#whitedragoncoranth

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hi!! I adore your blog and everything you write, cause it's so wholesome and giving comfort!! I was wondering about your take on this kind of trope between Rocket and the reader (because I can't see anything similar on the internet and I'm biting my walls). But I was thinking about friendly convo with Rocket as a semi new crew member, who's young and maybe more outgoing. Still sarcastic and brave, yet empathetic. And they started to get along, eventually became friends. In my mind it was a late night vibe, maybe something like talking about trauma or just simply comforting. I'm a sucker for anything involving petting him so (👀). Maybe they have something in common, maybe something happened. But some friendly fluff never hurts. I'd love to see your take on this scenario!! I just love your work I'm hoping to see something like that ksjdksjx 🤍🤍

wholesome? are we looking at the same blog lol

dear little sugar cookie sunbeam. you're so sweet and i'm so grateful for this kindness, truly. thank you for your sweet words! i’m so sorry it’s taken so long for me to get around to this. between you and @whitedragoncoranth (who always so kindly sends me adorable raccoon-related videos and little fictions) the two of you have been spinning lovely little thoughts in my head. so this is for the both of you ♡

like, imagine that pete wakes up in the middle of the sleep-shift. there’s something happening in the benetar’s ventilation system, and it doesn’t sound good. a strange sort of pitchy rattle, like something’s come loose. normally pete wouldn’t be the one to notice something like that — rocket’s sensitive hearing would pick up any deviation in the benetar’s normal low murmur long before pete’s “inferior baldbody ears.” but here it is — far too late in the so-called night — and star-lord has noticed something wrong with the ship. and not just any part of the ship — one of the parts most integral to survival in the inhospitable void of space.

so he rises, half-frantic, and goes to find the benetar’s genius creator and resident mechanic.

"goddammit," you mutter, scowling down at the carton of milky-fizz in your hand. normally, you'd be staring out at the stars as they spiraled past: gorgeous glimmering clouds of glitter-dust and refracted light, swirls of color and soft-edged flakes of illumination, haloes and radiant pinpoints — all bright and pulsing against the black jeweler's velvet of an endless sky. tonight, though, you're just pissed, and not even the shimmering specks of a thousand distant suns can ease the cringing ripple of shame prickling up the base of your spine and between your shoulderblades. you hunch your back, trying to shiver it right off your skin.

"hey, kid. what the hell are you doin' out here?"

you pause, shoulders still high under your ears — but when you breathe out, some of your tension goes with it. rocket's an ornery bastard, but he's also your best friend here on the benetar, and if anyone can make you feel better, it's probably him.

not that it had always been that way. your friendship is more or less a recent development. you wouldn’t call yourself new to the crew anymore, but you're definitely the freshest of the guardians family. you'd run into them when they'd stopped back on knowhere after defeating some kind of — god? planet? — and the pilot had clearly not been a fan of further expanding their little crew beyond the recent addition of mantis and, to a lesser extent, kraglin and nebula.

why d'you wanna even do this? he'd sneered. it ain't all fame and fortune.

you'd snorted. fame and fortune? at best, it had seemed the so-called guardians of the galaxy had only earned the suspicious and sometimes-entertained watchfulness of any given band of locals — as if they'd been some troublesome trickster-folkheroes brought to life.

plus, this stupid galaxy's always needing to be saved, rocket had snarked, half-resentfully.

you'd grinned and shrugged. as a matter of fact, i'm here for the job security, you'd only replied, and it had tugged a startled smirk into the corner of his mouth.

"you all right?" he asks now, nearly thirty cycles later.

you sigh. "oh, you know." you wave your carton at the stars behind the armored glass.

rocket snorts. "yeah, i do know," he drawls, one brow winging up. you're not looking at him, so you can't see it — but you can hear it in his voice. "i know exactly what you're doing."

it's your turn to raise an eyebrow. "what am i doing?" you take a swig of your milky-fizz, but rocket doesn't miss a beat.

"beating yourself up for stupid shit."

"ahhhh," you breathe softly into the chill, recycled air. "you would know, then."

"i would," he agrees. "now, c'mon." his hand reaches out and shoves gently at your hip. "you can whine about it while we eat some zargnuts."

you can't help but laugh. after you'd first come aboard, it had only taken a few rotations for the two of you to begin gravitating toward each other. if asked, rocket would have muttered he’d just given you a shot because you’d been the only one who groot seemed to tolerate: mature enough to hold your own with the other guardians, but young enough that rocket's adolescent son somehow — miraculously — hadn’t despised you. luckily for rocket, he'd also quickly learned that you'd been willing to engage in the stupid multi-front prank-wars that he’d had going with almost every other member of the crew. hell, that thing with the frickin’ zargnuts had been your idea — he’d just come up with the tech. the two of you had crept into food storage one rotation, and you’d emptied every bag into jars, then passed each one to rocket. he’d puffed them with air and neatly closed them with the heat-resealing gun he’d crafted as soon as you’d made the suggestion.

drax had been sulky for cycles, and you'd stayed strong, not 'fessing up until mantis had burst into tears after opening her fifteenth empty bag.

still, the majority of the jars of zargnuts are currently residing in the corner of rocket's bunk.

you follow him across the catwalks and down the hatch, passing arched armored-glass windows separating the two of you from the cold void of space. outside the benetar, the galaxy is lit up with spilt-glitter-stars and moons like twinkle-lights. inside, guages and buttons pin the shadows like velvet stage-curtains to the wall, and security orbs stitch them to the edge of the grated floors. most of the other guardians are in bed already, and the narrow corridors are quiet, with only the low hum of the benetar's life support systems echoing a low lullaby. rocket leaps up to tap the sensor that slides open his bunk door, and you throw yourself easily into the pile of cushions in the corner under his hammock. he's one of the lucky bastards with a starboard-side porthole in his bunk, which means the whole little room is softly aglow with the dim blue and mauve haze of stardust. he taps a plasma orb, adding a sheen of gold to the edges of the shadows so that he can dig through his locker more easily, producing a giant, half-eaten jar of zargnuts and sliding it across the thin, faded rug toward you.

