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raccoonfallsharder · 6 months

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Hello, dear friend. I’d be interested in hearing your take on any of these questions. I always love hearing your thoughts.

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

E: What character do you identify with most? Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

H: How would you describe your writing style?

K: Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)?

L: Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers?

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading? Are you a voracious reader? Do you carefully pick and choose? Something in between?

so many questions!!! you sure do know how to indulge a girl ♡ thank you, dear friend. you are my favorite daffodil full of sunshine.

A. window across the galaxy and adorations are my favorites. i think window’s the best longform piece i’ve ever written (and probably ever will) and i poured so much of myself into it. it was everything i wanted for rocket and it was healing for me, and i love and identify with jo so much. and adorations just makes me happy. ohhh you know what? i also really like ugly sweater and traditions. and machinery from prompt week. and triptych, sunshine, sweatshirt girl, and reconnaissance for beginners. and some of headcanons & imagines. shit.

E. i put a lot of myself in every oc and reader tbh. sweatshirt girl and jo are probably the most transparent self-inserts so far and came from places where they were 100% what i wanted to give rocket + the comfort i needed (sweatshirt girl was very much a reflection on my life at the time). well, and reader from tomorrow, which was 100% my attempt at self-comfort after a bad day at work. i reflected a lot of my real-life experiences through those characters, and i based the way they interact with others almost entirely on how i try to move through the world. i also expect to identify with noa at least as much as jo (oc from other duties as assigned, which might be why it’s so hard to write it). and honestly? i identify with rocket a lot. he wears his pain differently than i do but we both have skeletons that are not doing what we want them to do, chronic pain, and buckets of survivor’s guilt. plus i headcanon rocket has a sequencing disorder like me (ꈍᴗꈍ) i allude to it a lot in cicatrix and certain headcanons (like the sudoku one!) and some other things and i'm trying to write a fanfic about it lol

F. the only fic i have a mental playlist for is the very boring adventures of space pilot & sweatshirt girl, and it’s mostly chillhop essentials winter 2019 and aviino’s plush and cocoon albums but the thing is it HAS to be on vinyl because that’s the whole sweatshirt girl vibe

H. my writing style is chaotic, exists entirely outside the bounds of space & time (mostly because of the sequencing disorder) and is more about feeling than making sense. my word choice is self-indulgent and erratic and based more on what tastes right to me than anything else. emotions are way easier to write than plot. (huh. maybe that’s the sequencing disorder too.)

K. do i have any guilty pleasures in fic-writing or -reading?? girl i write raccoon porn. it would all be a guilty pleasure if i believed in guilty pleasures. but i don’t. i try really hard not to feel guilt about any of my pleasures. life is short. capitalism sucks. write about raccoon dick

L. it’s hard to say which piece of fanfiction was the most emotionally challenging for me to write because i think writing is actually a way of organizing and processing emotions for me. if anything, writing emotional scenes feels cathartic — a relief. but finishing things always feels risky. endings rarely satisfy people. so the more people like a piece of mind (blackmail material, window, windfall), the harder it is to end. it's more about trying to manage imposter syndrome than anything else i guess

Q. GIVE ME ALL THE PROMPTS

R. markus zusak has been one of the most influential writers for me. i love that every character in his books has their own story, their own value and journey, independent of the main narrative. jonathan safran foer writes the sentences i want to write. the read like a gut-punch. (he gets quoted a lot in other duties.) both of these writers would probably be horrified by this because im fairly certain they do not write smut, especially not featuring raccoons

X. how do i characterize my fanfic reading? it really depends on what is going on in life. we all have to ration our time and i hate having to choose between reading and writing and drawing, but here we are. if it’s a fic by an author i like, i prioritize it. it can be really hard for me to read things that are released chapter-by-chapter over an extended period, so i am more apt to read things that are short-run or that are close to being finished. but i especially like to support writers i know — which is why i always ask folks to add me if they have a taglist ♡

#rfh asks #you're such a peach #a shiny gem #thank you for these #about me #ask game #fanfiction ask game #hibatasblog #rfh fanfic #just fanfiction things

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raccoonfallsharder · 5 months

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a scene from entanglement by @hibatasblog

let me love your OCs masterlist | doodle queue rocket art | my OCs | main masterlist

coloring page below. you know, if you like to color or whatever ♡

petra quill & rocket raccoon in some top-secret, hidden, unfrequented corner of the eclector. you just know they've found this place and made it their own.

entanglement is one of my favorite comfort fics of all time and you should read it if you haven’t already. it’s perfection. i just wanted to draw petra & rocket in a moment of peace on the eclector, tucked away in a hidden corner. rocket’s studying for his exams, and of course he’s already made a second set of headphones spliced into petra’s. petra’s wearing the t-shirt and red flannel she’d had on when she was scooped, though they’re a little small on her now.

this was honestly so much fun to draw. so relaxing & peaceful to color that i practically felt like i was inside the picture. this is my first full-background in digital medium and i gotta say, i’m so happy with the way it turned out. i think i nailed the glow, even on the pipes and vents, which made it hard to pick a favorite (with or without extra stardust??).

@hibatasblog thank you for creating such a beautiful, lovely story, and sharing it with our fandom. i hope i did your babies justice, and i hope this drawing gives you the same feeling i get when i read (and reread… and reread) entanglement.

a few close-ups of the ship lights (below) because i love them so much. they’re so shiny. also some in-progress screenshots and linework ♡ feel free to color if you want ♡♡ (just tag me please // let me know!)

