#//when i feel like i can manage ringtail again then i will be on a semi active status

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day six bite ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

low-grade spice & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 2,266.

“That’s — a big frickin’ scar you got there.”

Your eyes flare wide and you twist in your seat so fast you nearly spin off it, staring at the stranger who has just hoisted himself onto the barstool next to you. Not because you recognize the voice — you don’t yet, though you will — but just because it’s such a personal remark.

And you’re a little bit sensitive about the scar, if you’re being honest. It’s something of a souvenir.

Then recognition clicks in. Because there he is: short. Covered in fur. Velveteen ears and a dark mask, and a plush ringtail that sweeps behind him. Eyes like red stars.

Cutie.

You stare at him, breath sucked right out of your lungs. He’s got hesitation scrawled and sprawled all over his face: ears flicking down and tail lashing once, nervously. His claws clink against his massive, nearly-empty stein of Xitarish whiskey. 

You tear your eyes away and stare down at the ring of pearly ridges stitched into your arm — like maybe there were answers carved into your flesh there all along, and you’d just never noticed. Or like each toothmark is a lodestar, and together the circle of them can help get you home. 

“Isn’t it rude? To comment on a stranger’s scars?” you breathe out, trying to buy yourself time as all the pieces begin falling together. 

He blinks at you, and shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, Jemiah.” He gestures at the owner of The Boot, who just so happens to be your boss. “Next drink’s on me.”

“Sure thing, Rocket,” Jemiah says warmly — far more warmly than you’ve ever heard from him before. 

You feel your eyes flare wide. “You’re Rocket?” you manage to utter, eyes scrolling up and down him again. “One of the people who bought this damn skull? The pilot — the Guardian of the Galaxy or whatever?”

Somehow he looks even more uncomfortable. “Guardians of the Galaxy. Plural. We’re — a team.”

You exhale slowly — measuredly — and try to loosen all the small feathers of confusion crowding up your head, downy-soft. And as you let go of all those wisps, adrenaline rushes in to take their place: the intoxication of suddenly seeing him. Meeting him — for real this time. Having a name to put with the memory. 

Your smile blows wide. You can’t help yourself. 

“The cutie has a team,” you murmur under your breath, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks when his eyes sharpen on you. He shifts on his stool, but his shoulders relax a little, and the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“Don’t listen to him, Jemiah,” you call out. “His drink’s on me.”

Your boss ducks to hide his grin even as the cutie in question — Rocket, you think, with a pleased little grin — grimaces. “Wait—“ he starts.

You click your tongue and shake your head, cutting him off and grinning. “Not a chance. You bought this stupid skull out from under the Collector and made it a tolerable place to live? There’s no way you’re buying the drinks. I have to show my gratitude somehow.”

You drop your lids to half-mast and raise a brow, hoping he knows that you’re happy to show your gratitude in a few other ways as well. The risk of offering brings a nervous little buzz to your belly. 

As for him — well, you get the sense that he’s a guy who doesn’t let himself flounder very often, but right now his face is flickering between so many emotions that you can’t possibly catch them all. Shock, and then a brief flash of something like smugness, followed immediately by a flash of narrow-eyed skepticism — then a sort of uncertain hesitance, a brief twinge of humor, and finally, a cynical half-sneer. Then he starts right back at the beginning and does it all over again.

It’s fascinating.  

“Did you know,” you say slowly when Jemiah sets down the fresh drinks, “that I work here at The Boot?”

The stranger — no longer a stranger, you suppose; no longer just the cutie — no, Rocket pauses in his cycle of expressions, takes a slug of his new stein of whiskey, and shakes himself out. 

Where the hell does he put it? you wonder. The stein is as big as his whole torso, you think.

But he doesn’t seem buzzed at all. Instead, he casts you a measuring, sideways glance, entirely too alert for your tastes. 

“You don’t say,” he drawls at last, one brow raised as his spine eases a little more.

“Mmhmm,” you say mildly. “It’s my day off.” You pause meaningfully and take another sip of your own drink. “Didn’t used to get days off in Exitar. Or anywhere else on Knowhere, as a matter of fact.”

His eyes track your hands, and flick to your face. 

“Guess the difference is all thanks to you,” you tell him lightly, and tilt your glass toward him. “Here’s to the happy change in leadership.”