"dig in," he orders, and you do — unscrewing the lid and reaching in to pull out a couple of the bite-sized snacks. "you wanna tell me what's got you all knotted up?" he adds casually, tapping the datapad he's got docked on his workbench. some song he's cloned from pete's zune drifts out, melancholy and mellow, across darkness.

"is that california dreamin'?" you ask incredulously.

he listens for a beat, till the chorus hits. "sounds like it," he replies with a shrug, "but you're not gettin' outta answering me, kid."

you sigh and take another sip of your milky-fizz . it goes surprisingly well with the zargnuts. "i almost got pete killed today."

rocket snorts. "what?"

"when that symbiote attacked him, i should've switched over to the disresonator blaster you made, and instead i just sh-shot at it with the rotary cannon and i almost—"

"kid," rocket interrupts, sounding exasperated. "you been in how many fights like this? m'not talking about threatening some jerk with your quadblaster, i mean actually fighting a dozen corrupted klyntar, or some high-powered alien despot, or whatever."

"i dunno," you say dismally. "however many there've been since i started with you guys."

"and this is your first mistake," he reminds you. "and it wasn't even that stupid."

you roll your eyes. "thanks ever so."

"seriously," he says, grabbing another handful of zargnuts. "you know, our second fight was because drax decided to call up the kree accuser we were running from and give 'im our coordinates."

you pause with your milky-fizz halfway to your mouth. "what?"

rocket snickers. "and that jackass is like, old enough to be your dad. at least. he's supposably been fighting way longer." he pauses. "though he did get caught and thrown in the kyln so maybe he was always an idiot about it. what i'm saying is, you don't gotta beat yourself up for doing one stupid thing."

you look at him solemnly, taking in the way the plasma orb gilds the strands of gunmetal and brass in his fur, and the halo of mint-green and rose and purple as you drift past a rainbow-hued nebula.

"what about you?" you ask. the quiet shadows pool around the two of you, cool and just heavy enough to press any anxiety out of your lungs. that's how it always is on these nights with rocket, you think. usually the two of you are on the flightdeck, drinking some of drax's kylosian coffee while rocket flies till you fall asleep — but sometimes you hole up in his bunk or yours, listening to music and telling stories and cracking jokes until one or both of you passed out.

"what about me?"

you wrap the shadows and the starlight around yourself and finish off the milky fizz, setting the plastic carton carefully to one side. "you beat yourself up all the time."

he sighs. "that's different."

"howso?" you challenge, but he slants you a look that glints like red spinels and rubies in the stray starlight, and you know you're not gonna get an answer. you hum a faintly disgruntled, half-playful note. "you know what would make me feel better?"

"no."

you grin, and reach out toward him with both hands, palm-down, rubbing your fingers and thumbs together.

"absolutely frickin' not."

"please?"

"you're annoying."

your fingers don't stop. "you don't have to pretend like you don't like it," you tease him. "i had a friend back on terra—"

he snorts. "you had a friend?"

you pout. "don't be a jackass." you flex your fingers in a grabby motion. "i had a friend on terra and she use to tell me — you know, you are allowed to let yourself enjoy nice things."

he snorts. "oh yeah? and what’d you say to that?"

your grin splits wide. "probably the same thing you’re gonna say to me," you admit with a dip of your head. another gold galaxy swirls slowly past, limning everything: platinum and bronze and sunset edges, melting against the dark violet-blue.

he wings one brow upward. "what’s that?"

you can’t stop the chuckle riding under your ribs. "sounds fake, but okay."

he snickers. "well, you're not wrong."

"c'mon," you wheedle, not letting him out of it that easily. you flex your fingers again, and rub the tips together like you're testing the velvet quality of the shadows, or the fading strains of california dreamin' as they melt into time after time. "please? for me, rocket?"

he raises his brow again, rolling his eyes. they're deep amethysts in the darkness, but every time he moves them, they throw back glimmers of almandine and garnet.

"sounds fake," he mocks, "but okay." he slides across the cushions. "and watch the tail this time. don't need your frickin' elbow leaning on it again."

you fake-scowl. "that was one time," you sulk, winding your arms around him and pulling him in close so you can burrow your fingers into the thick velvet pile of his ears. he immediately cocks his head like he's been secretly waiting for it all night, leaning into the little massage at the base of the twitching appendages. his head his heavy and weighted against your hands, alternating side to side as he tries to push into the pressure of your touch. you'd never point it out to him, of course; he'd stop immediately, you're sure. and you weren't lying — it does make you feel better. millennia of evolution have contributed to this one perfect element of the terran human condition, you suppose: the release of endorphins whenever you get a cuddly animal's fur under your fingertips and palms.