#entanglement #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #rfh art #rocket raccoon fanfiction #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon fanart #guardians of the galaxy fanart #gotg fanart #rocket gotg #gotg rocket #coloring #lineart #original art #marvel fan art #marvel fanart #marvel cinematic universe

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raccoonfallsharder · 4 months

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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. ♡♡♡

#tag game #writing game #fanfiction game #smut with plot #and feelings #rfh fanfic #fanfiction preview

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raccoonfallsharder · 5 months

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rocket fanart masterlist

art masterlist | navigation | fiction masterlist my OCs | current queue | your OCs masterlist

you know i am always looking for something to casually doodle during long-ass meetings that have nothing to do with me. rocket's the first anthro character i've ever drawn so excuse the varying levels of success//failure ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ we're basically on an adventure together and that adventure is called how will dae fuck up a raccoon this time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ♡♡♡

if you have a rocket concept you'd like to see scribbled out in 20 minutes (or a cute photo of a raccoon), pop it into my asks and we'll see what happens!

when pete makes rocket attend the annual nova corps gala

rocket & nebula at the nova corps annual gala

rocket is constantly exhausted by terran politics (source: every comic he's ever been in)

rocket with his a nonnie's chips

FULL COLOR: It fucken wimdy (chonky winter-fur rocket on fron)

rocket on the concept of snow

rocket needs/hates his anxiety jacket

rocket & his pjs [spicy/a lil nsfw?]

bathtime rituals of rocket raccoon

sleepovers on knowhere // rocket with his stuffie

rocket gives you a flower (x2)

FULL COLOR: rocket & quill (from entanglement) ~ for @hibatasblog i'm putting this in both sections because i love it.

rocket & origami (from this imagine) ~ for @wren-phoenix

rocket is cold & no longer capable of compassion meme

rocket with a kitten

sleepy snuggly rocket

sleepy snuggle rocket pt 2

rocket is very serious

you give rocket an otter stuffie

rocket's got new wheels

rocket helps make dinner (for @/guardian-angel12)

give my boy some headphones and a hoodie

rocket's never had birthday cake before

rocket gets a cuddle from pearl

rocket gets a cuddle from petra

rocket in a hoodie pt 2 (with ears!)

rocket in a field of frickin' daisies

rocket gets a cuddle from wade wilson (inspired by @/selynenightshadelovesrocketracco )

ultimate dad mode (inspired by @/leresq)

rocket’s got new wheels pt 2 (inspired by @/mrwolfhare)

rocket is a femme fatale mastermind (inspired by nonnie)

rocket & lylla go swimming (x2) (inspired by @/hadesinsane)

rocket in a suit, no jacket (with sidearms)

most//all?? of these bad boys are crossposted with the headcanons & imagines masterlist

with the OCs

rocket with juno draped all over him

rocket getting starry-eyed over how pretty & cool moon is

skritchy-skratchy annoyed rocket with jo

drunk rocket gets a piggyback ride from jo

FULL COLOR: rocket & petra quill (from entanglement) ~ for @hibatasblog

FULL COLOR: rocket & pearl (from cicatrix ⋆☁︎ :･꧂)

rocket gets a cuddle from pearl

rocket gets a cuddle from petra

rocket likes to comb pearl's hair

all crossposted to the let me love your OCs masterlist

#rocket raccoon fan art #rocket raccoon fanart #other people's characters #gotg oc #rocket x oc #original character #let me love your ocs ♡rfh #gotg fanart #rocket raccoon fanfiction #gotg fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy #reader insert #rocket racoon x reader #fan art #rfh masterlist #rfh art #rocket raccoon headcanons #marvel original character #rocket gotg

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raccoonfallsharder · 4 months

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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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raccoonfallsharder · 5 months

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

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist next part | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 1/7 | 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.

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raccoonfallsharder · 4 months

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the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part four. south dakota.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 4/7 | word count: 1864.

rocket and wanda get in a fight.

They don’t stop until Rapid City. Wanda looks like she might actually be ready for a nap — her firestorm-eyes somehow blunted by exhaustion — and Rocket himself could go for a few drinks, which is apparently not a thing you’re allowed to do if you’re in a moving vehicle in this corner of Terra.

Stupid, he’d scoffed at the witch. M’not even the one working the frickin’ pod.

Car, she’d corrected mildly, and she still hadn’t let him have a drink. He’d thought about swiping some booze at one of the so-called rest-stops, but then he’d felt all twisted-up inside about sneaking a drink when it was clearly something she didn’t want him to do. In some ways, she reminds him of Gamora — too serious, carrying way too much for her skinny baldbody shoulders — and the thought of fucking around with her rules when she’s got so few of ‘em just makes him feel small and low.

Sometimes he misses the days when screwing with someone brought him twisted shreds of meanspirited joy.

Time to be the captain, he thinks bitterly.

By the time they find a hotel with a vacancy that doesn’t look like a shithole — not that he minds shitholes, of course, they kinda feel like home to him; but Wanda’s muttering something about bedbugs and reminding him that Natasha’s paying — well, by then, he’s a little worried he’s not gonna get a drink after all. There doesn’t seem to be a bar within reasonable walking distance — not that he can see. But when they check in, he can see from the corner of his eye that there’s a bar attached right to the frickin’ lobby, and he thinks maybe Terra doesn’t completely suck after all.

The witch is so exhausted that it actually doesn’t take long for her to drift off this time — at least, not by his standards. He can hear her heartbeat suddenly thumping her awake every few minutes for the first half-hour or so — but eventually, her stifled breaths of wakefulness spread out and smooth over.

It’s not that he’s trying to sneak out. He hasn’t done that since — well, since Pete was around, and that was mostly just to fuck with an easily-annoyed Star-Lord. Really — and Rocket would never admit it if asked — he’s pretty sure that, like himself, the witch finds it easier to sleep when she’s not alone.

So he putters around, quietly working on a series of tiny linked infrasonic mines made from some scraps he’d squirreled out of Nat’s sound system and a pocketful of things called earbuds he’d swiped at one of the fancier rest-stops. Once he’s sure Wanda’s asleep, he scrawls a note for her — hoping he’s remembering the written Terran language Pete had insisted on trying to teach the Guardians before everything went to hell. Rocket had picked up a fair amount of it, even if he’d pretended disinterest.

