain yellow shirt and favorite green and yellow windbreaker jacket. He looked even more underdressed standing next to Keiko. She was wearing a lovely pale pink turtleneck, a plum purple suspender skirt reaching to her knees, long white socks, and loafers to match her skirt. Despite their contrasting attire, they somehow matched perfectly. 

Yueske wrapped his arm around Keiko's shoulder and smirked."Kuwabara isnt dressed up." He looked over to Kuwabara and nodded his way while jutting his thumb twords his friend. 

"What!! I am too!! This is the nicest thing I got!! Other than like...a tux or something!!" Kuwabara wore a blue Letterman jacket, a red sweater with dark blue jeans, and brown dress boots laced in black, he was indeed dressed up quite nicely. Miyoko blushed at the sight of his clothing, he cleaned up nicely as always. She couldn't help but smile at him, it was always a slight surprise to see him out of his school uniform. Kuwabara had a simular reaction to Miyoko's choice of clothing. She dawned a wine red A-line dress, knitted black leggins, and shin high beige lace up boots. She wasn't one to dress up like this, but she wanted to tonight, it was a special night after all. 

Trying to redirect the situation and prevent Yueske and Kuwabara from fighting, Botan chimed in. "Well, I never have to worry about Kurama when it comesto presentation! Unless ofcourse, he's overdressed and making me look a fool!" Kurama and Botan giggled to eachother looking the most put together, like they were the parents of the group. Tonight, everyone was going their part to help Miyoko's odds, evident by Botan, who was wearing something much different from her usual choice of clothing.

She modelled a white turtle neck dress, form fitting reaching just above her knees with a small slit on the right side, with sleeves that reached slightly past her palms, she wore her wedding ring, hoop earings, beige velvet tights, and blue slip on flats to top off the look. To match her, Kurama dressed just as nice. Wearing a white button up tucked neatly into his dark brown pants, red suspenders with red suede shoes laced in black, and a matching wool trench coat to top complete it all. Now everyone felt underdressed. 

"So what are we doing anyway?" Yueske asked scratching his cheek. Keiko shook her head "Are you serious? You've been waiting around this long, and you dont even know why??" Yueske simpled shrugged "I guess?" 

Botan sighed looking tired, Yueske was a handful for everyone. "Dont you remember, Yueske? I told you this morning! We're all having dinner!" 

Botan motioned to the brick building everyone was standing next to. "You've been standing right next to the restaurant! Where I told you we would be meeting up, seriously! You didn't connect the dots?" Botan tilted her head with a hopeless look. Yueske gritted his teeth and roughly pulled Keiko by her hip to his, talking through his teeth. "Whatever!!" He sighed and let go of Keiko fixed his hair flustered, he brought his fists down onto his palm talking loudly. "So now that we're all here, can we go?? Im starving and you guys took all damn evening to get here!"

Keiko lightly kicked his shoe pouting up at him. "Hush!! Its not our fault you dont listen, besides you didnt even try to dress nice! So I dont feel sorry for you." Yuseke quickly stepped aside and raised his voice a bit "Hey! Didnt ya hear me?? I didn't know what was going on!!" Keiko roughly poked her boyfriend's chest, "Again, not our problem! Listen and you wouldn't have to worry!!" 

Kurama was the first to put a stop to the bickering. He took a wide step twords the brick building and grabbed the glass doors handle, he opened the door and motioned for everyone fallow him inside.

So theres that. I'll write more soon. I hope its as fun to read as it was fun to write.

[trashpandaorigins]

Heaven Can Wait We’re Only Watching the Sky Ch. 5

“I am Groot!” Groot protested with a rage barely concealed, Rocket glared up at him.

“He’s right,” Peter agreed, “you’re not dying. People who are dying don’t rip out their IV’s, bribe impressionable empaths to sneak them out of the med-bay and start rebooting the weapons systems and installing a mini-bar!” Rocket only huffed, hands on his hips. Peter glanced at the nav-controls and frowned. “You got hurt and you’re getting older that’s not the same thing.” Rocket glanced at the flora colossus, Groot know he wanted him to agree. But he couldn’t agree. Could not bring himself to agree. He heard the truth same as Rocket when Gamora told them a few turns ago.

