#i picked a bunch of songs that at least vaguely hint at some form of astral body lol

[hibiscusangel15]

//Shooting Star - A Tobecky Playlist

Mindy Gledhill - I Do Adore

Kiesza - Cannonball

Youhna - Houkiboushi (Comet)

Eyeshine - Afterglow

Aqua Timez - Sen no Yoru wo Koete (After a Thousand Nights)

Gorillaz - To Binge

Future Islands - The Fountain

Far East Movement - Rocketeer

Vancouver Sleep Clinic - Sleeping World

Madeon ft. Passion Pit - Pay No Mind

Ed Sheeran - All of the Stars

[annzybwrites]

What Do You Get a Mumrik?

Hello!  First, I adore your writing! I first read it on Ao3 but needed to follow you here so I made an account.  I would love to read a short Snufmin fanfic with this prompt: Moomin looking for a birthday gift for Snufkin Kudos ❤️❤️

--Submitted by @xanzusx 

Annzy: Ahh, thank you so much!! I’m glad you enjoy my writing so much that you made a tumblr account, that’s so flattering ;w; I can’t believe I never thought of a birthday gift fic before, but it’s a fantastic idea!! 

~!~!~!~ 

Birthday celebrations in Moominvalley were usually grand affairs. Moominmamma delighted in baking that person’s favorite cake flavor in the shape of either their face or something that represented them, Moomintroll and his friends had a fantastic time decorating the yard for the party (especially if it was themed), and sometimes Moominpappa would make a piñata or a slide if the party was for someone young. Anyone that wanted to come celebrate was invited, so naturally most of the inhabitants of Moominvalley would come, bringing small gifts that they thought the birthday-haver would like. 

There were a few exceptions. They usually didn’t celebrate Stinky’s birthday, if only because the few times they did try to celebrate, Stinky spent the entire night mocking them for their efforts. And they also didn’t make such a big fuss for Snufkin’s birthday, because for the first few years he refused to tell anyone, saying he’d only reveal his birthday if someone guessed the date correctly. He’d always have a big, playful grin on his face whenever the others remembered his little challenge and tried to guess his birthday for an afternoon. 

When Snufkin and Moomin had finally started dating, though, Snorkmaiden felt like the game should end. 

“You have a boyfriend now, Snufkin!” she berated him while they were all spending a lazy day at the beach. “You have to let at least him celebrate your birthday with you!” 

“Is that a rule?” Snufkin was laying on his back next to Moomin, so he turned his head to catch those blue eyes that seemed just as surprised as him. 

“I suppose it would be only fair.” Moomin hummed, "Since you’ve celebrated plenty of my birthdays already.” 

“Yeah!” Little My perked up, running over to climb on top of Snufkin’s chest to stare at him. “I’d love another day where Mamma makes us cake, anyway.” 

“It’s always so delicious!” Sniff agreed, starting to drool from where he lay on his stomach. “Besides, you’d get lots of cool presents, Snufkin!” 

“Oh, you know I don’t really care much for material things.” Snufkin chuckled good naturedly, messing with Little My’s hair bun until she swatted his hand away. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat a birthday cake with all of you.” 

“So you’ll tell us your birthday?” Moomin asked, his heart filling up with hope. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to know until just that moment. 

Snufkin turned to smile at him, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said, “But I still want you to guess!” 

Snorkmaiden groaned and plopped back down onto the sand, crossing her arms. “You’re hopeless.” 

“Oh, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” Snufkin picked Little My up, setting her down next to him so he could sit up and stretch. “My birthday is in this month of March. That should narrow things down, don’t you think?” 

“I’ll say!” Moomin brightened, sitting up as well so his tail was free to wag a bit. “Hmm... how about --” 

“March 8th!” Sniff guessed. 

“March 12th!” Little My yelled. 

“March 23rd?” Snorkmaiden tried. 

“Nope, nope, and nope!” Snufkin chuckled, tilting his hat up to show off his wide grin. “Wow, you all are really bad at this game.” 

“March 15th?” Moomin guessed, hands clasped together nervously. 

Snufkin straightened in surprise, turning to him with a bright smile. “That’s right, Moomintroll! Congratulations!” 

"Really?” Moomin laughter bubbled out of him as he pulled Snufkin in for a hug. He couldn’t believe he got it right! 

“What does he win?” Sniff had to ask. 

“Well,” Snufkin hummed as he hugged Moomintroll back. “What would you like, my dear?” 

“I never thought of that.” Moomin hummed, pulling away from the hug to tap at his chin in thought. “How about a song?” 

“Moomin!” Snorkmaiden bemoaned, falling onto her back and covering her eyes dramatically with her hand. “You should have asked for a kiss!” 

“Oh!” Moomin felt heat pool into his cheeks as his tail curled around him shyly. Why hadn’t he thought of that? W-well, kisses were meant to be private things, anyway! Not in front of a bunch of people! 

Snufkin chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle Moomin’s snout briefly. “A song it is! How about we walk while I play?” 

It wasn’t long before the small group was up on their feet and headed back to Moominhouse, Snufkin playing a jaunty little tune on his harmonica. Little My was extremely excited and couldn’t wait to tell Mamma that she’ll have to bake another cake very soon, and it was then that Moomin realized Snufkin’s birthday was only ten days away. And once he realized that, a new question presented itself. 