He wishes he hadn’t been such a frickin’ dickhead about it.

witch - goin to lobby bar. see you in mornin. r

He snags one of the access cards out of the flimsy paper envelope that the front desk had issued them, and carefully eases the door shut behind him. Currently, the plan is to let the poor witch sleep, and to get so wasted while she does it. He’s been sober for cycles now, and he frickin’ deserves it.

Down the hall he goes, whistling a jaunty tune, tail swinging casually behind him. On the way past the ice machine, the door of another room opens. Some baldbody woman looks out, then drops her eyes to his. She blinks, goes white, and closes the door right back up again. He shrugs — weird — and hops in the elevator. He ain’t a fan of the little crack between the floor of the hotel and the little metal box, dropping down countless stories to the basement below. Don’t Terrans know how to make any safe tech? He tries not to think about being in a deathtrap while he hits the button labeled G, which Wanda had explained was for ground floor.

On four, the elevator pauses and a man nearly steps in before noticing Rocket. The interim captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy offers a friendly, nonthreatening mock salute.

“Hey, guy.”

The man goes white, and steps back out of the elevator, suddenly gripping his messenger bag in front of his belly. Rocket frowns as the doors slide shut.

Terrans are so frickin’ weird, he thinks again.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and Rocket grins at the sight of the bar, with all its glass bottles reflecting molasses-brown shadows and amber light.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and strolls across the tiled floor and through the little entryway. The bar is nearly empty — perfect for penance-drinking. He leaps delicately onto a stool at the bar. “I’ll take the hardest thing you’ve got,” he tells the bartender — a slender humie with thick, darksilver hair. The man blinks at him, eyes growing wide and face turning to ash. “The whole bottle,” the captain clarifies, suddenly recalling that Terran humies tend to distill some of the weakest liquors in the galaxy.

“I — I don’t think I can do that,” the Terran says thinly. His eyes flicker over Rocket, ears to tailtip.

Rocket’s brow pleats. “Huh? Why not?”

“Uh,” the bartender says, eyes siding nervously to one side, “we don’t serve… pets at the bar…”

It takes a minute for Rocket to be sure he’s understood correctly. His lip peels back from his teeth and he catches himself at the start of a seething hiss when the man shrinks back.

Terrans are just morons, Rocket reminds himself. You’re s’posed to be the captain now. Of the Guardians of the frickin’ Galaxy. A good guy.

Hang onto your frickin’ temper.

“Dude,” he manages to grind out between sharp teeth. “I ain’t a frickin’ pet.”

“Wild animal, then,” the bartender mumbles, eyes nearly as big as Mantis’ had been, but much less kind. It sends a spear of leaden regret right through the fucked-up, half-shredded muscle of Rocket’s heart.

That chick with the antennae, he’d called her. Why’s he always gotta be such a dickhead?

For once, he tries not to turn that pain outward, even though it’s always so much easier. Still, he can’t help but feel his fists curl and his ears flick back, flattening against his skull. “How many wild animals do you know that talk?” he asks the humie behind the bar, trying to be reasonable. “I’m a frickin’ Guardian of the Galaxy. An honorary Avenger or whatever. I fought Thanos for you assholes.”

I lost my whole family for you.

The bartender begins backing away, palms raised in surrender. “Look, I don’t know anything about you being an Avenger, but if you’re not a service animal, I don’t think you can even be in the bar—“

Rocket feels his eyes go round and his spit go sour. The fur on his back and neck and arms splays wide, and his tail puffs to twice its normal size. “A. What?”

The bartender looks like he’s going to cry. “I don’t know, man! For all I know, you could be rabid—“

“I ain’t rabid,” Rocket snarls, rising to his feet on his barstool. “I get my frickin’ shots—“

“—and we don’t serve raccoons!”

His jaw clicks shut. The sharp electric-shock of the word burns every nerve and short-circuits his brain, and all he can think is how much he’d give up for Pete to call him that shit-name again.

“What’d you call me?”

He launches himself over the bar and lands on the mirrored shelf behind it, spraying bottles across the narrow space while the Terran shrieks and cowers. Glass and booze explode against the tile while Rocket spins and hooks his hands into claws, ready to rend.

“I’m gonna frickin’—“

He’s springing through the amber and blue shadows when strands of light, as glowing-crimson as his own warning-beacon eyes, loop around his waist and tug him back, suspending him in midair. He tears at the gossamer-fine threads, but they slip through his fingers like mist.

“Rocket.”

He bares his teeth and glares upward.

The witch.

She strides across the lobby, smudged and tired, her red-star eyes spiraling and spilling molten fire. Her hair’s all tangled from whatever brief sleep she’d gotten, and her face looks white and pinched and pained. She must’ve woken, some part of him notices — smothered under the heat of his fury, his lashing tail and kicking legs. She must’ve woken, and noticed he was gone, and seen his note.

She looks concerned.

The front desk staff flinches away from where they’d been watching the scene unfold in the bar.

“Rocket,” she says gently. “Stop.”

“I will, sweetheart,” Rocket promises earnestly, still twisting and tearing at her threads of power. “Swear I will. Just lemme take care of this one jackass first—“

“No,” she says, stepping up next to wear he’s suspended, her face just a few inches from his. Her magic pulls him gently over the bar, closer to herself. “He’s not worth it.” She looks around the lobby, and some distant part of Rocket wonders how such a volcanic stare can suddenly look so utterly cold and remote. Is his own eyeshine is picking up the reflection of her light and throwing it back at her? He can picture it: four firestorm-eyes lighting up the entire hotel lobby.

“Nothing in this place is,” she adds icily, and the ends of her hair begin to flicker and float in a wind he can’t feel. His instincts suddenly shudder and go still: the freeze element of a classic flight-or-fight reaction. Something deep under his fur acknowledges the pure threat of her. The witch’s voice is dark, and crackling with raw red lightning. Something at the base of his spine recognizes it as the most dangerous sound he’s ever heard, and his ears flatten in alarm, puffed tail suddenly tucking in against his inner calf. The silk strands of magic lower Rocket gently until his feet rest on the surface of the bar, but they don’t release him — not yet. Never mind that he’s not fighting anymore.