“That reminds me,” Rocket continued, pulling a handgun from its holster and cleaning it with a cloth. “I want to stop by Erate and try stealing one of those rare quatandin ships again.”

“We are not doing that,” Peter glanced over his shoulder looking at the flora colossus who shrugged. They always expect me to mediate for him, he stared down at the raccoonoid.

“But I’m dyin’ Pete,” Rocket wined. “That means you have to do what I want.”

“People who are dying don’t use that as a pathetic excuse to they what they want,” Peter practically growled. Rocket’s tail flicked in irritation, he ran the cloth across the barrel of his gun methodically.

“Yeah how do you know?” He pressed, Groot rolled his eyes, why couldn’t he just let it go? “And how would you know?”

“I am Groot,” stop it. Peter slammed “auto-pilot” and bolted up, turning on Rocket so fast the raccoonoid dropped his gun.

“My mother Rocket!” Hurt and sadness, pain resurfacing. Groot could feel it coming off of Star-Lord like oozing black ink. Rocket’s mouth opened, ready to spit some smart retort. Groot shot him a warning glance. The raccoonoid shut his muzzle, glancing up at Peter.

“A’right Pete, sorry. Geez.” He muttered, Groot watched as his friend seemed to deflate in the shadow of the human. Peter shook his head,

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “Just stop using ‘I’m dying’ as an excuse when you’re not.” Rocket rolled his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall continuing to clean his gun. 

“Besides,” Groot watched Peter recover and break into a grin, “we can’t get a bar because I have no self-control and neither do you.”

“Speak for yourself humie,” Rocket mused. “I wasn’t the one who did six shots of dranaln vodka.” Peter laughed, lifting the ever-presen nausea in Groot’s mind.

“That was you.” Peter reminded the raccoon. “I said ‘Rocket don’t have that shot’ and you said, ‘don’t tell me what to do Star-Butt’ and ordered five more of them.” Groot laughed, chest vibrating with happiness and light as he remembered that night, and Peter clapped him on the back. “

“So no mini-bar?” Rocket laughed, stifling a cough at the end of his chuckle.

“No,”

“Not even a mini-fridge in the kitchen?”

“No!”

“Fiine,” Rocket gave in, shaking his head in laughter. It feels good to hear laughter, Groot thought. After the nights of nightmares, of watching the raccoonoid dift in and out of nightmares. Sometimes fighting unseen demons, sometimes just lying there in the delirium of the pain meds, crying, vomiting and shaking. In the past few days, Groot had come to realize he preferred the former to the latter. But Rocket seemed to be well again, well enough to re-design the Milano’s sound system for optional effect, well enough to complain and well enough to continue doing all the things that typically annoyed them. A knock on the cock-pit door swung Groot’s attention to where Drax stood, bald head bowed. Drax, Groot’s bark hardened at the thought. He should have known to go easy on Rocket. He’s not stupid. Peter slid the door open and the Destroyer cast a wary look at Groot.

“Drax, what’s up?” Rocket asked, “haven’t seen you round since I got outta the med bay!” Drax said nothing and Groot’s mouth hung open in disbelief as the Destroyer got to his knees, before Rocket.

“Small furry friend,” he began. “It was my fault you were hurt so. I feared you were going to die. For my stupidity I forfeit my victory in our match. You will be the new winner.” Rocket blinked, Groot watched him trying to decide how to respond no doubt there were a variety of sarcastic comments he could make, half of which Groot wanted to say himself. Drax would deserve whatever barb he got. The flora colossus fumed, but Rocket only picked something out of teet with a claw and grinned.

“Rematch then,” he answered simply.

“I am Groot!” No, I’ll fight him.

“No!” Peter and Rocket both shouted. Drax looked up at him, eyes laced with a pain that made Groot feel shame for a small moment. Drax really hadn’t meant to hurt him at all.