What kind of gift do you get for a mumrik who dislikes material possessions? 

~~~

Moomintroll felt like a wreck for the next week. He couldn’t stop thinking about Snufkin’s birthday, and about how he had absolutely no idea what to get him. He knew he wanted to get Snufkin something that he would actually like, preferably something that he’d be happy to take with him during his travels. 

Anything store-bought was immediately out. Snufkin would consider it a nice little trinket, but not worth carrying around with him all the time. Moomintroll briefly considered learning to knit and making him a nice scarf, but a long night of getting tangled up in the yarn quickly dashed that idea. He thought of drawing him a very nice picture next, perhaps a collage of some of their favorite flowers, but then he remembered how a paper drawing was bound to get ruined from the snow or dirt and would most likely not last the winter. 

Since he was an open-book to everyone that knew him, it didn’t take long for Snufkin to realize why he’d been acting strangely and told him: “You don’t have to get me anything special, Moomintroll. The memories of us together are gift enough for me.” 

While it was a very sweet phrase that made Moomin’s heart swell, a strong part of him still longed to find the perfect gift for his boyfriend. 

He thought of stringing together some stones into a bracelet next, perhaps some red rocks to represent the comet that brought them together in the first place. But he figured that might be too heavy to carry around all the time, and Snufkin had never been one for too many accessories anyway. Then he considered finding a small, little bottle and filling it with sand and sea water, since Snufkin did love the sea so much. But then he worried about the bottle breaking inside his backpack, and that was the last thing he’d want. 

With only three days left till Snufkin’s birthday, Moomintroll lay on his bed after dinner, staring morosely up at the ceiling. He still had no good ideas! And he knew Snufkin wouldn’t love him any less if he didn’t find the perfect gift for him, but he really wanted to show how well he knew his dearest friend in the form of a gift. 

Someone knocked on his bedroom door, shocking him out of his thoughts. “Come in!” 

“Hello, dear.” Moominmamma greeted with a small smile as she walked inside. She closed the door gently before going to sit at the edge of his bed. “Still haven’t thought of a good gift for Snufkin?” 

“No.” Moomin groaned and turned onto his side, curling up a bit as he looked up at his mother. “And anytime I try to ask him questions about what he’d like, he’s intentionally vague or repeats that he only wants memories!” 

“Well, why don’t you just plan a nice memory for him to have then?” Moominmamma suggested. 

“I thought about that, too,” Moomin admitted with a sigh. “But, I don’t know... I just really, really want to get him something that he can carry around. Something light and unobtrusive, maybe even something that he’ll forget about until he sees it in his backpack again, but he can’t help but smile each time he sees it because it’s just so perfect!” 

“Goodness, that’s a tall order.” Moominmamma sighed softly, closing her eyes as she thought. “What if you put down some of his favorite memories into a book for him?” 

"Books are heavy, and easy to ruin.” 

“Well, maybe it’s not a book, then.” 

Moomin’s ear twitched. He sat up, raising a brow at her. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re good at wood-carving, aren’t you dear?” Moominmamma had that small smile on her face as she continued, “You could find a light piece of wood, such as some spruce, and carve something into it.” 

Moomin stared at his mamma for at least a minute, his mind already bursting with possibilities. “You’re a genius, Mamma!” he exclaimed eventually, hugging her tightly before dashing off towards his desk. “I’ll start drawing an outline of what to carve, and tomorrow I’ll find that wood!” 

“Glad I could help.” Moominamma rose to her feet, brushing out her apron and smiling warmly at her son before taking her leave. 

~~~

The day finally arrived, March 15th. The others came over in the morning to put up at least a few decorations for Snufkin, such as paper fish and music notes, and Moominmamma was busy preparing a delightful, frosted spice cake in the shape and color of Snufkin’s tent. 

Moomin decided he wanted to give Snufkin his gift before the party officially started, so that afternoon he invited Snufkin to accompany him on a hike and picnic by the base of the Lonely Mountains. 

“You all really didn’t need to make such a fuss,” Snufkin was saying as they walked. “Really, I don’t need decorations. The cake would’ve been more than enough!” 

“Oh, everyone’s just excited to finally celebrate your birthday, Snufkin!” Moomin reminded him. “It’s been a secret for such a long time. Next year we’ll just have a cake, I promise.” 

“I suppose I can live with that.” Snufkin resigned, squeezing Moomin’s hand gently. “I’m glad you stopped worrying about getting me anything. I missed your smile at the start of the week.” 

“Oh, yes.” Moomin tried not to smile too wide, thinking of the gift he had concealed in the basket on his back. “I’m glad, too.” 

They found a nice, little clearing amidst some flowers, and made quirk work of putting down their blanket and retrieving their jam sandwiches. Conversation was easy, as it always was, trading stories (or making up new ones) and sharing ideas. When they finished eating, Moomin decided to reveal his surprise. 

“I do have one birthday gift for you, actually.” 

“Oh, Moomin.” Snufkin sighed softly, giving a weary smile. “I’ve told you time and time again -- I don’t need anything!” 

“I know, I know! But I think you’ll like this one.” Moomin chewed at his lip, trying not to smile too wide as he pulled out his gift. It was wrapped in old newspaper, and it was small enough to easily fit in the palm of Moomin’s hand. He presented it to Snufkin, who stared at the package in slight surprise. “Please, open it?” 

Snufkin pursed his lips, picking up the small object and again feeling surprised at how light it was. “What is it?” 

“You have to open it to find out, silly.” 