“You are a fool,” she tells the bartender, turning her molten eyes toward the baldbody still cowering behind the bar. She lifts a hand to point at Rocket. “This person is more than just an Avenger. He has saved the entire galaxy — a number of times. In all likelihood, he has saved you. Personally.” Her eyes skim the weeping bartender disdainfully, then flick dismissively over the front desk staff and the two other patrons Rocket hadn’t even noticed, hiding near a potted tree that reminds him too much of a young Groot.

“He’s no animal,” she tells them in that terrifying, midnight-voice. Honestly, Rocket wouldn’t blame any of them if they’d wet themselves. His own bladder suddenly wants to let go and it’s only his superior frickin’ aversion to embarrassment that keeps his body under control.

“He deserves your deepest respect, and your deepest gratitude,” she tells them. Her eyes, still haloed in red radiance, hold onto the bartender.

“Now pour him a drink.”

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raccoonfallsharder · 11 months

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recommended works ⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

these are the folks who have written or drawn something (specifically within the rocket raccoon fan community) that either murdered me, resurrected me, or both.

(i am always open to recs so if you wanna link me to your fave i will be so happy to check them out)

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ fanfiction ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

The All of You (ao3) i fuckin love this story so hard. i love the OC. i love the writing. i love the set up. i reread this probably every month or so and pine for more. it's so fuckin good. @lazarel-3000 is a double-threat (at least) who is also on my recced artist list, which means (obviously) they are a recced creator as well.

Casino Royale (ao3) this fic by @hibatasblog (see also: Entanglement, below) is so fucking delightful. petra quill is so hot i want to date her myself, and the tension between her and rocket is through the roof. loving the angst, loving the little ways that heartbreak seeps through every new paragraph, loving the mystery of trying to figure out what happened to petra and rocket to set them on their separate paths and now bring them back together. always waiting anxiously for the next chapter.

Entanglement (ao3) this fic by @hibataao3 has me rationing my consumption in a way i have not done in a long time. i'm like "i only read one chapter a week to pace myself, as a little treat for surviving another seven days." beautiful writing and intricate storytelling, the metaphors and analogies are so good i almost wish i was back in undergrad writing a thesis on it.

Friends (tumblr) @nyxivy is making their way through the rocketober 2023 prompts and the first fic of the series is. so drool-worthy. i've probably read it fifty times since it came out. short and so hot i could die (much like rocket himself), and somehow incredibly sweet in just the span of a few paragraphs? i will continue coming back to this fic and look forward to more from them at every chance i get.

Get Up (tumblr)@caesarhamato22 is another person on my recced creator list because trying to find just one fic to call my "favorite" is a challenge (obviously i was unsuccessful because there are two on this list). anyway this is lovely and fluffy. i die.

last (friday) night (ao3) nsfw. trying to pick a "favorite" of @aliasrocket's work is like trying to choose a favorite incarnation of rocket (i cannot). guess who is also on my recced creators list.

more than seven (tumblr) second @caesarhamato22 fic on this list and another recced creator. this one is one of my favorite comfort fics (i mean it's still sexy as hell) that i come back to very often. like it's just so wonderful and sweet and perfect and atmospheric and vibes

stars. (tumblr) ☕︎ stars. (ao3) sexual tension & some of the loveliest atmospheric writing i've ever consumed. another @aliasrocket fic that lives in my head.

A Very Basic Instinct (tumblr) ☕︎ A Very Basic Instinct (ao3) nsfw. when i tell you this fic did things to me. it is probably one of the fics i reread most. like, all the time jkjk only semiregularly. check out the author @elegant-fleuret for other equally brainrot-inducing smut (also mentioned in my recced creators).

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ art ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

@bathmob i wish. i could draw rocket. like this. the vibes are so good. the style. is perfect. i thank the universe whenever i see new art from them.

@glow-autumz is absolutely going to be a published comic artist some day and i will buy anything she works on ever. literally everything she creates has a story behind it, which i love. like, not only are her illustrations gorgeous (and like…often very hot) but every single one is (at least) a single-panel narrative. plus her OC is also cool as hell and i love her interpretations of rocket.

@lazarel-3000 creates the most toe-curlingly delicious art i've seen in a long time. i am seduced by pretty much everything they create. even their rough drafts have me panting. (i also have a crush on their OC and as a bi-lady i look at their art and am often like oh shit this is a fuckin feast). as mentioned before, this artist is also the author of one of my favorite fics and is a recommended creator in general.

@uglly-rodent posts always make me want to pinch the babby raccoom's cheeks and/or cry.

⊹˚₊⊹˚☕︎ creators ☕︎˚⊹₊˚⊹

@aliasrocket writes such beautiful things it is impossible to pick a favorite (i got two of their fics in the fic section and it was difficult to narrow it down that far and even now, i'm not certain). their tumblr has the added advantage of a ton of drabbles, every single one of which is perfection.

@caesarhamato22 read everything. like everything. great smut but i am a sucker for the slice of life shit and it's so fuckin good here. i just wanna be a nail tech on knowhere/locked in a closet with rocket/have him steal my t-shirt/whatever. it's like all my most domestic desires got turned into little fanfiction dreams. so much wish fulfillment i could die

@elegant-fleuret has great fanfiction (more than just the one on my fic list - i just felt like i had to narrow it down and A Very Basic Instinct literally gives me a a fresh hit of dopamine every time i reread it, which is a lot). plus also art. double-threat.

@evolvingchaoswitch writes with a ton of vulnerability and rawness and angst. i am also in love with the shorter pieces they've been putting out for rocketober 2023 (some really great poetry, some really emotional oneshots, some really hot oneshots). plus their OCs always fuckin rock

@lazarel-3000 look. look. i cannot say this enough. please go check them out they are hope in a hopeless place. some of the sexiest art + one of my very favorite fanfictions + one of my very favorite OCs have come out of this flawless individual. (full disclosure they also did some nsfw art of my OC jolie and rocket that has me crying and dying and hyperventilating on a daily basis)

@love-for-faeries-go-burrrr has another one of my favorite OCs and i am always hungry for their little storylines whenever they post.