you ease your hands down, stroking long lines over the back of his head, burying your fingers in the fur at the base of his skull and around his shoulders, weaving them into his lush, soft undercoat. it becomes mindless, meditative: his fur gleaming thread by soft thread in the starlight, the hypnotic lullaby of the moons and suns and planets rolling by like round, loose beryls and pearls, the sparkling haze of cosmic dust spilling past the porthole. the music shifting through the dark shadows and puddling in the little pools of light, weaving in between each strand of rocket's fur and the soft valleys between your fingers: fleetwood mac and bowie and kate bush and joy division, all layered into the darkness and the sprinkle of lights — the spray of glitter, the haloed glow; the quiet of your breath and rocket's; the pulse of your shared heartbeats; the sleepy tug of your eyelids. the knowledge that he knows you well enough to recognize when you're ragged at the edges, and the eagerness to help patch you up with zargnuts and music and stories about drax; the knowledge that you'd do the same no matter what. the warmth of him under your hands, his body going relaxed and heavy under your arms, the soft brush of his fur under your chin.

the knowledge that in all of the wide universe, you always have a home with each other.

something rumbles against your belly, where his chest is leaned up against you, and your hands stroke over his back. it's rare that he purrs, and usually brief: but this time he lets it happen, and it grows. the rapid, deep-rooted clicking, like a dark-velvet chirp that never ends, rolls up from his body and into your hands like a gift passed from him to you. it shivers out into the air, tumbling and rippling through the silk shadows, blending with the music, flickering against everything in the tiny room and echoing softly, rebounding, shimmering. you lose yourself in the pattern of it, matched to his inhalations and exhalations. matched to yours. you're drifting into it like an incoming tide, moonlit and starstruck, little waves that lap and tap against your heart and your brain until you begin to doze off while your fingers trace deep little forest-paths into his fur, taking and offering comfort as easily as breathing, as easily as the gentle thump of your hearts against each other. you lose time like that: lost in the sounds of him and the music, lost in the deep blue, the aubergine, the glimmering in and out. you don't so much as stir until there's a thump in the corridor, and then against the frame of the door—

you jolt awake, blinking blearily, and rocket's already torn himself out of your arms and off the cushions as the door slides open.

"what the fuck, quill? i coulda been — i dunno, doing something—"

"there's a problem with the vent system," pete rushes out, sounding nervous and frantic. "i don't know how long it's been going on but there's like a — a rattling, rumbling noise—"

"shut up," rocket snaps, one dark hand extended toward pete in a halting motion, and you freeze as the three of you go still and quiet.

the vents cycle on, hushed and gentle as a breeze in a field of wheat.

you wait.

"i don't frickin' hear anything," rocket growls.

"i don't—" pete starts, looking baffled and almost betrayed by the functioning ventilation system. "it was—"

"what'd it sound like?" you pipe up from the corner, and pete's brows furrow when they focus on you.

"like a kind of a... brrrrrrrrrh," he mimicks, rolling his tongue off the rough of his mouth in a guttural purr.

your eyes go wide, and then shoot over to rocket's. your friend's face is a picture in absolute horror.

"uh," you start, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to hold back a sudden cackle.

"it's nothing, pete," rocket snaps. "you're imagining shit."

"but—"

"go back to bed!" rocket half-roars, and pete takes one last bewildered glance at the air vents before slinking out the door.

rocket slaps the sensor panel and whirls on you, one claw extended.

"not a fuckin' word," he snarls.

you say nothing. you only smile — eyes sparkling — and reach for him with both hands: palms down, fingertips rubbing against thumbs in a silent demand for more pets.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

[whitedragoncoranth]

A Handful of Hope...

In his quarters - a snarl drawing back his lips - Rocket Raccoon browsed the Terran Internet. The worthless flarkin' bald-bodies may have been primitive when it came to just about everything--but flark their stories, art, and music were somethin' else. Even now, he sifted through some random site - Tumble-something-or-another - his eyes glimmering as he soaked up artwork and stories; art and stories with him and Star-Munch; with him and some humie named Jolie, a story where Drax acted as a Dad to him, and on, and on...

Around the others, he'd made sure to sneer and scoff and snarl and insult it all - that ain't me, that's not how things work, this is all flarkin' stupid - but when he was alone... secretly, he longed for the next post, whether it was a story or piece of art. The stories and art of him and Lylla made him laugh, made him cry, made his heart flarkin' ache--and the latest bit of art by hibata (what kinda dumbass name was that?) - the one where Petra Quill was holdin' him, sorta buried in her hair - filled him with longing. The bit of black and white art where he was listenin' to Pete's Walkman and dancin' with Lylla's ghost hit especially hard, and he cried silently for maybe five minutes or more.

The stories written by that whitedragoncoranth guy, however, were just plain weird! That story where he had a servant lookin' after him and takin' care of him, where the humie had adopted Cosmo, and then Lylla had been brought back to life--then the humie had become the newest flarkin' High Evolutionary?! That one was way out there, but Rocket loved that one, too, secretly wished he could be there, cuddled up with his princess and Mama Cosmo. The newest stuff this humie wrote was even weirder. Stories where he was cared for by a powerful humie and his pet giant gold liza-drag-whatever? That one where he'd become a Dragon-Rac - a hybrid? Now there was this other one where - somehow - the powerful humie and his dragon had rescued Lylla from the High Evolutionary, and then the dragon had brought her back to life with a song!

That one was way, way out there, and had brought him to tears when he'd read it. Rocket sniffled, wiped his tear-filled eyes. "... gotta stop doing this..." With a harsh sigh, the little raccoon spun away from his holopad, then laid his head in his paws, breath hitching in a sob. "'s not real, none of it's real. Damn it, stop pinin' for somethin' you can never have, d'ast it! It's not..." Suddenly, Rocket inhaled a breath, his fur briefly fluffing up and standing on end as the room seemed to grow warmer. In front of him, the air shimmered... and then, his little jaw dropped open as reality gently cracked in light of cyan-blue.