Snufkin gave a laugh at that, bumping his shoulder against Moomin’s before unwrapping it. He soon felt the smoothness of treated wood at his fingertips, and when he was finally able to get a good look at it, his breath hitched. 

It was a little, rounded heart that was just the right width to grip nicely between his thumb and the length of his forefinger. And all around the outline, Moomin had carved a simple pattern that alternated between a comet, a little fish, and a sunflower. On one side, in the middle, lay their initials surrounded by a thinly carved outline of a heart: “S + M” 

“I thought of putting more symbols,” Moomin said after a few moments of Snufkin staring blankly at the heart. “Like falling leaves, and birds, and your harmonica, and, and -- everything that reminded me of you. But, I thought those three would do the trick. And I left one side blank so you could carve into it yourself, if you like. Or, every year for your birthday, I could carve something new into it? If, if you want -- I understand if you don’t really want to keep it for that long--” 

“Moomintroll,” Snufkin breathed, holding the wooden heart tightly to his chest as he stared into those loving, baby blue eyes. “It’s beautiful. I’d be honored to carry this with me.” 

“Really?” Moomin’s ears perked up again, his own hands clasped tightly together in front of his chest. “You’re not just saying that? I know you don’t like to hold onto many things, so it’s all right if --” He stopped talking when he felt a firm kiss against his snout. 

“I love it,” Snufkin whispered, moving closer so he could nuzzle his cheek against Moomin’s. “Almost as much as I love you.” 

Moomin felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest at any moment. He wrapped his arms around Snufkin’s waist, bringing him close and relaxing as Snufkin returned the embrace. 

“It’s a lovely idea, too,” Snufkin added, squeezing him once. “Carving something new into it every year. I would like that.” 

Moomin beamed, his tail wagging loosely as he closed his eyes, enjoying how warm and soft Snufkin felt against him. “Then that’s what I’ll do.” 

“Thank you, Moomintroll.” Snufkin pulled away lightly, only to lean in and give Moomin a brief kiss on the lips. He chuckled lightly when Moomin’s eyes started to spin a little. “Now I need to find you something this special for your birthday.” 

Moomin shook his head a little to clear it, a small grin coming to his face as he teased, “I only need memories.” 

Snufkin snorted and pushed him lightly, laughing loud enough to spook some nearby birds. “All right, I’ll admit I deserved that.” 

[xiazoxio]

Chapter 1 - "Flicker"

Word count: 1.2k

A/n; oop- part 1 omg! I made it only 1.2k words because I was busy being a 🤡 hehehh-

There's a surprise moodboard at the end c:

------

I've finally come to the realization that maybe,after all these years, she wouldn't be coming back.

I placed the cup I was previously holding back onto the counter. My tears felt suffocating at this point, they never stopped. Salty and bittersweet sorrow was always a nostalgic feeling no matter how many times I've tried to impede it. They were always reminiscent of the fact she was never coming back. 

I took in a deep breath, like I could breathe only when my presence was accompanied by sadness.

I leaned back on the cool wall, jolting me up a bit,from the contrast of the warm bed. I started thinking. 

Was that dream real? Or was it just another one of those stupid,stress nights?

I unconsciously looked at the gently swaying window, reflecting the orange hue of the rising sun, the curtains dimming the light from completely blinding me. There, a slit between the curtains and the window was present. Beautiful cotton skies,swirling with intricate clouds and vibrant dream-like colors of hints of pastel blues and indigos. The clouds forming a beautifully ornate pattern across the sky after the rain, something I'd seen for the first time. 

The little plants growing beside the window frame were luminous with life. They gave off a fresh scent that made breathing a bit easier. The lovely scent pricked my nose, chuckling a bit at the thought. A few chirping birds passed by, a mother and her child, her children emulating her,singing sweet songs.

The little window gave me just the tiniest bit of hope of restarting.

-

I was holed up in this apartment for the rest of the day, having been given a holiday due to heavy rains for the past weeks. Of course, I continued on lifelessly until today, where I wanted to do some activity.

Still having the reminder that rain will be pouring down later this day. 

I started planning on what to do. I counted the stakes this was just a lucid dream, or it wasn't. I've never had these dreams, half of the excuse that I hadn't been able to snap out of my own haze of ignorance. 

If it really was real, I started planning ahead.

Acceptance.

My heart ached for a minute as I stared at the word I'd written down. It was almost on impulse my mind acted upon, but it was showing that I had started to think about this more rationally than an emotional view.

I brainstormed for steps to start, my hands not fast enough to keep up with my mind, a reason for my messy handwriting.

I need to start thinking about our old,happier times instead of mourning for the ones we won't be able to spend together.

This sentence alone made an appearance of a bittersweet smile.

I may not remember those times too brightly, because back then, we didn't know we were making (lost) memories, we just knew that we were having fun.

-

5:36 PM

It was the same dream I'd gotten last week.

The same road I'd inevitably run down, the same pattern of warm blood that'd slip through the cracks of the jagged road, the dreadful feeling of fear creeping up on my back as I came to a screeching halt in front of me.

The pitiful stares of people around me as shock stilled my body.

But then I woke up.

A dry path of drool still embedded on my skin as I lifted my head up to see the papers around me, small pictures of us scattered on the grey,cold desk. I fell asleep. 

I stared at the ticking clock for a few minutes,confused thoughts still clogging my mind. I slowly processed what was happening around me and stood up.