@mrwolfhare is one of my favorite sources of gotg food-for-thought. just some of the most thoughtful explorations of the details of both the mcu and comic canon, excellent headcanons, beautiful screenshot sets, and really solid art. the drawtober art and ficlets have been highlights in my days this month and i'm told there may be a rad fanfiction on the horizon so keep your eyes on this! (rad fanfiction is here now! read Subject 880HR on ao3)

#rfh recs #rocket raccoon content #fanfiction recommendation #rocket raccoon fanart #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #fan art #fangirl #gotg #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon

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raccoonfallsharder · 3 months

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the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip.✮ part seven. you've arrived at your destination.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 7/7 | word count: 3006.

rocket and wanda complete the most important mission in the galaxy.

Needless to say, Rocket hadn’t slept that night. He thinks he might never sleep again. The witch had said what she’d said and he’d promptly spun on his heel and said Welp, time for me to get to bed, and parked himself on the sofa at the foot of the mattress. He’d stayed there all night, staring up wide-eyed at the ceiling, each hand clutched into a pocket: the key-plate in his right palm, and the zune tucked into his left. Both memorized so well by his fingertips that he could take them apart and put them back together, blindfolded in the dark — both grafted onto the skin of his hands so lovingly that the ghosts of their shapes stay with him always, whether he’s awake or sleeping.

It hadn’t been his finest captain-moment. He can admit that to himself. Wanda had just told him something all…vulnerable an’ shit, and he’d been a jackass.

He’s been trying to get better about stuff like that. Not that Rocket would recommend himself as an ideal person to talk about feelings with, but he’s been trying. Kraglin’s surprisingly softhearted and Rocket’s had to get used to offering some awkward emotional first-aid every once in a while, even if he is frickin’ useless at it. And both himself and Nebula get drunk enough that sometimes they end up saying things they’d never say sober.

But the witch had said what she’d said, and every strand of Rocket’s fur had stood up in its follicle, prickling with awareness and an instinctive fear. He’d kept track of his sire’s whereabouts, more or less, since his own escape from HalfWorld. At least, he’d listened for the gossip. But he hadn’t considered where else the bastard might’ve had labs back when Rocket himself was still just a kid, still just a scrawny degenerate escapee on the run, living on the streets of Contraxia and Conjunction and anywhere else he could lay low.

He hadn’t considered the High Evolutionary might’ve ever come to Terra. That even this backwater mudball might not be safe.

So Rocket had tossed and turned all night and stared sullenly out at the landscape all morning, drinking the rest-stop coffee Wanda had silently brought him in some kind of terrible cup she called styrofoam. Now he watches her sideways through slanted crimson eyes, calculating. The lab she’d walked into willingly, with the infinity stone — that had been some bad decision-making on her part. But the other — the place in the mountains, when she’d just been a little humie gargoyle? The one where Herbert E Wyndham had probably gripped her jaw with his palm and wrapped his spindly fingers around the back of her skull like he was measuring it, ready to crack it open and feast on what was inside? Unlikely she’d ever had any sort of choice in that.

And besides. Who’s Rocket to judge, really? It’s not like he hasn’t made a bad decision or two since being raised in the High Shitbag’s lab.

“Sorry,” he grunts at last, into the weird plastic lid on the styrofoam cup. The coffee smells bitter and acrid, and it tastes worse. Not like the stuff that comes outta Nat’s Nespresso, or even the shit they’d had at the little diners sprinkled throughout their route across this stupid continent.

Her eyelids flicker. “I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for,” she says at last, dryly, gaze still locked on the mountains and trees ahead of them.

Some kind of weird sound shuffles up from under his ribs: something between a scoff and a reluctant groan. He pinches the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, and scrunches his body down into the stack of books and the chair cushion under his ass. His tailtip flicks out his discomfort in dots and dashes. He’d always been on the outside — since Halfworld. He’d had his little family — his precious family — in the cages. And then he’d been alone, apart, and separate. No thing like me ‘cept me.

What did the galaxy ever do for you? he’d asked Pete, shrill on the side of a blown-apart skull, still reeling from the tidal wave of purple death. The High Evolutionary’s afterimage had seemed burned into his retinas, glowing the same color as the power stone’s blast. Why would you want to save it?

Because I'm one of the idiots who lives in it!

No thing like me ‘cept me, he thinks again. But he’d found his second family, his second precious family — of morons. And he’d found Nebs, almost as singular as himself in the ways she’d been remade.

And now there’s Wanda. Maybe something like a sister, if he dares to think that way again.

“Don’t give yourself a migraine,” the witch says sardonically with a sideways flick of her own dark-star, volcanic gaze. He cuts a glare at her from behind the squeeze of his fingers, and makes sure she sees it.

“Can’t give myself what I already frickin’ got,” he mutters, and there’s a soft breath of a chuckle from her corner of the Terran vehicle. He sighs again. “I dunno. Shoulda said somethin’ last night. Not good at that shit. But what you said…” He hesitates. Clears his throat. Swallows. “Reminded me of some things I’d rather not think about.”

She arches a dark-cherry brow skeptically. “You met an evil, purple-clad mad scientist with no face, too?”

He cringes, and does what he does best: evades. “More or less.”

I'm one of the idiots who lives in it!

Rocket had been lucky to find his idiots. A little pocket of belonging in the glittering junkyard of the galaxy. He drops the hand that’s been pinching his brow and tilts a curious look at Wanda now: open. Thoughtful.

Ain’t no thing like me ‘cept me — except the witch reminds him of himself: his whole first family lost, and then with nothing and no-one to his name. Not till he’d found himself in a pit-prison with a robot and a flora colossus, promising to take care of Groot. Rocket himself doesn’t need any taking-care-of, of course.

…but Wanda seems like she maybe needs a Groot.

And then her own pack of idiots, ‘cause the frickin’ Avengers sure ain’t it.