He studies you, and waits till you set your drink down again. 

“So. Uh. How long you worked here?” he asks — as if he didn’t already have at least some idea.

You grin into your glass. “Long enough to have developed a very strict set of rules for my survival.”

His ears flick. You’re glad he’s indulging you — playing along for now. “What’re the rules?”

You lean back. “I’m glad you asked,” you tease, and splay out one hand so you can count them on your fingers. “Number one. Avoid the Collector at all costs.”

He snorts. “Well, guess you’re not a complete idiot,” he mutters, and then slashes his red-amber eyes at you and flinches, like he thinks maybe you’re going to be offended. 

But you only wink at him. Not a chance, cutie.  “Number two. Never hide all your units in one place — or on one datacard.”

A smirk curls the corner of his mouth and his nose twitches.

“Three. Always lock your doors behind you. And four, Don’t walk home alone from the Boot.” The smirk slides off his face at that and his eyes flash, so you rush along to the next rule, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Five. Always get customers’ money before you hand them their booze.”

There you go. The little curve is back at the corner of his mouth, even if his brow is still furrowed — almost like he’s distressed. 

You lean sideways and nudge him with your elbow. “And finally, number six.” He looks up at you and his ears tilt, eyes locked on yours like glimmering red stones. You lean so close you know your breath will flutter in the curve of his ear, and you drop your voice to a whisper. “Don’t try to break up fights.”

The pilot rears back, nearly tumbling backward off his stool, and you reach for him before you both catch yourselves. Reeling your outstretched hand back into yourself, you instead gift him a reckless grin and turn to your drink once more.

“It’s not a comprehensive list,” you tell him pragmatically, “and it isn’t in any particular order, but it’s kept me alive this long.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Rocket says, and his voice is suddenly raspy and low. “Even that last one?”

The laughter surprises you, fluttering up behind your ribs and escaping between your lips, soft  and velvety and hushed. 

“I only broke that one once,” you tell him, lifting your glass to your mouth and half-hiding your grin behind it. You can tell your eyes are sparkling, though. “And it’s not like I ever regretted it.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Sounds like you got a story.”

“Mmm,” you acknowledge, and you keep your voice playful. “It was years ago, now. I knew all the regulars back then — well, I still do, but more of them were jackasses back in the day. And this guy comes in — someone I’d never seen before. Swaggering, carrying a cannon twice as big as himself. Maybe — three feet tall? A true Short King.”

He’s got his stein to his lips and he chokes on a mouthful of whiskey, sputtering. “A what?”

You ignore him, still casting him that teasing half-smile and raising an eyebrow. “He had pretty eyes, and I remember him being more foulmouthed than a landlocked Ravager.”

“Pretty — what?” 

“Keep up, Rocket,” you taunt lightly, tapping a finger to the air just an inch away from the top of his nose, and his eyes go narrow. Everything on his face is suddenly promising retribution, but you’re reckless with glee now.

And you’ll be happy to pay up if he actually comes to collect. 

“I told him that I needed payment up front when he ordered—“

“Get the money before you hand them their booze,” he echoes Rule Five, eyes still hunting you, and you nod with mock-approval. 

“You get it,” you say with a chuckle. “Anyway, his response was just to swipe another patron’s datacard right in front of me and hand it over.” You can still fucking see it: his challenging half-grin, one brow raised.  “I think I stared at him for a full thirty seconds, but this cutie just smirked up at me. Brazen as fuck.”

You laugh softly at the memory, and Rocket — who might as well be your new landlord, you’ve realized — grumbles something under his breath. 

“Anyway, I was kinda smitten,” you admit with a little curve in your mouth, still buzzing the inside of your belly. 

It’s the truth, too.  You’d never thought that raccoon can get it before, but there you were. 

And here you are. 

To your surprise, Rocket goes quiet at that. The pilot of the famous — or infamous — Guardians of the Galaxy, and one of the new owners of Knowhere: still and silent for a long moment. 

Maybe he’ll slip out of his chair and leave, you think, and the flutters in your belly twist in sudden regret. Maybe you’ve scared him off. 

But when he speaks, his voice is like crystallized maple syrup: rich and gritty, waiting to crumble and melt and scrub against your skin.