I turned right,hearing a loud purr.

Munko laid on top of my bedside drawer,dangerously close to pushing the lamp off,but taking more interest in the stray fibres of my pillow cover. I walked over trying not to startle her and slowly picked up the lamp, keeping it beside the drawer. Munko stretched out onto the space the lamp had previously taken over, as if mocking its victory over the space. I laughed at her antics and picked her up, making sure her claws weren't tangled within the fibres of the pillow cover.

I walked out of my bedroom, leaving the half written papers on my desk to fly with the outside wind however they wanted,hoping they wouldn't fly out the open window.

I slowly let her down from my arms onto the floor. She walked towards her food bowl that laid empty,with only small crumbs of the dry food I'd feed her at times. I remembered to feed her and walked over to her to pick up the bowl. She'd instantly meow as loud as possible whenever there was her bowl in my hand, because she knew I was going to feed her a bunch.

I kept the bowl on the counter and,like muscle memory, completed the task before I knew it. I was still thinking,however, about what I should exactly do. Enko's instructions were quite vague, only to "move on".

Of course, I had the internet too. But just as a precaution,maybe I should wait for her instructions. It is her undying wish, after all.

I picked up the bowl after Munko had eaten and licked it clean to pour in some water and get her to drink some,even if only a little.

Making sure she'd drink at least some, I searched for my phone. The apartment was too silent,too tormenting for my thoughts.

I searched for my phone, located it and sat on my bed, browsing through my music playlist searching for some background noise. It'd work even if it was static, I can't handle silence for long. 

Music was like a form of comfort.

I'd always find something related to my problems, having something to relate to and knowing that person who sang it was also going through the same thing always gave me some form of reassurance. It comforted me.

But music only helps you so far. 

There are times when even music can't read your feelings. Feelings are complicated and hard to understand. They're always deeper than the surface. No words can describe, whether unique or common, no word could ever.

People say that a person who understand the depth of your emotions is your soulmate, and to hold on to them with a death grip.

However, this concept was quite a mess to me.

I put my phone down as beautiful rhythms emitted from it. 

I was lost, for once. It was a new feeling. A mix of stress, confusion yet excitement and thrill. It felt refreshing. Life was seeming vibrant and colorful for the first time,new fluttering feelings dancing in my chest, and my heart pounding in happiness as small flickers of thrill run down my spine.

Is this what living feels like?

I don't want to lose these feelings, this new feeling of ebullience, a ball of child-like happiness. 

I want to make everyday count,every day to remember, and every moment to be filled with contentment.

Maybe I'll try something new tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

-

[bevioletskies]

bring it on home to me [1/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don't let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke.

word count: 2.6k | ao3 | tag

Peter woke to a cold bed, his teeth chattering and his feet numb, and promptly rolled over to blindly pull his tablet off his bedside table - if one could call it that, given that it was an old crate he’d found in a junkyard on Knowhere - and attempt to remotely adjust the Benatar’s temperature controls. To his utter lack of surprise, it didn’t work. He wasn’t sure Rocket’s recent rewiring of the ship was to blame, but he was sure he was going to say so at the next team meeting, anyway.

He stumbled out of bed, got dressed, considered for a total of thirty seconds as to whether he wanted to shave the slow-growing beard he’d been developing with little success over the last few months or so, and then waved it off, making his way out of his tiny little bunk and into the ship’s communal area. There, sat at the console table, was Nebula, her feet propped up on its surface and her inky black eyes fixated on him like she knew he was coming (she probably did).

“You eat yet?” Peter asked, yawning loudly. She recoiled at the sound.

“No,” she said shortly. “Our rations are lacking. We need to make another stop before we unnecessarily starve ourselves to death.”

Peter grinned. “I like that you said ‘our’. Gives me the warm fuzzies.” Nebula glared, her eyes following him all the way around the room as he tapped into the ship’s operating system on the main holoscreen. She didn’t miss the way his face fell the slightest bit, the way he took a sharp inhale to prepare himself for his next line of questioning. “Find anything yesterday?”

“Nothing. The same as the day before that, and the day before that, and the weeks and months before that,” Nebula said. She turned away, suddenly finding it too hard to look at him, to know that every emotion written on his face was on par with every emotion that stirred in her chest. “We know that. You know that.”

He swallowed, his hand hovering over the screen. Subconsciously, or instinctively, really, he’d taken himself to the criminal records that the Nova Corps had written up on them what felt like decades ago. The picture that stared back at him looked familiar but not quite close enough, the detailed write-up that sounded like someone he knew but not the someone he knew now. Or maybe had known.

“Don’t mean we have to accept it,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “I’m done being passive. Passive is gettin’ us nowhere. We don’t have the right to call ourselves the Guardians if all we do is sit around like a bunch of a-holes.”

“Then it’s good that I’m not one,” Nebula retorted. Peter shoved the screen aside and stomped right up to her, face-to-face, slamming his palms down on the table. He almost detected a twitch in her otherwise stone-cold expression, a betrayal that revealed how affected she truly was.

“You’re a Guardian, Nebula, okay?” His voice was dangerously low, the kind of pitch and tone he usually reserved for when he wore his mask, but there was no finger on the trigger of his quad blasters, just the wetness of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze. “No matter what anyone says. Including yourself.”