“There’s no rematch,” Peter stepped between them. “We’re cancelling this whole tournament.” Drax didn’t even protest, he only nodded and stood.

“I am Groot!”

“What’s that?” Gamora asked, she sauntered in and kissed Peter on the cheek.

“We’re not doing the tournament anymore,” he answered shortly. Gamora frowned,

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“It’s cuz I got hurt and Star-Lord here don’t want it to happen again,” Rocket interjected. “But I ain’t made of glass a’right humie? I’ve had worse.” Your bio and hard-ware are compromised, Groot thought to himself with a pinch in his proverbial heart. The incorrigible raccoonoid only continued to shoot down Peter’s protests. Groot looked him over, even as Rocket argued he could see the pattern of his short breaths. The twitch in the muscles of his face and the lethargy of his tail. Like a leaf clinging to the branch…a strong vine coil before it’s cut down.

“What do you think Groot?” Gamora inquired finally remembering he was there. Groot looked at Rocket’s hopeful eyes. They were more bright then they had been in months.

“I am Groot,” I want to continue the challenge.

“See! Told yah!” Rocket boasted. Anything to return to some sense of normalcy. Peter surveyed them all, anxiety. Finally he gave a dejected sigh, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

“Fine, Groot, Gamora you’ll fight tomorrow. Same rules as last time.”

“I am Groot!” He reached out a vine, giving Rocket a high-five. Gamora laughed and even Drax smiled.

“I will tell Mantis to come and make you feel better about this Quill. It will be fun. No doubt it will distract Rocket from the pain he is feeling.”

“I can hear you Drax,” Rocket drolled. The Destroyer nodded,

“Come then small rodent, let us go and see if we can find more of that poisonous liquid to consume in celebration of your recovery.” Groot watched the two of them exit the cock-pit, shaking his head. Rocket was incredibly smart, how could he be so ignorant? But yet again, Groot could not judge too harshly. He’d felt like a failure more times in the past few days then any other time in his life. Unable to soothe his friend, unable to ease the misery and stop the seasons taking their toll on Rocket’s small body. The greatest joy of my whole d’ast life has been raising you, Rocket’s wondrous, pleading words echoed in the depths of Groot’s bark. They had all raised him, Peter, Gamora, Mantis, Drax, even Kraglin in his own way. But Rocket’s part in Groot’s life was different, amplified. It was Rocket he tried to please as a sapling, Rocket whom he loathed and longed for approval from as an adolescent, even if he’d never admit it. Rocket, Groot contemplated even as Gamora and Peter turned back to piloting the Milano. Rocket is the black, rocky, liquor-soaked soil I’ve grown through. Tough, and messy and broken but stuck in every crack of my bark nonetheless. And to see him age so rapidly, just the other night he’d fallen on his way back from the tiny restroom in the med-bay. Crashing to the ground like a rock, his cybernetics shattering. And Groot had frozen over watching it. Had not rushed to help and had not called anyone for aid. He’d only watched as Rocket tried and failed to stand, at least five times. Each time he hopped his friend would succeed. He let Rocket drag himself back to the bed, reassuring himself the agony of it was worth it. Winter makes all things brittle, he recalled that which he’d seen on his newly regrown home world. All things age. Age…

“I am Groot?” Groot asked, making his way over to the planetary index behind the pilot and co-pilot seats.

“A rajoon,” Gamora answered.

“Raccoon,” Peter corrected. “A North American raccoon.” Groot nodded, typing “Earth” into the index, Earth. Flora and fauna. Fauna, search by type: r-a-c-c-o-on. His eyes rapidly scanned the screen.

“I am Groot,” what is the lifespan of a North American raccoon? The flora colossus watched Peter and Gamora exchange worried glances. A bling on the screen made him look back,

“2-3” years.

“I am Groot,” he read aloud. Gamora stood, coming over and looking over his shoulder.

“That’s impossible,” her lips pursed. “We’ve known rocket for at least ten years, your entire growth years Groot.” Peter muttered something, switching the controls to auto again and coming over, peering down at the screen.