“He’s why you got into a fight?”

You weigh out your options here. What to say? You’d lost sight of the cutie thanks to his height and the constant surge of new customers, and you’d sort of forgotten about him in the moment, to be honest — though you’re sure you’d have remembered later, alone in your shitty little room — but then you’d heard the sudden cacophonous boom of his enormous augmented cannon. There’d been screaming and crashing, and you’d woven yourself  between the bodies toward the sound. Just to assess, just to figure out what kind of danger you’d been in—

Fucking B’darl — the worst of your regular patrons — had entered into view and suddenly hoisted the cutie right up into the air before slamming him down into the orloni fighting ring. 

You hadn’t thought about it — about anything, really — just thrown yourself through the crowd, toward the fighting ring. By the time you’d gotten there, B’darl had the cutie pinned to the miniature arena’s floor by the throat.  Both the orloni and the f’saki had cowered back, blood-soaked and wounded, from the sudden interference in their battle-to-the-death. 

Looks like you wandered outta the ring, the fucking brute had sneered.Time to go back to brawling with the other vermin, you little monster. 

B’darl had lifted his other fist, easily the size of your entire head.

My money’s on the f’saki, though. 

You’d surged between them without thinking, latching onto B’darl’s massive forearm, knocking his fist to one side.

You shrug. “It was worth it,” you tell Rocket mildly, and take another sip of your drink.

His eyes drop to the ring of teethmarks in your arm again. He opens his mouth to speak, and you cut in.

“My own fault,” you tell him. “I should’ve known the cutie could handle himself. I got in the way.”

You can still remember how his firelight-eyes had stared up at you from behind a mouthful of flesh and blood, stunned and maybe horrified, teeth sunk almost to the bone.  In a worse timeline, maybe you’d have tried to rip your arm away. But here, in this one, you’d curled around him instinctively. Protectively. 

And then he’d reached around you smoothly and snagged B’darl’s ion pistol, and you’d heard the gun go off as he’d squeezed the trigger, blind.

“My only regret is that I lost sight of him in the aftermath,” you tell him with a shrug. You try for a teasing smile but it suddenly feels strained, tense on your mouth. You’d been too flushed with adrenaline when you’d first started this conversation. Now, suddenly, the nerves are present: rattling and twitching behind your sternum. Your fingers shake a little and you clamp them onto your glass. “Didn’t even catch his name.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally get the fluttering in your vagus nerve under control, you hazard a look up at him. 

His eyes are on your forearm though: the circle of silken raised marks, just three shades lighter than the rest of your skin, and strangely — almost prettily — translucent. His finger reaches out: dark and clawed, his touch like warm leather. You go so still that you can’t blink, can’t even breathe as he paints a ring of warmth on your skin, looping the circlet of scars onto his fingertip like pearls threaded on a string.

The flutters are back, full-force. 

Slowly, Rocket drags his gaze up to yours, sunset-eyes glowing.  “Cutie works.”

@hibatasblog deserves so much more & better than this little ficlet but i am dedicating it to them anyway because they regularly call rocket "short king" and i cannot get it out of my head. deepest love to them & all their writing (please do yourselves a favor and check out their ao3 fics if you have not already)

look i just feel like (1) rocket is a cutie and if you say it in the right tone, he'll be flattered enough to not kill you and (2) there's no way he'd ever forget the stranger who jumped into a fight on his behalf — and probably got scarred for it — back before he met the guardians. which is when the og encounter takes place fyi. forget about the fact that i don't think we know if he had ever been there before gamora brought them along — i headcanon that where two or more lowlifes gather, so too there is rocket.

sidenote oh my god i literally cannot stop with the increasing wordcount. day seven (when i eventually get around to it) is gonna be SHORT. it's a promise/challenge to myself. anyway i think my writing quality peaked with machinery and i'm sorry this is so late

day five. machinery. ✷ day seven. home. rocket prompt week masterlist ✷ main masterlist rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

[shelli-gator]

What was their first kiss like? For Pancho x Julien

I actually wrote a fanfic thing for this! Now seems as good a time to post it as ever. It's a little on the spicy side (like descriptions of passionate gay lemur makeout). But I hope yall like it!