She stared back, standing up slowly; he followed her inch by inch. “I’m far beyond letting anyone tell me who or what I am. So you take your self-hatred for what you’ve done and what you didn’t do, and keep it to yourself, Quill. When you stop by the nearest planet to pick up supplies, I suggest you drop me off. This is no longer a ride I want to be on.”

The closest planet they came across was like many others they’d been on before - nondescript in every shape and form, lacking distinguishing features or unique characteristics that would make it any more memorable than the last. For Rocket, all he wanted whenever they touched down somewhere new was a junkyard and a bar, preferably within spitting distance of one another so he could walk in sober and stumble out drunk.

Upon returning to their landing site an hour after they’d first arrived, he apparently came back just in time to see Nebula stomp her way down the Benatar’s ramp and out the loading bay, snarling at the nearest attendant who had gingerly approached, wondering if Peter needed any help with the engine. Peter was stood by the nose of the ship, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly, but made no move to follow her. “She’ll be back,” he was saying to a concerned-looking Drax and Mantis by the time Rocket joined them. “Look, Rocket came back and he talks about leavin’ all the time!”

Rocket fixed him with a long, haunted stare. “Don’t even joke about that, Quill.” Peter’s face crumpled. Rocket turned and made his way up the stepladder and directly into the ship’s engine, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. It was hard for anyone to look anyone else in the face these days, but Peter was especially difficult to take, Nebula even more so for how numb she seemed to be.

He poked around aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to find the cause of their latest ship-related issue. If it wasn’t the computer system, it was the pipes, or it was the engine, or it was the fact that the Benatar was a piece of crap when they got it and was still a piece of crap now. Rocket huffed impatiently, nudging the casing with his foot. “C’mon,” he grumbled. “What kinda engineer would I be if I can’t fix the damn engine?” Another swift kick, harder this time, but all it resulted in was a stubbed toe and a bruised ego. It was a testament to how distracted Peter was that he didn’t even bother chastising Rocket for it, instead disappearing back inside the ship with the others in tow.

Another low growl, and Rocket sat back on his haunches defeatedly, pushing his toolbox aside for the time being. He leaned forward, resting his head in his paws, pulling at the bits of fur that seemed to be falling out of his temples in worryingly large patches, the grooves where his claws had dug near-permanent welts into his cheeks. “I am Groot?”

Rocket lifted his head to see Groot approaching him apprehensively, still clutching his beloved handheld Defender in one hand, the other outstretched in Rocket’s direction. “What d’ya think? We shoulda gotten rid of this rustbucket a long time ago.”

“I am Groot,” he protested, climbing up to sit beside him, his legs swinging over the edge of the ship’s hood. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s ever gone right for us, why should it start now?” Rocket let out a hysterical laugh. “Out of the last five jobs we had, two were a complete and utter failure, and one shorted us on units. All ‘cos Quill’s too busy dragging us around the galaxy to find her. ‘Cept that wasn’t her. That wasn’t...that wasn’t our Gamora. That was a Gamora. And I dunno if she wants to be ours, or if she can be in the first place. But he’s done it, Groot. He’s gone and lost his mind, and now we’re the ones who gotta pay for it.” The engine sparked pathetically. “More like not get paid for it.”

“I am Groot.” They both fell silent, Groot politely ignoring the loud, shaky breath Rocket took that certainly wasn’t related to the engine issue. Then, Groot began to hum. It sounded a little thin and reedy in his voice - “tree puberty”, as Peter had so delicately once put it, looked and sounded a lot like human puberty - but it was instantly recognizable.

“Don’t - don’t do that, man,” Rocket said half-heartedly. “We haven’t heard that since you were no bigger than a boot.”

“I am Groot,” he shrugged. He still remembered every note, let it linger in his head sometimes when he needed it most; only he remembered it in her voice, heard the joy when she first remembered the lullaby her parents had sung to her as a baby, how she sang it to him when he was fussy or scared or just wanted to keep her by his bedside for a few more minutes. He’d grown out of it eventually, scoffing at everything and everyone around him like a typical stubborn adolescent, but now he longed for it again, even if just for one more time. “I am Groot?”

“Nah, I don’t think she would’ve known how to fix this.” Rocket twisted a series of wires around his finger, nearly slicing through them with his claw in his absentmindedness. He quickly withdrew his paw before it could happen. “Hell, I’d ask Nebula if she wasn’t in such a...Nebula mood.”

He glanced around the hangar where they’d parked, how very average it all seemed - sky-high ceiling heights, long stretches of metal and concrete as far as the eye could see, and people of all kinds milling about, fawning over a cool ship someone had brought in or arguing over how to best fix the reason they’d landed here in the first place. They had been in a place very similar to this the first time she asked him if she could help, mere weeks after the Guardians had officially formed, with everyone still cautious and nervous and new to existing alongside other people.

“I spent years helping Nebula with her implants,” she had said with her arms folded across her chest, watching him yank at the wires fruitlessly. “Let me take a look.”

“Ship mechanics and implants ain’t the same thing,” Rocket had retorted without sparing her a glance. “Look, I’m sure you were a big ol’ help to your wacko sister, but leave the engineering to me. You go...swing your sword at somethin’ or whatever.”

“You insult me by insinuating I’m only useful in a fight.” The cadence of her voice had been even, measured, but there was a hint of danger to it that gave Rocket the impression he wasn’t going to win this one. “I’ve also shadowed some of the best engineers in the galaxy and made countless minor repairs before. At least let me watch so I can learn. No one ever gets anything done just standing by.”