“He’s not a raccoon though, not entirely. He’s more human then raccoon guys.” A nervous laughter broke the silence,

“His biology is still the same, he still has the internal organs and cells of a raccoon,” Gamora pieced together. “His physiology and anatomy is still raccoon, thus he’d age in the same way.”

“I am Groot,” he is not entirely raccoon. He’s got cybernetic enhancements. As if that fact would prevent anything. Groot stared at the image of the animal the screen. If this is correct then Rocket….Rocket should have died years ago. A cold chill iced his leaves at the thought of it. With a grunt Groot swiped the data pad off and stood. “I am Groot,” don’t tell him.

“Groot, we can’t…” but the flora colossus only stalked from the cock-pit, unwilling to hear the rest. ---

That night, Groot watched Rocket tinker with his bombs.

“I am Groot,” the flora colossus pointed to the compressor.

“Yeah it needs to get replaced,” Rocket muttered, trying to attach yet another cartridge to the his latest gun. It already had three. “Quill that cheap skank won’t buy us a new one.” He shoved the pack into the gun and clicked it experimentally.

“it’s cheap-stake,” Groot turned to see Quill walking into the engine room. Rocket snickered,

“Oh don’t worry Quill, I can fix it again. It’s just gonna keep breaking though.” He glowered at the human though not with too much distanste as far as Groot could tell. “I can fix it again and I’ll do it with my shirt on.” Peter only laughed, he wore nothing but pants.

“I am Groot,” Groot asked pointedly.

“No! Gamora and I were not…we don’t…” his voice drifted off as he came up to them and sat down next to Rocket. “How you feelin?” The raccoonoid fiddled with the contraptions in his hand, shaking his head. “You tired?” Quill asked gently. Groot could read the concern in his eyes. Rocket glanced up from his work,

“I’m always tired these days Quill.,” Rocket eventually answered sadly. Peter nodded, Groot watched as the human reached out and touched Rocket’s shoulder. The raccoonoid flinched, evidently biting back the instinct to attack.

“Your not dying, we’ re gonna get you fixed up.” Groot nodded to himself, then pointed to the tape at Quill’s hip.

“Oh yeah, it’s new.” Rocket leaned closer, evidently glad for the change of subject.

“Got any good tunes on it?” Peter grinned from ear to ear, he unplugged the headphone jack and pressed play. Groot listened as the music began, shimmering like the sunset over water.

“Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while, heaven can wait we're only watching the skies, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?” Groot closed his eyes, letting the music carry him as they sat in the heat of the engine room. It’s constant whirling and omnipresent force. “Let us die young or let us live forever. We don't have the power, but we never say never. Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip, the music's for the sad man.”

He opened his eyes, Rocket was looking up, at the window of the engine room, the stars floating past. Beside him Peter gazed outward, both of them sitting in silence side by side, allowing the words to be spoke by the music. “Can you imagine when this race is won? Turn our golden the faces into the sun, praising our leaders, we're getting in tune the music's played by the, the madman.” The flora colossus felt the ship drift, pushed onward by the very engine and thrusters and rockets that Rocket meticulously tended. The music continued, carrying them through the endless expanse, “Forever young, I want to be forever young, do you really want to live forever? Forever, and ever.” Do you really want to live forever? Groot wondered as the music continued, he watched Peter lean closer to the raccoonoid, one hand gently patting the top of his head. Rocket did nothing, just sat, watching the stars. Could anything truly live forever? Groot asked himself. I was grown from the twig of another flora colossus…what will happen if I age someday? Will another Groot grow from my bark? Do I live forever like that? Everything is a cycle. All living things are young, then grow old and eventually die, don’t they?