Rocket gasped as the crack widened, a little, then further and further. "... it ---king, R-cket?" came a humie's voice from the other side. Jaw dropping open, Rocket gasped as someone answered with his own voice! "Loo---- good, Pa--, I th--k we're n--rly there! --- good -ver --ere, Mama? Fl--- this -----ference!" Rocket snuffled back a sob, now, as a gentle female baritone answered--a voice he swore he heard in his head! ~Tu--ing, tuning... adj--ti-g -arp m-tri--... Oh, c-me on -ou ruth firok, work!~ With frustration, the humie responded. "We--- t- f-cking close to th-- rip, da-- it! -ut this is the -nly pl--- wh-re th- -eil --tween --iverses -s thin --ough f-r th-s to w-rk. Th-t ----ains th- ----rference. L-t me try someth---..." By now, the crack in reality had widened enough to become a door, but suddenly it began to destabilize!

"No-no-no!" Rocket's breath hitched as he heard his own voice again, from the other side. "Back th-t one off - bit, lemme tr- som-th--- GOT IT!" The bizarre reality door suddenly stabilized, and Rocket goggled at what he saw. The other side of the doorway exited to a colossal laboratory, but inside it--here, Rocket's breath froze in his throat! Dark brown hair done up in a peculiar braid framed a weathered face; hazel eyes, nose and lips drawn up in a curious little smile. A hand attached to a pink-skinned arm, dusted with a light coating of hair slowly drew away from a pattern of holographic glyphs towards his body, which was clothed in some kind of amazing teal robe covered with runic designs; beneath that was some kind of golden-bronze armour.

The powerful, not-quite humie from the stories Rocket had just been reading! Now Rocket squeaked - withdrew from his belt a small stunner that he held with shaking paw - because next to him... The creature measured about forty meters from snout tip to tail tip, with a wingspan that matched the length of her body. Thick and leathery golden hide, devoid of scales or hair, covered her body. The membranes of her gigantic wings were the exact same golden colour as her body but veined with streaks of dark golden bronze. Her large three-meter head looked smooth and streamlined; she had a sleek snout and up-thrust, mobile ears. A line of bronze-coloured spines ran from the base of the dragonesses’ skull to the base of her tail. These spines arched up-and-back in a slight curve, and were small at the base of her skull, but became bigger toward the middle of her back, before becoming smaller, and finally smoothing into a slight ridge that ran all the way to her tail spade.

The dragoness, the mama dragon who'd looked after him in those stories... She looked at Rocket-on-the-Milano, utterly stricken, then sniffled sadly, trilled and called to him--and Rocket looked at the weapon in his paw. What the flark am I doin', this... this is Mama in the stories he thought, horrified, then he made the weapon safe and nearly tossed it away! In despair he sobbed and tried to call back to Mama... and his heart lightened as the gentle dragon smiled at him in understanding and forgiveness, cooed and purred gently to him.

The dragoness lifted her wing... and Canon Rocket sank to the floor in tears again, for beneath her raised wing was Dovah Rocket, and next to him... Now Rocket truly cried, sobbed, wept, because he saw his beloved Lylla, but she was larger, with golden-bronze fur, a huge pair of white-feathered wings growing from her back. Dovah Lylla looked to her beloved; he smiled and nodded, and she moved towards the portal. Canon Rocket opened his mouth to speak to Lylla - there was so much he wanted to say to her - but soon, he closed his mouth as she started to sing with all the power of her thu'um...

That song... Rocket stood, frozen, body shaking, bawling like a baby as his - their - beloved Lylla sang with the voice of an angel; the ship - hell, it was as if the whole flarkin' universe - became brighter, yet a li'l sadder at the same time. As the song ended, Dovah Lylla gently put a paw to one of her wings, plucked from it a huge primary feather, then passed it through the reality door to Canon-Rocket, who took it with shaking paw, with utter reverence. Lylla was alive, somewhere out there--he had flarkin' PROOF, PROOF IN HIS PAWS! As Rocket held the feather to his chest, over his heart... Dovah Lylla's expression grew sad, as did the expressions of David and Ieesha. The dragoness buried her head into David's robes, Dovah Rocket and Lylla held each other gently, nuzzled, cried too. Because the portal, gradually, was closing...

Before the doorway - now once again a reality-crack - sealed forever, Canon Rocket, clutching Lylla's Feather, heard his beloved Otter's voice one last time. “Impossible connections made possible, my beloved raccoon!” she cried, joyously. “Reach through and grab a handful of hope!” Later, Rocket would go to his work bench and construct a display case for the feather so flarkin' indestructible, it would survive the end of the universe - and he would modify all his clothing such that there was a thickly armoured section with an internal pocket so he could carry the feather in its case with him, against his heart, no matter where he went - but for now... Rocket Raccoon - Canon Rocket Raccoon - alone in his quarters aboard the Milano, held tightly to Lylla's Feather as he laughed and cried.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Oh my GOD so I saw the art you reblogged from Rakruined - the Sailor Starlord one with Rocket in the Luna Onsie--and now, my secret tiny headcannon is that Rocket absolutely wears onsies... but only when he's with you, at your place on Terra.

At first, he grumbled and growled, thinking "oh, they're for kids, that's humiliating..." but because it's you he agreed to try one on, like, just one time, because it was winter and flarkin' COLD! So, you bought him a very simple, plain onesie (you modified it for his tail) and he put it on, just a thin cotton one because his winter coat's already in...

... and his eyes widen a bit because holy flark it feels like he's bundled up in a portable nest or burrow. He blinks, sorta curls up in it on the couch, eats some comfort food you've made... and then he slowly leans against you and falls asleep, little half-purr, half snore as you put the finished bowl aside.