Rocket had sighed, moving aside so she had room to hover over him, her gaze intensely focused on the meticulousness of his work. “Is that what you told yourself when you first went after the Orb?”

“Yes.” The quickness, the sureness, even, of her reply had surprised him. “I spent years watching Thanos destroy homes, destroy families. Knowing his plans for the Stone, I couldn’t watch any longer.”

“But your sister could? She’s a real piece of work.”

“Watch yourself, Rocket.” She had reached out, gripped his tiny wrist with her long, battle-calloused fingers far too tightly. “My sister and I, we’re like you. Built for someone else’s purpose. Taken apart to fulfill another’s desires. Her lack of morality may disappoint me, but I can’t deny that not too long ago, I still felt the same way.”

He had yanked his arm out of her grasp, shaking it, mulling over her words. “So what changed? Why did you turn your back on the big purple man, and not her?”

“It could be anything that kept her from doing so - disposition, personality, personal traumas…” She had trailed off, tapping one fingernail gently on the glint of silver in her cheekbone, a particular piece that outlined the sharp planes of her bone structure a bit too well. “...repeated body mutilation and a craving for validation that will never come would break anyone’s spirits. You know that as well as we do.”

Rocket had cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the work at hand. “Alright, honesty hour’s over. You gonna pick up a wrench of your own or what?”

“I am Groot.” Groot’s voice brought Rocket back to the present, his chest aching with something he could identify, but wanted to deny. Melancholic longing had always been part of his life, but never his vocabulary, and he wasn’t about to start now. He didn’t want to sound like one of the morose love songs Peter had taken to playing on the ship through to the early hours in the morning. He didn’t want to wake up crying, chest heaving, gasping for air, the way Peter did sometimes, the way they all pretended he didn’t do, for the sake of what was left of his dignity. “I am Groot?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Stop starin’ at me, you’re making me nervous,” Rocket spat, his tone harsher than intended. His ears drooped when Groot’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. Groot hopped back down onto the stepladder and started walking back to head inside the ship, his footsteps heavier than they had been when he first came out. “Wait, Groot...look, we’re all on edge, I don’t mean to be a dick about it. C’mere, let me show you how this junkpile works.”

Groot sighed, his shoulders heaving, and he went back into the ship without another backward glance. Rocket stared after him, his chin dropping to his chest as he hung his head. He could vaguely hear Peter and Drax arguing inside, with Mantis trying her best to moderate without using her powers, something Peter had sorely been against as of late, something about not wanting to numb himself to how much everything hurt (Rocket hadn’t really been paying attention, mostly because it hit too close to home).

“I am Groot.” Rocket lifted his head to see Groot walking back up to join him. Instead of carrying his video game, he was carrying a familiar-looking book, one that was dusty from lack of use, its spine still in perfect condition. He held it up to Rocket in a sort of peace offering, smiling tentatively. Rocket’s breath shook as he accepted it, brushing away the residue so the title could be read: Engineering Basics, Volume XI: Spacecraft.

“I can’t tell this is a gift or an insult,” she had said dubiously when Rocket first gave it to her. It had been two months since their encounter with Ego, and everyone was finally starting to feel more settled, more at peace with who they were and who they were with.

“You said you wanted to learn,” Rocket had protested. “Look, I spent a whole fifteen units on this!” She had fixed him with a look. “Okay, so I found it at yesterday’s trading post, the attendant said it was a gift from his parents, never used, wanted to get it off his hands. Isn’t it the thought that counts or some crap?”

She had laughed, an unexpectedly soft, musical sound that made Rocket’s ears perk up. “If you say so, Rocket. And thank you. I’m not sure when I’ll have the time with everything that’s going on right now, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I am Groot,” he said gently, now placing a hand on Rocket’s.

Rocket inhaled. “Guess she never got around to it. Thing’s never even been opened!”

“I am Groot,” he said, looking pensive. Groot looked younger then, a little bit more like his toddler self, his eyes round and liquid and perpetually in a state of nervous, uncertain energy. The lullaby continued to play in his head; he felt the ghost of a slightly calloused hand cup his cheek as if to say hello, goodnight, goodbye.

Nodding slowly, Rocket opened the book, running his paws over the glossy pages that were otherwise untouched. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I miss her, too.”

a/n: I just watched the movie yesterday and I have to get on a plane tomorrow but I just really, really needed to get some feelings out! This is more of a character relationship study than a strict "The Search For Gamora" fic, mostly because I needed a place to explore all the little headcanons I have about her relationships with each Guardian. And I know Thor was there with them at the end, but as much as I adore him, I wanted to strictly keep the focus on the team, so let's just say he left for a hot minute to check in with Valkyrie in New Asgard or something.

This fic probably exists in a dozen other forms already but regardless, this was oddly therapeutic to write and I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA080818 - Debates

“Well now, looks like you managed to get one of them at least.” Constable Murray motioned towards his deputy who eagerly took custody of the shackled man thrust towards him. “I’m assuming the rest didn’t come so quietly?”

“They put up a bit of a fight, but we managed.” Drenaris watched as the man was led inside the single holding cell inside the office. “Not much of a jail you have here.”

“Well, we’re not really the jailing type here.” Murray walked behind his desk and pulled out a small strongbox that rattled with the heavy weight of coin. “The people of Redlarch prefer a swifter more efficient justice. Usually that means either working the quarries or being fitted for a hempen necktie.”