This is how I hc one of their first kisses to go (I have various scenarios). But basically I hc them to be secretly dating after the events of blackboard jungle in this particular one.

There's nothing like the thrill of a heist to get Pancho's blood pumping, adrenaline singing through his veins. Feet pound on grass, carrying him past shrubs and over logs, and for an exhilarating moment he feels the urge to run on all fours, to whoop and laugh from how alive he feels.

He would too, if his paws weren't tightly grasped around the sizable trophy he and King Julien the 13th had stolen just moments ago. His ears prick to pick up the ring-tail's panted breaths over his own, and sunset eyes steal a glance in his direction as Julien clumsily adjusts his grip on their massive haul. 

He's grinning from ear to ear, his amber eyes alight with a feral glee that mimics his own. Julien catches the look, and his smile gets impossibly wider, a breathless laugh rising in his throat as they meet each other’s gaze.

Pancho likes that. A lot.

Too much, in fact. His foot snags on a vine on the jungle floor, and a strangled yelp escapes the felon as he stumbles. Julien lets out a shrill bark of surprise as Pancho lags behind, and suddenly the King is toting the trophy all on his own, the academic tournament award swaying haphazardly before leaning precariously to one side.

"AH! Nonono-"

With a yell of his own Pancho throws his weight forward, half grabbing at and half falling onto the trophy's arm to push it back up again, grimacing as he heaves to correct it. It works, much to their relief, but it's enough to remind him that they can't keep running forever. Not if Julien wants to keep his ill gotten gains, and their fur.

And as if they need reminding of the stakes of their endeavor, there's the unmistakable roar of the mob behind them, backed by the livid hissing of crocs. The horde flatten bushes in their stampede, and the momentary hiccup in the pair’s dead-out sprint seems to have been enough to help them close the gap somewhat.

They need to hide.

Julien seems to come to the same conclusion, because when they spot the dip of a gully both lemurs throw themselves towards it, careening through bushes and over rocks. They barely give it a second thought as they use the momentum of the trophy to throw themselves down into the shallow ravine, feet slipping and sliding on the loose stones before they both land heavily on their rumps. 

It's just their luck that they manage to find shelter in the shade of a nearby overhang, the old haggard roots of a tree forming a makeshift hide away for them to cram themselves into. It takes much grunting and frantic tugs to pull the trophy in after them, and it's not a moment too soon as they hear the shouts and angry howls of the mob above them, stopping right at the lip of the gully.

"Oh! Now where did those cretins get off to!? Low lifes, scoundrels! Oh! Ruffians!" The unmistakable cries of the crocodile ambassador carry down to them, and both lemurs press themselves more firmly back into the packed dirt, scooting closer together. They could recall all too clearly what happened to Magic Steve, and the rather unfortunate events of the butterfly war.

"They couldn't have gone far! Follow the ravine, leave no stone unturned!" Comes the savage growl of a fossa overhead, and Julien presses himself into Pancho's side, swallowing back an uneasy whine. Pancho's fingers dig in the fur of Julien's hip, partly out of nerves, partly to urge him to keep quiet.

They watch a few pebbles fall from above as the group moves on above them, shaking the ground with their stampede, but neither male dares to breathe until the jungle is all but silent above them. It's only when the birds start chirping again that the pair relaxes, and Julien pushes away from the wall to stick his head out from between the roots, looking this way and that.

And then just like that the King lets out a giddy whoop of delight, practically hopping up and down on the spot in his exuberant glee. Pancho can't help but grin at the sight, leaning against the trophy as he watches Julien hoot and chatter, dancing and punching the air in jubilation.

"Haha! That was amazing! We did it Pancho! The old slip-er-roo! That sweet trophy is mine! Sikapow!"

"Nothing like a little daylight robbery to make you feel alive, huh Julio?" Pancho counters playfully, watching as Julien's tail twitches and bristles in his excitement and adrenaline. It had done much the same the night before after their successful heist, and he'd been just as endearing then as he is now. 

Pancho has never thrived off the happiness of others as much as he does when he sees Julien smile. And boy is he smiling.

The King whirls on the spot to face him, eyes bright with elation. They reflect the light in pinpoints of stars, and the look he throws Pancho's way makes the convict's world lurch on its axis, weighty in its intensity.