He clears his throat again, and flips the zune in his hand nervously. His eyes dampen and he looks out the window at the flashing scenery. Terran vehicles are so slow, but sometimes — like this — there’s so much to see that they still feel fast. “I think we got more stuff in common than I realized, is all,” he admits at last, and turns back to narrow his eyes on the witch until she finally glances over, her eyes shifting from the road to his face.

“What?” Wanda asks.

“Meant what I said the other day,” he says at last. The words are slow and measured. Deliberate. For once, he doesn’t leave space to hide behind any sarcasm or jokes. “You should think about comin’ and hanging out with the cool kids in space.”

“Turn here,” Rocket says, consulting the map he’s made on his datapad and pointing at a sidestreet. His clawed hands grip the cylinders that hold the screen open, and the zune is tucked safely between his knees. Then he points. “Now here.” It’s been a maze of streets for the last hour or so, and he wishes Terran travel weren’t so damn two-dimensional. If he’d had the Benatar, he could’ve just dropped down right on top of the place.

“Can you tell me what we’re doing yet?” the witch asks dryly. “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know—”

“Here, turn here,” he interrupts urgently, and Wanda taps the brakes and lurches to an undignified stop. Her red-dark eyes slash to him, confused, and then furious. Somebody honks, and she mutters something under her breath in a language that his translator identifies as Terran-Sokovian but can’t interpret. She drifts the car across the bikelane and against the curb.

“I said turn,” Rocket mumbles sulkily.

“Microsoft?” she growls. The sound is incredulous, but not condemning. Not yet. “Danvers has you completing a mission at the Microsoft campus?”

Rocket grimaces, then offers up what he hopes is a charming smile, even though he knows he’s a toothy little goblin without an ounce of charisma in his scarred-up, metal-riddled body. He can feel his ears trying to flatten plaintively, against his will. It’s not like he’s suddenly developed a conscience or anything, but…

“Uh. Hm. About that—“

Wanda throws the car into park. A biker swerves around her and gives her the finger, a gesture Rocket recognizes from having seen it delivered almost-daily by Pete. The witch ignores it though, crossing her arms over her chest and turning in her seat to glower at Rocket.

“What kind of evil lurks at the heart of the Microsoft campus?” she drawls sarcastically, but he sees an escape hatch and his ears prick forward.

“Actually—”

“If this is another one of your rants about how fucked-up Terran capitalism is, save it,” she cuts in flatly, and he blinks and tries to remember if he’s heard her swear before. “We all know.”

He gives her a look he just knows can only be interpreted as a pout, and tries to cover it up with a scowl. “Not well enough to change anything, though. F’you people would just adopt the Intergalactic Accords—”

“Enough,” she says sharply, and for a second she’s so like Gamora that it brings a sheen of tears into his eyes and a lump like an infinity stone into his throat. “Rocket. Were you serious about me coming to space?”

He blinks again at the shift in subject. Verbal whiplash. He hadn’t thought she’d even been considering it — not really. Someone should let her know that come hang out with the cool kids really means come hang out with the losers — the people who lose things. But all that comes out of his mouth is,

“I was.”

He cringes. There’d been more sincerity in those two words than he’s entirely comfortable with.

“Then start telling me the truth,” she grows, her voice low and ominous. Each word is clipped and demanding — unyielding. Unwilling to be dissuaded. Rocket grimaces, lips curling back from his teeth, and coughs a little, trying to scratch out some words.

“Okay,” he mutters at last. “Okay. So, maybe Danvers didn’t send me on a mission.”

Wanda groans and rolls her face into her palms. “You lied to Natasha?”

Not, you lied to me, which Rocket decides is a good sign. Or maybe he’s just fundamentally optimistical after all. The captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy lifts one shoulder in a cautious shrug. “I lie to most everybody at some point.”

Wanda makes a sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t been so choked in frustration.

“In my frickin’ defense, I did need to come out here an’ see this place,” he adds quickly. “And Nebs really is busy workin’ on making Knowhere into a place for refugees with Kraglin and Cosmo. Just got in a transport of displaced Xandarans and everything.” He winces. “Not that those three morons are very good at refugee-work. But like Pete used to say, it’s the thought that costs—”

“—that counts,” Wanda snaps. She lifts her head from her palms and glowers. “And you needed to see this place for what.” It’s delivered so tonelessly that his translator almost doesn’t pick up on it being a question. “So help me, if you tell me this is some…. bizarre space-alien tourist-type shit while everyone else is back in New York doing very important things—”

He grapples. He’s such an impulsive frickin’ creature and he never thinks things through. He’s had days to scheme up what to tell her and now here they are, and he’s been caught empty-handed. “Look, I was just hoping for some ideas to improve my tech—”

“Your tech is better than anything on this planet,” she almost-snarls. “And you know it—”

“What not to do, then—”

“Stop lying.”

He hates the way the words claw and crawl up his ribs, scrabbling scabbed little gremlins with gawky unhinged limbs, like bony monsters climbing in his throat. He tries to cage them with his teeth, but they pry open his jaws and tumble out anyway, sticky and keening and malformed.

“I read they made the zune here.”

The words hit the console between the two of them and lay there, pathetic and dripping over the armrests, into the cupholders. Another biker swerves past the car and somewhere, someone honks. Rocket clenches his jaw and looks away, glaring at the decimated dashboard and the upgraded sound system that looks like a wreck. The datapad snaps shut and he grips the two cylinders in one fist, crossing his arms and trying to pull up every defense he’s still got in his arsenal—

Wanda breathes out, and he can feel it when she deflates against the car door.

“You could’ve told me that,” she says quietly.

He snickers darkly. “Would you have come? Drove me out here from New York, and left all the other Avengers doing their very important things?” The words are a sneer.

The witch sighs, and he winces in spite of his commitment to pretending to be unbothered. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Maybe not at first, but honestly, there wasn’t much keeping me in New York anyway. And — look at me, Rocket.”