Drenaris frowned at the small offering dropped into her hands. For four bandits it was almost laughable, had it not been for their collection of loot it almost would not have been worth the effort.

“That’s for three of them being dead mind you.” The constable noticed the slight frown, snapping the strongbox closed, just in case this stranger decided to get handsy. “I was pretty clear about getting them back alive if at all possible.”

Drenaris shot an icy stare towards Poh. If he noticed her it he didn’t seem to care what she thought of his actions, he was far too busy polishing his twin blades. “He mentioned a large group of them taking over Riverguard Keep. Know anything about that?”

“That’s news to me, ‘course there’s been a lot of stories flying around lately. Ghosts, plagues, masked strangers...then there’s all the excitement around the next caravan coming in. Everyone’s getting themselves ready, a lot of coin to be made.”

“It might be a good idea to have them taken care of then, I’d say.” Aviate’s didn’t bother insulting the constable with feigned coyness. He had seen quite a few lawmen in his day, and had developed a talent for sniffing out those few he would be wise not to trifle with. Constable Murray was one of those men.

“You go on right ahead, no one’s stopping you. I’m not giving you a copper in advance, and no more writs.” Murray nodded to the wagon, laden with ill gotten goods. “Looks like you made out well enough for yourselves. Bring me back some more to put to justice and you’ll be paid in kind.”

---

Aviate sat alone for a change. Poh had managed to slip out of the Tavern sometime between drinks, something that was becoming a bit of a regular occurrence. It would appear the creature was not one for company much. Meanwhile, Drenaris was up at the bar, questioning the innswoman about the rumors and whispers flying around town. After all, she was in the perfect position to overhear many a secret whispered a bit too loudly over a tankard...or several.

This left the pirate withe the perfect opportunity to inspect his custom order from the bakery. He almost felt sorry for having fooled the amazon. She was amusing in her own way, and certainly better company than the bird. However for now, he would let her go on believing that the two loaves of bread he acquired where nothing more than that.

Carefully he plunged a finger through the crust on one side, feeling for the waxed piece of paper carefully rolled and inserted before baking. Once the second had been retrieved he tossed the discarded bread into a soiled bowl on the table next to him that had yet to be bused and began reading.

Old maiden Mythera Madiver’s talking of seeing ghosts is a bunch of horseshit. An elaborate spook setup by goblins, nevertheless it must be dealt with.

Aviate snorted. He could have guessed that. He had seen a lot of things in his days, but an honest to goodness ghost was not one of them. He ignited the scroll on the candle in the center of the table while reading the second note.

Something’s going on in town. Can’t put my finger on what or who. All I know for sure is that someone or several someones are pulling strings from behind the scenes of recent events. Be watchful.

Interesting. Not quite the information he was hoping for but, it still warranted investigation. Unfortunately this was still his best, and only, source at the moment. He didn’t exactly have the luxury to pick and choose the leads he followed up on. But even as leads go, it was more vague than he would like. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, Drenaris was breaking with the innswoman and heading back to the table. Calmly, he burned the second note and wore a smile he wasn’t exactly feeling.

“Well?”

“Nothing we haven’t already heard from the constable, unless of course you want to go rescue a few whelps who got themselves lost hunting for a mythical treasure trove.” Drenaris slumped into a chair and took a large gulp of ale. She noted the absence of the bird and shrugged indifference.

“That might be profitable, if said treasure exists.”

“Mmm. I’m still of a mind to check out Riverguard. She we bother consulting with the bird?”

“I think we can guess his answer to be honest.”

“Blood first.” Drenaris nodded. “Either way, I think we should use some of what we earned today to buy a horse. We already got the wagon.”

“Agreed. A sound investment.”

“So is ale. Another round then?”

---

Three days had seen them on their way to Riverguard. Three days of relative quiet, broken only by the intrusion of an Ankheg into their camp one evening. Though eventually fleeing, it was enough to put all three off their nerves enough to pickup and resettle in the middle of the night, making the following morning quite difficult indeed. Though Aviate tried to hid his weariness with song, he felt as though he might sleep upright in the wagon with its gentle swaying.

“ -passion, and intensity. It is the very symbol of power and spirit that you only claim, yet have no right to.”

A muffled voice risen in anger sounded from around the bend in the road, waking Aviate from a light doze. Looking around he saw the sun was still high in the sky, barely hourse since they had left camp, they were nowhere near their destination.

“There is no physicality to the power you claim. Anyone who has swam in the bluest of waters can tell you the strength they feel pressing around them. The feeling of insignificance, of powerlessness in comparison to depths in which they are merely interlopers. And do we need to remind you that it takes but a bucket to extinguish your flame, yet no matter how hard it might try, water will never burn?”

The second voice was bolster with the cheers of others. There had to be at least half a dozen, perhaps more including the two arguing. By this point. Drenaris had stopped the horse to listen.

“What is that?”

“A debate, by the sounds of it.”

“Here?” Drenaris dropped the reins and leaped to the dirt road. Mindful of the loot stashed in the back, she was not about to bring the wagon any closer until this was investigated.

“You dare?! To extinguish the giver of life is liken to heresey. I should not be surprised your lot would be so ignorant and savage.”

Mounting the hill on the corner two groups lined the road ahead of them, two men standing dead center nearly close enough for an embrace, with nought but hatred in their eyes. Each was strangely garbed in thematic dressings. The elder of the two men whose voice roared like a campfire was dressed in heavy red robes embellished with embroidered flames of yellow and white. Behind him, his entourage was far more armored in glittering copper pieces over red tunics and trousers. The longswords in their hands continued with the dramatic themeing as magical flame danced over the steel which was somehow still a cool blue.