... you're sitting there with him and - even though you know he isn't - all your instincts are screaming child/baby, so you watch over him as he rests, maybe hum something soft and low to him. When Rocket wakes, it's some ancient part of him first, you're warm and he's safe so he's a bit cuddly, nuzzly, nosing in--before he slowly blinks and pulls away a little, embarrassed. Wearing a onesie becomes more than "just one time," and soon you have a small selection of them in your wardrobe for him...

this read was a perfect way to end my weekend. DO NOT let this be kept secret. this is fucking glorious. i need to draw rocket in a variety of onesies. i mean we already know comics-rocket canonically wears kids’ pajamas so onesies are the next logical step ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10/10 would absolutely keep the dresser stocked for him

[raccoonfallsharder]

So, F!Reader always finds poor Rocket sleeping in the most unusual places--and in the most painful-looking contorted positions aboard the ship. No matter where he is, she always takes the time to carefully extract the poor raccoon from wherever he ends up (he's a heavy sleeper but it don't seem to be doing much good, ouch!) and she carries him like the precious bebe he is to the couches in the Milano Commons (he unconsciously wraps his li'l paws around her neck as she does!). In the commons, - being extremely gentle - she sits down on one of the couches with him, carefully de-contorts and straightens Rocket out, soothing and massaging, li'l pain filled whimpers turning to unthinking sleepy moans and purring. And... she just stays there with him on her lap/in her arms, watching over the raccoon, petting him so softly, so very, very gently (he's all snuggly and cuddling in...) as at last he gets proper sleep.

...this is....so lovely....i'm tearing up....thank you for sharing this with me (╥ᆺ╥) thank you...

[raccoonfallsharder]

Late, late at night - when everyone's asleep - Rocket puts a playlist of the softest, gentlest songs he found on the Terran Internet onto the Zune. Burrowing down, down, down into his covers, he puts the headphones on his head, lets the armor down... and has a really good, cathartic cry... because sometimes you need to vent and de-stress a bit. (Imagine there's more than just these three.)

And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda (youtube.com)

Somewhere only we know - keane (cover) (youtube.com)

Edward Scissorhands-Ice Dance - YouTube

"I know it's a little early for Christmas, Rocket, but... I have a present for you..."

.............

"You could have gone up there. You could still go."

"No, sweetheart. I'm an old otter now. I would rather Rocket remember me the way I was."

not me reading this/listening to this/weeping in the hospital waiting room ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ thank you my friend ♡♡♡ this was the softest little read/listen and i appreciate you

[raccoonfallsharder]

I've been having this weird idea but don't know how to write it so I'll just bang out the blorb... So, Rocket gets this weird idea in his head that he'd like to be more comfortable with his 'raccoon side' so he finds one of the BEST, premium animal sanctuaries on Earth that has raccoons (can be fictional I don't care) and goes there.

He meets with the head person in charge of the place and she's a kindly old lady who absolutely knows her stuff when it comes to animals--she takes one fucking look at Rocket and immediately sees that yes, he's a raccoon, but whoa, there's a lot not right about him and her eyes widen because she determines a little of what had to be done to him to make him that way... and she's breaking in tears as she welcomes him into the sanctuary.

For a while she and he talk, and talk, and talk... it all gets very emotional for both as something in him tells him this lady can be trusted... he tells her a little of his past, what he's comfortable with revealing and in the end she's hugging him in her lap, he and she both crying. She shows him about the Sanctuary, then for a couple of months they hash out an agreement that he'll live to as near a base raccoon as possible yet not like a complete animal? So... she teaches Rocket... everything about Raccoons, teaches him how to be as close to one as possible, how they live, hunt, what they eat, how to climb like a true/base raccoon, etc.

In the end - when the Guardians come to pick up Rocket once this weird vacation has ended - the lady who runs the Sanctuary leads them to the raccoon enclosure where they see Rocket - nude, apart from a loincloth - sleeping with a small harem of female raccoons; he hasn't mated with any of course, just gotten to know them and they all trust him. Quietly, the lady calls to Rocket, waking him; he sees his friends and makes a soft, yet cheerful raccoon noise to them, then ambles over to them on all fours!

What we have now is a Rocket who is far healthier, comfortable with his body, embraces his animalistic side a lot more, fine with being petted and/or seeking affection from his friends... and, err... the Orloni on the ship seem to be disappearing at an alarming rate. There seems to be no food waste in the garbage cans either, despite Quill and the others tossing leftover food in... yet Rocket keeps himself fastidiously clean now so it can't be him, how odd... Little do they know... On planet, Quill and the others sometimes see him fishing in rivers, or flipping up stones for whatever tastiness might be under-neath...

(Basically, Rocket spends time at an animal sanctuary, immersing in Raccoon, learning how to Raccoon and achieving a balance between his human and Raccoon side.)

i love this. all of it. but i particularly love the idea of rocket fishing. belly full and hands dripping. light reflecting up off the clean water, dappling the undersides of his face, glimmering in his eyes. the wind in the reeds and quiet, sleepy frog-noises all around. a few birds, and a clear sky overhead ~

[raccoonfallsharder]

The newest crewmember of the Milano, as it turns out, used to be a caretaker at an animal sanctuary. Of course, she takes one look at Rocket and she's adoring all over him--but... there's a problem. She doesn't like how rude and foul mouthed he is! Oh, dear... After some very discrete observation - observing the way he moves, his eating habits, etc - she figures out he's in awful, chronic pain because he's hungry all the time, poor li'l guy not getting enough to eat, due to a poor diet, prison life, awful ship rations etc. So... the next time he opens his muzzle to mouth off at her--suddenly Rocket finds that he can't because she's stuffed a treat into his muzzle!