And then Julien's paws are on either side of his face, tugging him forward and up to claim his lips in a swift, fervent kiss.

Pancho's legs turn to jelly, instantly giving out underneath him as a strangled sound of shock rises in his throat. Julien almost seems to pick him up with the sheer fervour of the kiss, forcing the crowned lemur to stand on the tips of his toes. But the moment is over as quickly as it starts when the King pulls away from him with an ecstatic chortle, electrified and buzzing.

"You can say that again, it tastes sweet! Haha, that's what I'm talking about!" Julien enthuses, and Pancho gapes at him as he clumsily finds his footing again, lost for words. He brings a paw up to touch his lips, still tingling with the phantom press of Julien's mouth against his own, and his eyes dart swiftly over his friend's familiar features. Everything from those smiling lips to the golden flecks in his amber eyes. He covets every single one, more priceless than anything he could hope to steal.

He's everything he's ever wanted, and with the tease of Julien's mouth against his own he burns up with desire so strong it threatens to consume him.

Julien's laughter peeters off beneath the intensity of Pancho's gaze, gold meeting orange, and he tilts his head somewhat, a curious gesture, "You okay there buddy?" 

And then he blinks hard, as if only then realizing just what it was he'd done, and Pancho swears he can see him blushing beneath the white fur of his cheeks.

"I-... heh… oh, I did… that. Pancho, buddy, I-"

But it's Pancho's turn to surge forward, closing the gap between them in a blur of burgundy and creamy fur. Their bodies collide, and the felon steers the ringtail to press his back up against their plundered trophy, their faces close enough for Julien's gasp to steal his breath away from him.

And then before he can think better of it, Pancho throws his arms around the taller lemur's neck, practically pulling himself upwards to capture Julien’s lips again. Julien’s head dips beneath his weight, and Pancho’s fingers lace through the black fur at the nape of his neck, holding him firmly to him.

For all but a moment Julien is stiff as a board against him, until just like that his King melts into his embrace, a needy whine escaping him to tickle Pancho’s lips. Julien's arms wrap around him to press him more flush against him, and the smaller male feels his feet threaten to lift off the ground as he straightens, clumsily and eagerly attempting to hoist Pancho up.

He’s all too keen to comply, and when one of Julien’s paws settles on the generous curve of his hip he hops upwards, hiking up the King's body till he’s the one leaning over him, coaxing Julien to crane his head back for him. Stumbling and falling back against the trophy Julien is forced to spread his legs to find some balance, and a shaky huff of air against Pancho's nose betrays the exertion it takes for him to hold his weight. But the King is quick to adapt, adjusting his grip on him till the former convict is perfectly safe and snug against him. One paw rubs up and down the length of his back, while the other grips and holds his ample rear firmly, and it's hard to ignore the heat that pools in his gut at the contact.

Their kisses only seem to increase in urgency, and when Pancho angles his snout against Julien’s just so to part his lips the other male gasps into the kiss, granting him access into the warmth of his mouth. Tongues wrestle and dance as they chase each other's soft sweetness, and Julien's mouth presses up against his in greedy, urgent waves, like a drowning man gasping at the surface for air.

And they certainly feel for all the world like they're drowning, lost in the heat of one another. Pancho's heart thunders in his chest, and when he pries his lips away from Julien's to fight for a breath of air the ringtail follows him needily, peppering kisses and demanding little nips along his neck and up the length of his muzzle.

"Hoo-ah," he breathes in awe, a heated shudder coursing through him as Julien laps at the corner of his mouth with a quiet growl. Pancho's paws drag along his silvery fur from the back of his neck to his cheeks, holding the King's face in his palms, and he feels the answering stroke of Julien's fingers ghosting up his spine, sending tingling sparks arcing through his veins.

"Who said you could stop?" Julien grunts, one paw fanning out against the back of Pancho's crown while the other squeezes insistently at his doughy rear. Julien's eyes smolder in their intensity, his dilated pupils deep and dark like wishing wells, and the former convict revels in the feeling of being so strongly desired. He needs him just as badly, so it doesn't take much more encouragement for him to press their lips together again, eagerly seeking out his tongue.