“I like this song,” Peter said quietly. Rocket nodded as it continued on. “Forever young I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? Forever young. Some are like water, some are like the heat, some are a melody and some are the beat, sooner or later they all will be gone. Why don't they stay young? It's so hard to get old without a cause, I don't want to perish like a fading horse. Youth's like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds are forever.” A small cough from the raccoonoid broke Groot’s thoughts, as if to magnify that which he was already thinking. Peter pat Rocket on the back and finally the temperamental raccoonoid shrugged him off. Taking a deep breath as Groot turned to the sky once more. “So many adventures given up today, so many songs we forgot to play. So many dreams swinging out of the blue.Oh let it come true, forever young. I want to be forever young Do you really want to live forever. Forever, and ever? Forever young.” The music spun around them, lifting Groot’s vines. He reached out his arms, enveloping Peter and Rocket in his embrace. Hold them tight and protect them. Finally the silence crept over the notes of the facing song. The only sound being the whirl of the engine and the shallow thrush of Rocket’s breathing.

“We’re gonna fix you up,” Peter whispered. Rocket turned to the human, sparing a glance over his shoulder to where Groot forced a smile. “We’ll take you to Wakanda,” the human continued. “Shuri can patch you up in no time.” Rocket’s red muddled red eyes looked up through the glass to the galaxy,

“No,” Rocket finally breathed. “We ain’t going to Wakanda.” Peter turned sharply, Groot felt the human’s momentary anger, born out of the inability to face the fact.

“You know what that means then?” he finally asked.

“Yeah humie I know what that means,” Rocket sighed, shuddering against Groot as if from a chill. On instinct Groot wound his vines around his friend, securing him there. The truth of Rocket’s words not yet hitting his heart. Peter sucked in his lip, shaking his head.

“No.” He hissed. “No. You might be willing to lay down and die, but I’m not willing to let you.”

“It’s not like that Pete,” Rocket tried. It’s already hopeless, Groot knew of Rocket’s effort to convince the human otherwise.

“Really?” Peter turned to the raccoonoid once more, “then what’s it like Rocket? Tell me.”

“I am Groot,” they both looked to him.

“Forget it,” Peter dismissed standing up and breaking free of Groot’s hold.

“I am Groot!” the flora colossus called after him, but the cold metal door of the entire room slid shut.

“You better get ready for your fight tomorrow,” Rocket said. Groot shook his head, not realizing his friend had even addressed him.

“I am Groot,” he nodded, numb. I know what that means humie. No. There must be some way. Some way we don’t know yet. There must be. Uselessness like rot threatened to bore into Groot’s bark and spread its cancerous doubt.

“What do you mean your not worried about it?” Rocket asked, “it’s Gamora! She’s the best fighter we got! She’s gonna wipe your wooden ass with the floor if you don’t practice!” He tried to laugh, but Groot only shook his head. Your not the only one who is tired of fighting.

“I am Groot,” goodnight.

“Groot!” He halted at the door, as he had so many times.

“What I said…about raising you,” Rocket wrung his paws together. “It was true a’right? It wasn’t just the meds. I meant it.” Red searching eyes looked at him, into him. Begging for something Groot could not name nor give. 

“I am Groot,” I know… Groot smiled sadly. Rocket nodded and Groot contented himself as he turned away, shutting the engine room door.

The next day, Groot fought Gamora. He watched Rocket cheering on from above, and Mantis clapping frantically. It was tough, Gamora’s speed and cutting blade forcing him to be constantly moving, dodging. But in the end he won, tangling her in his vines and disarming her. She had only cut off two of his limbs. That night they got drunk off the rest of Rocket’s ivamoa brandy. Groot watched them all, the alcohol having no effect on him. Finally, after Rocket passed out in Kraglin’s lap, Groot hoisted his friend over his shoulder and headed down to the engine room once more.

“You got him?” Mantis asked as Groot stood. He turned, her expectant face wide and full of concern. She’s talking about me, he realized. Do I have Rocket? Yes. I’m holding him. Looking after him since he can’t look after himself. But I don’t know how. Rocket hiccupped, his whole body contracting with a spasm. No, the terrible face reared its head in Groot’s heart. I don’t have him. Don’t know how. Halfworld, nightmares, Rocket’s simultaneous acceptance and refusal to acknowledge age. The only thing Groot could do was what he’d always done. Try his best, hope it was good enough. 

“I am Groot,” he answered with sickly honesty.

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“Forever Young” By Alphaville: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5guhMw_EH0