He doesn’t want to. Sure, maybe he’s acting too sullen to be considered much of a captain right now, but there’s comfort in sullenness and he’s decided he kinda hates being the captain if it means he has to give up Pete and the others to do it. But Wanda waits, and eventually, he deflates too, and turns his firestorm eyes to hers.

But hers aren’t glowing right now — not like when she’s mad, anyway.

Huh.

He’d always thought her irises were dark around the fire, but he suddenly realizes they’re actually a kind of tawny hazel: clear, and soft, and sad.

And honest.

“You could’ve told me back in Chicago,” she says, so gently it hurts. “In Pennsylvania, even. I would’ve said we should keep going. I would’ve wanted you to be here.”

His mouth feels suddenly dry, and every nerve is scraped raw and wounded. He tosses the closed datapad into the backseat and palms the zune from where it’s still gripped between his knees. “It’s stupid,” he admits. “Sen’imentalistic—”

“I think it’s a really good idea,” she interrupts, and her voice is a quiet hum. “I at least—” She hesitates, and he hears her throat working. “Thanos took the part of Vis that made him Vis, and someone—” She stumbles. “I never saw his body after Wakanda. I don’t know who did it, but someone took that away from me, too. And I think not having any little part of him made losing it all so much harder.” She closes her eyes, and Rocket feels his ears flatten further when the corner of her mouth trembles. “I know — with the Snap, I know it was like that for you too. If there’s something you can do that makes you feel closer to — to Pete, then you should do it.” Her eyes open and meet his again, and hold them. “We should do it. Together.”

Rocket feels himself swallow. The witch doesn't remind him of Gamora right now. Instead, her voice and all the words in it sound like they're coming from Lylla. He looks away — out the front, and then out the copilot-side window. Passenger-side, he corrects himself mentally. Tears clutter up on his lower lashes, silvering everything in his line of sight. “What about your very-important Avengers things?”

There’s a sound in the back of her throat that he can’t identify: something cynical, and amused, and sad.

“I’ve never really been much of an Avenger,” she admits softly. “Besides. At this point, I’m beginning to feel like this is the most-important thing we could be doing right now.”

The silver runs over his lower lids and into his fur. He sighs, and scrubs the back of his paw over the end of his nose, and slants his head toward her. When he speaks, he can’t keep the words from sounding strangled. “There’s, like, tours or some shit here. At this Microsoft-place.” He tries to wrangle out a cocky smirk, but he knows it falls lopsided on his mouth. “Real tourist-type shit.”

Wanda huffs out a low, forlorn little laugh. “I have a feeling you’re going to be disappointed,” she tells him. “This company has nothing on your inventions, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He shrugs, and something in him eases. He allows himself a single sniffle while the tight knot of ice in the back of his throat starts to melt at the edges. “If it’s all crap, I can still enjoy myself by makin’ fun of it,” he reasons, and she snorts softly. Those eyes of hers are warm with affection.

“Even though they made the zune?" she teases gently.

He opens his palms in mock-helplessness. “Even a broke multicalendar is right once a circumrotation.”

She smiles and shakes her head, and turns in her seat to wrap her palms around the steering wheel. “You’re going to have to teach me what all these phrases mean, if I’m coming out to space with you,” she tells him lightly, and shifts into drive.

His ears tilt forward, and he grins — small, but real, this time. There’s a little flare of gleeful triumph at the base of his skull. His legs swing in front of his seat without his conscious permission, and he turns the zune over in his palm, fingers tracing the well-known ridges and rounded corners without taking his eyes off Wanda’s profile, and the sun glancing all gold-and-green off her hazel irises.

Yeah. Maybe she could be something like a sister, after all.

“We can start on the way back to New York,” he promises.”You’ll have the best guide in the galaxy, sweetheart.”

“Okay, okay,” the witch utters sardonically, one eyebrow raised. She glides the Terran vehicle carefully back out into the street. “Guide me to a parking spot first, Captain.”

that's it. that's the fanfic. clearly i’ve never been to the microsoft campus before so i was relying a hundred percent on maps and streetview and reddit and the campus website lol. thank you thank you for suspending your disbelief, and for all your kindness ♡ i hope you enjoyed this LENGTHY fuckin headcanon of mine, all inspired by the magical @hibatasblog, the gorgeous rocket raccoon, and the incompetence of the endgame creators lol. my gratitude to them forever. ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist prev | main masterlist this will eventually be posted on ao3, probably as a one-shot.

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raccoonfallsharder · 4 months

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the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist ✮

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | pending | word count: pending. main masterlist.

part one. ✮ prepare for departure. rocket gets a very-important mission from danvers and needs a partner to go with him. enter the witch.

part two. ✮ pennsylvania. ohio. indiana. rocket appreciates the turnpikes. the heroes discuss music, memories, and state-of-the-art tech.

part three. ✮ illinois. wisconsin. minnesota. night falls on the outskirts of chicago. wanda and rocket reflect on the horrors of the universe.

part four. ✮ south dakota. rocket and wanda get in a fight.

part five. ✮ montana. what makes a person a monster?

part six. ✮ idaho. washington . our heroes share their secrets.

part seven. ✮ you've arrived at your destination. rocket and wanda complete the most important mission in the galaxy.

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

banners & dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

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raccoonfallsharder · 2 months

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what’s your favorite version of rocket? for me it’s between eidos rocket and mcu rocket

this is such a great question ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

it’s like asking “what’s your favorite star in the sky?” “which ice cream is the best ice cream?” “what flower do you prefer?” “what bird is the coolest bird?” “what cat is the best cat?”

it’s not that i don’t have a fave (i do, or at least i think i do), it’s just that im picking from such a fucken splendor of options. truly spoiled for choice. there’s no wrong answer here (although some of the comics artists have never, i think, seen a raccoon. here’s lookin at you timothy green ii).

so i’ll rank these motherfuckers but understand that i love them all differently. also im sticking to various versions of canon but honestly some of my fave rockets come from fanfiction writers like @hibatasblog, @caesarhamato22, @aliasrocket, & @elegant-fleuret ~ and what is mcu rocket or cartoon rocket or eidos rocket really but fanfiction with a budget?

anyone else who wants to share their faves and why, please do. it's so fucken fascinating to learn why certain rockets appeal to different people!