“Us, savages?! You people worship as liken to a noble’s wife, whatever glitters in your eyes, no matter how shallow and empty it may be.” The taller man opposite had a strange blue tint to his skin and was far less armored than their opponents. Instead he and his people chose simple netting with chest pieces and shields made of some kind of shell. Each one of them held a gleaming sword with a serrated blade constructed of sharkteeth. Water, being their obvious inspiration.

“Hey, can you guys argue somewhere else? You’re blocking the road.” It wasn’t meant to be a question as Drenaris’ stance not so subtly hinted. She was sure to thrust her chest forward, flexing the exposed muscles in her abdomen, arms akimbo to show off their thickness. No doubt, any reasonable man or woman would have let them pass. However, these men were not reasonable.

“Who are you to make demands of us? This path belongs to us, and now, so do you.” The sneer the blue man flashed revealed teeth that had been filed down to sharp points. Between the teeth, his tinted skin, and the dark, almost black irises of his eyes gave him the appearance of a shark walking upon two legs. He made to give an order before his arm was seized by the robed one.

“You? Have you forgotten why we are here in the first place? It is you who have staked a claim on our land. These three shall go with us and be taught the glory of the eternal flame, more allies against your mongrel band.”

Thus the argument began anew, insults and half formed philosophies being tossed back and forth with vigor and venom leaving the three otherwise ignored.

“FOOLS.” Poh mimicked.

“Perhaps that can be used to our advantage.” A wicked smile formed on Drenaris lips and she skidded her way down the slope with arms raised. “Gods, what nonsense is this? Clearly Flame is better, we’re going with them!”

“What??!” The shark man growled and all six heads of his followers shot in Drenaris’ direction. Their antithesis on the other hand, cheered in support.

“See?! Even one so common as this one can see the truth of the matter!” The flame priest took a step towards his opponent, emboldened by the sudden appearance of an ally to his cause. The tension between them had grown to an intensity that weighed heavily upon the travelers between them. Just one more push and the two sides would be at each other’s throats.

“Personally, I’ve always thought water was better.” Aviate shrugged, following the amazon’s lead. The result however, was not what was anticipated. The tension, while indeed had reached a breaking point, would explode unfocused dragging them all into one chaotic brawl.

“BLASPHEMY!!! KILL THEM ALL!!” The clash that followed was a whirlwind of fire and death. Steel struck out in every direction cutting both fire and water devotee with equal measure. In the end, the all bled the same color. 

Poh was taken with a flaming bolt from a crossbow, as he fell to the ground he uttered a vicious curse to the one who had invented such a contraption that had taken him off guard twice yet. Aviate craned his head over the crowd, he had lost sight of Drenaris in the outbreak. Yet he could hear her. Grunting and bellowing as she swung her hammer, sending red men flying to the ground. Pulling out his pipes he played an upbeat tune to lift her spirits and inspire the battle fury within her.

Men and women fell to the ground with each passing moment, bolts of fire streaking through the air, serrated blades opening wide gashes and spilling intestine into the dirt. Back on his feet, Poh was carefully picking off stragglers from the edges of the scuffle. Aviate watched him with begrudging respect of his talents. He was agile on his feet, his blades knowing exactly where to bite to cause the most pain, both swords wielded with equal skill. Looking back over the battle, the pirate could see that fate had come to favor flame on this day, more and more netted and shelled corpses littered the land than red robes and burnt steel. Both leaders lie dead, one slaying the other and collapsing together in a heap. Aviate smiled, the whole thing reminded him of a good day’s boarding of a selected vessel. All that was missing was the sea air in his lungs.

A cry snapped him back to attention as Drenaris took a flaming sword to the back and fell to her knees. She had fought fiercely, and he could tell by the looks of the men who had been previously engaged with her, she had inspired a sort of terrible awe in them. Who was this woman who fought like one possessed? If they lived past today, there would be a myth whispered about her, this Aviate had no doubt.

With their companion slumped unconcious, Poh reassessed the situation. Aviate could see the gears turning in that little bird brain of his. His grip on his swords shifted, weighing his options, not quite ready to make a decision one way or another. Eventually, he must not have considered it worth trying to fight any further. He dropped his stance, relaxing his arms to his sides.

“HAIL FIRE!” He mimicked.

“Indeed, how foolish we were to ever doubt it. Please, if you but spare us we would sooner call you brothers than enemies.” Always quick with the charm and a flourish, Aviate dropped to a deep bow. 

“Hmmph, and don’t your forget it.” A tanned looking woman sheathed her steel and callously stepped over Drenaris fallen body. “Very well, we have lost many today, worth it though it was.” She spit on the blue skinned man where he lay, crumpled on top of her commanding officer.

“Your companion, she will do well to follow your example when she wakes. Lest we have another body to burn on the funeral pire.” The woman eyed Aviate, he was stunned to see she stood a full inch taller than he. As such, her cold eyes cast downward at him. “Is that understood?”

“I shall slay her myself if need be.” His eyes snuck a glance towards Drenaris unconcious form. Self preservation was of utmost importance at the moment. Let them busy themselves burning their dead. In the meantime, the three of them would wait. Night was coming on, and terrible things tended to happen in the dark.

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