It's specially made food for raccoons, too--a little packet of meat and veg, utterly stuffed with everything his body needs! At first, Rocket almost spits it out... but then the TASTE hits his tongue, his body screams at him to eat it and so he does. It's so good he forgets what it was he was mad about and wanders off in a bit of a daze. Of course Rocket being Rocket, he mouths off again, to one of the Crew, Drax or Peter--but before bad words can even leave his muzzle our female crewmember is there and - "Flar-mph!" - she's popped another treat into his maw. Every time Rocket is rude or mouths off she does this and the crew finds it hilarious.

This, of course, leads up to them finding her on one of the couches in the commons Rocket in her arms as she gently feeds him little tasty morsels, his eyes closed, purring because she's petting him softly as he eats. She also starts cooking proper meals but only for him, and oh flark are they the best food he's ever eaten! All the while, though, Rocket is gaining a little weight, getting healthier; his awful, chronic pain finally stops and he wakes up in awe one day next to her, asks if something's wrong. His eyes grow wide as she reveals what's been going on with him, horrified as he realizes that his body was trying to eat itself--but she reassures him that everything's going to be fine.

okay (one) you’re spoiling me with these ficlets and (two) why is this so cute?

i fucken hate cooking but would absolutely cook so much food for rocket omg. he can be as foulmouthed as much as he likes tho —if anything ill be encouraging that. teach me new swear words in krylorian and ill make you something extra tasty, rocket (◍•ᴗ•◍)

[raccoonfallsharder]

Oh my GOD, when "Take What You Need" is done… you MUST do a reversal of this--the Reader taking care of Rocket. SO MUCH potential for bonding, petting, grooming, cuteness--

*weapon arming, aiming noises!* "Da flarkin' hell you just say?"

--err, - heh-heh - now Rocket, when we say "cute" we absolutely mean Charismatic Top-Level Unstoppable Energy, not... that other thing, nope definitely not that!

love ♡♡♡ you are so much fun, your ideas are awesome, and your writing is ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ i'm not sure ✩࿐࿔ take what you need will ever be fully complete (though it may eventually trickle to a halt) since it's powered almost entirely by reader requests and has no specific endgoal in mind

i may end up putting something on ao3 eventually. but there are actually quite a few ˚₊‧✶ headcanons & imagines ✶‧₊˚ i've written that are about caring for rocket (and sometimes rocket cares back) ~ if you haven't seen them already i'll link them below. and i'm like 99% sure you also read ⋆꙳•❅‧ traditions and frostnip. °❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

that said i am ALWAYS open to imagines/suggestions/prompts in my asks, though sometimes it takes me a while to write/post them (currently rolling my mind around a recent ask about rocket & time travel and i have an idea but it's gonna take work) here are the imagines i think may fit your requests, though there are lots more on the post linked above~

˚₊‧✶ rocket needs comfort food (inspired by creamy chicken fajita pasta nonnie) ˚₊‧✶ rocket puts on weight 1 (inspired by a nonnie) [fuck fatophobia] ˚₊‧✶ rocket puts on weight 2 (inspired by a nonnie) [fuck fatphobia] ˚₊‧✶ rocket on birthdays (for @lilfoxay) ˚₊‧✶ rocket & coloring (inspired by string cheese nonnie) ˚₊‧✶ rocket & origami (inspired by @wren-phoenix) ˚₊‧✶ rocket & lava lamps (inspired by @chippybritt and @thirteens-lucky-tardis) ˚₊‧✶ rocket responds to you having an anxiety attack (for hickey-nonnie) ˚₊‧✶ bathtime rituals of rocket raccoon (inspired by @mrwolfhare) [FAN ART]

ooh, also, an old fluff piece:

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Autopilot Systems Check‧₊˚ ⋅☽ ࣪ ִֶָ♡.

[raccoonfallsharder]

"So, dudette, do you like, think we could use Rocket himself as an emergency engine to power the Milano. I mean, just listen to that engine of his, whoa!"

Taz the baby raccoon purring (youtube.com)

(I'm the writer of "Rocket Raccoon Comforted on Ao3 btw and sent you that uber-cute heart attack sleepy raccoon vid! On Tumblr, now; got sick of the login wall...)

yesss please

the little scenarios you leave in my ao3 comments give me life and im so happy to have you on tumblr now ♡♡♡ the rocket fan community here is GREAT ♡♡♡ and everyone should read your stuff STAT. it is the coziest shit — seriously the best treat for a northern hemisphere february weekend

[raccoonfallsharder]

It was as they were asleep together, that Rocket became entrapped in the seething coils of a powerful nightmare. As he thrashed within her embrace - his cries first human than becoming the distressed whimpers of the animal he was made from - Pearl gently pulled Rocket closer to her.

Then, with her soft, breathy voice, she sang one of the only songs she knew, "I walked across an empty land // I knew the pathway like the back of my hand..."

"This could be the end of everything // So, why don't we go? // Somewhere only we know // Somewhere only we know..." As she finished the song, her voice fading to silence, Rocket's dreams had turned peaceful; he was at last still... but his breathing hitched, and now Pearl beheld the tracks of tears from his eyes, staining the fur of his little muzzle.

"... my beautiful little baby boy..." she breathed into his soft ear, "... love you so much..." It was irrational, she knew, but now - rather than the Monster he claimed himself to be - ... all she could see was a child, a little baby boy who'd been through something so horrible she couldn't comprehend it. All she could do was watch, as Rocket snuffled, cried gently, his muzzle now turned up in a gentle smile.