Grounded: Rocket Raccoon (2016) story by matthew rosenberg // pencil & ink by jorge coelho i love this furry bastard so much and this whole arc pulls on all my heartstrings which is probably why my first rocket fanfic was based off this storyline. he's at his snarkiest, most cynical self, still saving people in spite of how fucken thankless everyone around him is. as much as comics-rocket talks about how everything he does is for the money, i feel like this series really exemplifies his begrudging willingness to do the right thing for people even when people suck. i just wanna love on him tbh (platonically, romantically, domestically). wanna take care of him. wanna build him a blanket-fort and feed him hot cocoa. grumpy asshat

MCU's Guardians of the Galaxy (2014-2023) created by james gunn, et al. nose to tail, this rocket has the most consistent and coherent character development and we get to see so many sides of him in one long-lived arc, and it's fucking beautiful. just because of the nature of comics in general, we never get to see this much growth in any single incarnation of rocket. but here we have sad-rocket, dad-rocket, lonely-rocket, friend-rocket, baby-rocket, captain-rocket - i love him so much and what this movie has given us in terms of a fully-fleshed out character. plus we get to hear lines like "oh yeah" (you know EXACTLY what i'm talkin about) and his goddamn singing. not to mention that beautiful expressive face.... the way he moves when he's beating the shit out of ravagers... what? huh? where was i?

Rocket Raccoon: Blue River Score (2017) story by al ewing // pencil & ink by adam gorham i fucken love this comic arc. we get a lot of rocket in a suit and we get to see his impulsive behavior, his softness for otta (and by extension, his desire to love/be loved) despite their history, his cleverness in the colon and the final heist, and his relationship with gatecrasher. PLUS if you thought one sad snarky gun-wielding maniac wasn't enough, there's a subplot where rocket and deadpool team up and it's the best thing in the world. just a perfect little kiss from every five-star chef in the galaxy. i love rocket's last few lines to deadpool in this segment. perfection

Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy Game. (2021) by eidos-montreal and marvel entertainment. just to note: 4,5, and 6 got real murky for me in terms of figuring out how to rank these rockets. i wish i could watch this game multiple times so i could get a better feel for who this rocket is but it is SUCH an undertaking tbh. still, this rocket is so good. bitter, hilarious, sassy, isolated. i love him so much. i just want to play with his beard and also say lots of nice (occasionally naughty) things to him so he blushes really hard like in that sequence where pete was like "you deserve some praise" (i think that was the closest we've ever seen rocket to actual death, volume three included). there's a thing about rockets-in-general that i think this rocket in particular really pulls out of me: the desire to trust, and to be worthy of trust. ...that and the fact that you just know this guy is fuckin filthy. when he decides he wants you, he's gonna make you miserable in all the best ways. like, the level of teasing would be so over-the-top you might spontaneously combust before you get into bed (though luckily, he is an expert when it comes to manipulating combustibles).

Assorted other comic appearances that I've smushed into one thing in my mind. i dunno, friend. rocket who blames himself for pete's apparent death breaks my heart. rocket who thinks he's the only one of the guardians left breaks my heart. rocket who blames himself for groot's death breaks my heart. rocket who is sick and alone on halfworld like an animal crawling under the porch to die but ends up leaving inside a giant mech-suit to save his friends breaks my heart. rocket who protects chewy's kids breaks my heart even though it's supposed to be a lighthearted fucken arc. there are more.

Rocket Raccoon, Volume 2. (2014-205) story by skottie young, pencil & ink by various artists. yo. this rocket is so different and yet still perfectly rocket. he's a hyped-up little gremlin of a guy who fucks and is probably constantly high off blaster-fumes and engine-fuel. i fucken love him so much. imagine rocket with no self-confidence issues who pops caffiene pills and energy drinks every half-hour and smashes anything that can orgasm, and you've got a skottie young rocket. while other rockets might get you off because they think they've got something to prove or want to keep you coming back, this is a rocket who has learned how to use his tail solely for the fact that it's a claim to fame that means he can get laid anytime he wants. he never lacks for an excited partner (or partners) because everyone in sixty-nine systems knows how fuckin good he is. ultimately, he fucks like a god for the most (apparently) selfish, shallow reasons (and then inevitably ghosts his partners). or maybe not. maybe he's also just obsessed with the idea that anything he's gonna do, he has to do over-the-top. like planning an intergalactic scavenger hunt for your friend's birthday. ...but scrape the surface and underneath you find a guy who's just so afraid of being the only one of his kind that he's gotta fuck or shoot everything in his vicinity. what a wild little shithead. i love him so much, so much. p.s. the fron storyline - the cold, parts one and two - is one of my favorites. he loves groot so much. and princess jink is the fucken best

Guardians of the Galaxy TV Series/Cartoon. (2015-2019). i enjoyed this rocket and his gremlin ways. his fascination with duct tape is a particular point of charm. the take on his backstory was interesting. loved the episode with ja kyee lrurt - like it was so fuckin cute i could die. i need more of THAT storyline in particular.

Rocket & Groot TV Series/Cartoon. (2017) i loved this so much but it just left me wanting more (just because, you know, of the nature of this type of short-episode media). big skottie young energy. ultimately, trevor devall does a fine job but i think his voice in both this and the other cartoon make it a little harder for me to fully embrace these rockets. like his interpretation of rocket's voice just doesn't match mine, you know? and that's okay. still would rewatch 5,739 times.

how's that? i still need to watch telltale but i think i got most of the iterations in there lol. anyone i forgot, or who is worth specifically pulling out and mentioning by author/issue/edition?

#rfh asks #chl03ph0b1a #rank these rockets #rocket raccoon #and his many incarnations #guardians of the galaxy #gotg rocket #rocket gotg #about me

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