In his dreams, he and Lylla laughed and frolicked together, within a great field of flowers, in a place... somewhere only they knew...

( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) this is so sweet and honestly — a typical night with these two. if it’s not rocket having nightmares, it’s pearl. thank you so much for writing this moment for them & sharing it with me ♡

[raccoonfallsharder]

It was Rocket Strange who greeted Rocket the Grey at the Doors.

"You're late!" the orange-robed, cyan-cloaked son of the Sorcerer Supreme snarked.

Clad in his grey hat and robes, Rocket the Grey took a puff from his pipe then cheekily replied, "A Wizard is never late, Mr. Strange. He arrives precisely when he means to!"

For a moment, the two looked at each other--and then, a little teary-eyed, they embraced! "Err... am I late? They haven't started the Reading, yet, have they?" the Grey Raccoon asked, worriedly.

"Oh, nah," Rocket Strange answered, nuzzling the apprentice of Mithrandir, "but you're the last to come here. So many made it tonight, come on!"

With that, the two opened the Doors and stepped into a titanic Colosseum that was full of... Rockets! Thousands upon thousands of Rockets from all walks of life, albeit they were mostly kind and good; those who were too cruel or were slavering beasts from the darkest of worlds weren't allowed here.

Thousands of Rockets, many accompanied by a Lylla or their Humies, but also many without. Jedi Rockets; Wizard Rockets; a Maori Chief Rocket and his Uplifted Racccoon Tribe; Purely organic or machine Rockets and all in between; a Rocket and Lylla who were ghosts united, a Rocket and Lylla whom were living stars; Time Lord Rocket and Time Lady Lylla; Rocket Knight and with him Kitt, the TransAm in a Berth at his side; Honourable Pirate Lord Rocket, and with him Pirate Queen Lylla; Egyptian Pharoah Amun-Ro-Khet I, his Queen Lylla, and his Terran Attendants; Rocket Raccoon but with him a Peter Quill who was also a raccoon; Native American Shaman Rocket the Medicine Raccoon with his Uplifted Raccoon Village... and on, and on, and on...

High above, upon a throne of metal - clad in orange armour and helm to contain the mighty Power Cosmic - Great Procyon ROCKETUS the Life-Bringer, the Creator of Worlds, banged his Staff upon the stone floor. "CALLING FOR SILENCE!' he boomed. "SILENCE, PLEASE!" When the noise of the great Colosseum hushed, Great Procyon Rocketus continued, softer, "Tonight's Reading is about to Commence, and it concerns one Terran Human we all know by the pseudonym... Raccoon Falls Harder..."

Almost immediately, utterly joyous cheering was heard as the Rocket Collective clapped, stomped their feet, whooped and howled and raccoon-called with sheer joy! The Great Raccoon smiled, let it all continue for a moment--but then, he cracked his Staff upon the ground again, "Silence, silence please!" he commanded, and all complied. "This beloved Terran has written a new work." Reaching for a beautiful, illuminated manuscript scroll, the Great Procyon unrolled it. "It is titled simply, 'Machinery'. Let the Reading now Commence!"

The Colosseum quieted, and - drawing gently upon the Power Cosmic - Great Procyon Rocketus used it to create the eerie, disquieting sound of a mechanical heart, Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. With this as ambience, he started to read aloud from the scroll, his audience listening, enraptured,

"'Rocket scrubs his knuckles against the fur and flesh that have grown over his metal sternum. His ribs strain like creaky bellows, lungs splitting and bruising against the bones...'"

what an honor! (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡ oh my gosh. you're so sweet and i've re-read this like a billion times. now i gotta go daydream about being read by a council of multiversal rockets.

thank you so much, friend ♡♡♡ this made my week

[raccoonfallsharder]

... that when he was sick, rather than going to the other Guardians, he comes to you; it's to your quarters he comes. You remember him near falling out of a duct onto your bed - you being startled awake - seeing his body soaked with sweat - when you touched him his small body was burning with fever.

... your touch, your comfort seemed to help; his shivering eased a little, inhaling great lungfuls of your scent helped more. Didn't matter whether you might get whatever he had - you tucked him into bed with you, petting him all over, murmuring soothingly as he babbled that he was sorry, so sorry, that he got you killed, Rocket Lylla Teefs Floor go now! Rocket Lylla Teefs Floor go now!

... cold compress on his furry head as he cries, shivering, shivering as you share breath with him. Later, soothing medicine and easily made foods gentle on his system - soups, delicious meat broths - seem to help and ease his symptoms. When he's lucid he apologizes profusely for all the trouble - but the fact that he even does just makes you sad and you shush him gently.

When the fever breaks and he recovers - of course it was the damn flu, even out in space, it seems - it doesn't stop. The half-lie of doing maintenance on the ship sees him make your quarters a little bigger to accommodate a small workbench, a slightly bigger bed. You're the only one he trusts so closely, so intimately. He appreciates it deeply when you 'bring him up' from a nightmare, your voice instructing him to count his breaths, soothingly telling him where he is, that he's safe.

You can pet him, too - but only because it's you - the baby raccoon in him whimpers and luxuriates in the love of new mama while outside his eyes grow misty, body turning this way and that way; he's awed as you touch, stroke, caress every part of him, every awful bolt and screw, every implant in his back and front.

He snuffles in a sob when you shower with him of a morning unafraid of his body, little cries falling from him as you massage away tension in his back shoulders, and joints he wasn't aware he was carrying. It was touch without pain when you dried him with the thickest fluffiest towel, when you gently stroked his fur, brushed and groomed after he was dry, washed his face, gently wiped around his eyes with a soft, warm wash cloth in the morning. As you touch him, he touches you, always touches you, too, now, roving over your skin with his sensitive paws, unconsciously holding two of your fingers, a little hand here or there, so he doesn't wake up one day and you're not there.

Around the others he keeps it hidden with cold, snarly indifference - oh, he has to be with you at all times cos you're a soft snowflake who can't look after yerself worth a damn - but he loves you, he truly does. When the others aren't around it's the way his eyes light up, the subtle wag of his beautiful ringtail, the near subsonic purr, the want for your hand atop his head or scratching behind his ears. The nosing and nuzzling that tickles and makes you laugh, flarkin' music that he wants to hear again and again. Deep inside him, baby raccoon-calls to you. Outside, happy and healthy - with a wag of his tail - as you pass by... Rocket quietly makes the same sound.

okay look. this week has been a long week and yesterday was a very long day and now i've read this like three times just to wrap myself up in it. thank you for this piece of comfort. i truly appreciate you sharing it ♡♡♡

[raccoonfallsharder]

How 'big' (text, character wise) can an 'ask' be? I've sent you a couple that are practically stories, and I hope Tumblr hasn't eaten them up!

i see them! i think! i usually try to respond to asks in order (i am responding to this one out of order so assure you that tumblr has not eaten them) and i may not respond to each one, but i do read them (sometimes it takes me a hot minute) and i am always grateful ♡♡ your writing is always so warm and inviting.

[raccoonfallsharder]

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. ♡♡♡

[raccoonfallsharder]

˚₊‧✶ headcanons & imagines ✶‧₊˚

smut-free | complete | word count: varies. banners by @thecutestgrotto and @saradika-graphics

various guardians of the galaxy headcanons, minifics, drabbles, asks, imagines, and fan art! most are sfw and/or fluffy, and most can be read platonically or romantically. any that are nsfw are notes as such. back to main masterlist.

✶ ask | ‧₊˚ minific

general headcanons ✶‧₊˚

˚₊‧✶ how rocket views sex work (spoiler: positivitely) [NSFW] ˚₊‧✶ rocket & occasional post-sex feelings [NSFW] ˚₊‧✶ quill & innocence/optimism ˚₊‧✶ rocket & nebula (2014) in endgame ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & quill were scooped together ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ cinnamon roll peter quill continued ˚₊‧✶ rocket, lylla, & drax; comfort post-xandar ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket's dad-glasses ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket's lifespan ✶ ˚₊‧✶ how the bowie got its name (threaded convo with @mrwolfhare) [minific] ˚₊‧✶ how mantis names the abilisks ✶ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ mantis' friendship with rocket [threaded with headcanon 12] ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ mantis & drax & what parenthood means ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ why did thanos snap half of ALL life? (convo with @mrwolfhare) ˚₊‧✶ rocket is smarter than stark ✶ ˚₊‧✶ the bowie's construction/smarter than stark pt 2 (convo with @leresq) ˚₊‧✶ rocket's movie & television tastes (see follow-up ask, what if rocket finds the mcu movies?) ˚₊‧✶ raccoon sensory perception [ANGST] ˚₊‧✶ a new addition to rocket's library of mocking endearments ˚₊‧✶ eidos-rocket's goatee ✶ ˚₊‧✶ eidos-rocket headcanons with an SO (for nonnie) [SFW & NSFW] ✶

imagines ✶‧₊˚

˚₊‧✶ rocket needs comfort food (creamy chicken fajita pasta nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket reacts to string cheese (string cheese nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket steals your espresso beans (string cheese nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket puts on weight 1 (nonnie) [fuck fatophobia] ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket puts on weight 2 (nonnie) [fuck fatphobia] ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket on birthdays (@lilfoxay) ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & coloring (string cheese nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & origami ( @wren-phoenix) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & lava lamps ( @chippybritt & @thirteens-lucky-tardis) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ bedtime rituals of rocket raccoon pt 1 [THREAD] ˚₊‧✶ rocket responds to you having an anxiety attack (hickey-nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & sudoku, crosswords & word-searches ( @hyperjorts) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & hanayama puzzles (nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket sings (nonnie) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ what if rocket finds the mcu movies? ( @mcsquared789) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ music and rocket & adam, pete & jason ( @leresq) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket goes on a road trip with wanda (for @hibatasblog) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ petting rocket till he purrs (wholesome nonnie & @whitedragoncoranth) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket "fixes" your car (@urbanfox197) ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ ᯓ⋆｡°✩practice: an eidos-rocket minific [for nonnie] ✶‧₊˚

fanart ✶‧₊˚ ˚₊‧✶ rocket & nova corps pt 1 ˚₊‧✶ rocket & nova corps part 2 (with what if? nebula) ˚₊‧✶ rocket & being a decent fuckin person ˚₊‧✶ chonky winter-fur rocket on fron (it fucken wimdy) ˚₊‧✶ rocket stuck in deep snow (string cheese nonnie) ✶ ˚₊‧✶ rocket needs/hates his anxiety jacket ˚₊‧✶ rocket & his pjs (bedtime rituals of rocket pt 2) *may be a bit spicy/nsfw? ˚₊‧✶ bathtime rituals of rocket raccoon (@mrwolfhare) ˚₊‧✶ rocket & origami (from the above imagine) ~ (@wren-phoenix) ˚₊‧✶ you give rocket an otter stuffie ‧₊˚

see more rocket raccoon fan art by me ✶‧₊˚