The world seems to stand still as they stay entangled together, kissing till they're drunk and dizzy off one another. Julien drags his lips along the length of Pancho's snout to bury his face in the dense fur that frames his cheek, murmuring against his ear, "Tell me how long you've wanted to do that…"

"Oh, too long, sweetheart," Pancho purrs smoothly back at him, and his heart skips a beat in his chest as Julien grins giddily into his fur, snickering.

"Mmmm, yes. Sweetheart. I like the sound of that."

"Oh you do, huh?" Pancho smirks, and he shifts and nuzzles into him till he can press their foreheads together, almost knocking his crown askew, "And what will you call me, huh?"

"Mine," Julien growls playfully with a tangible hint of possessiveness, and butterflies burst into life in his stomach, his cheeks heating brilliantly, "I'm calling you mine."

"That's what I like to hear," the former convict grins back at him, those butterflies swelling and rising up in his chest. He can't help but snicker, his voice husky with desire, "I'm gonna do so many wicked things to you."

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" Julien counters cheekily, and he presses Pancho's hips more firmly against him.

"Oh, you should know me by now peach… I don't make idle threats!" His loud outburst makes Julien lean back a little, but his smile only seems to widen in amusement, gold eyes softening fondly, "But no, that's a promise."

"Oi, Pancho!? King Julien?!"

Both men stiffen in alarm, twin yelps of surprise escaping them. The familiar bark of Clover's voice comes from somewhere above them, and the pair exchange a worried and decidedly disappointed look, reluctant to pull away from one another.

"Act natural." Julien insists with a pointed whisper, "Really not feelin’ having to explain all this to our peeps."

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Pancho purrs in agreement, his eyes bright as he steals one last brush of his snout against Julien's, reveling in the way his King returns the gesture with a little happy ringtail chitter, "It'll be our little secret."

"Haha! I love secrets. My place, tonight. You'll be there, won't you?" Julien presses hopefully as he puts the fun-sized felon back on his feet, but doesn't quite let him go just yet, his paws coming up to rest on his shoulders. Pancho covers them with his own, his thumbs brushing over them affectionately as he smirks gleefully up at him.

"You've got yourself a date, your majesty."

When Clover and Maurice do reach them, they find the pair struggling to squeeze the trophy out from between the roots again, Pancho pulling on one trophy arm from the outside. That is, until Clover lands a sharp and violent kick to his side, sending the crowned lemur flying with a cry of pain and alarm. He lands face first in the pebbly creek bed, and Clover snarls at him, a savage gleam in her eyes.

“What was that about threats?!”

Pancho can only groan in answer, his body protesting unhappily as he attempts to push himself up. Julien pops his head out from within their hideaway, aghast and indignant as he looks from Clover’s defensive stance to Pancho and back.

"AH, Clover! What- what did we say about the excessive force thing?! Didn’t you have like, an entire season to work on that?!” Julien waves his paws in Pancho’s direction, throwing Clover an exasperated look, “It was an expression.”

“That’s not an expression!” Maurice interjects with a frustrated stomp of his foot, his fists clenched at his sides as he looks between the pair, bristling unhappily, “Are you out of your minds?! You stole the trophy, from a kid! This is a new low, even for you!”

“Preeeeetty sure I’ve been lower than this, Maurice. Don’t be so dramatic.” Julien drawls sassily, resting his paws on his hips, and Pancho can’t help but chuckle at them from his spot in the gravel, not quite ready to get up and approach them just yet. And when his laughter carries far enough for Maurice to hear he’s even less keen to get up, smiling sheepishly in the aye-ayes direction as a glare is thrown his way.

“This isn’t funny, people! This doesn’t just go away!”

“This could mean war. Again. And we aaaall know how well that went last time.” Clover smacks her fist into her palm, already pacing back and forth as Julien arches a brow at her paranoid display, his expression falling, “We need to get the war council together! If we act preemptively, we can catch them unawares, get the upper hand before-”

“Guys, guys. Relax, we’ll send the Ambassador a gift basket and call it a day. You know, with the little fancy soaps and potpourri or whatevers. Haha, he loves that nonsense! We’ll get Ted on it!”

“Potpourri?!” Maurice bursts, his teeth set in a frustrated grimace, but Julien simply waves him off, going back to attempting to pull the trophy through the roots on his own.

“That’s what I said, Maurice. And besides, the Croc Ambassador totally owes me for the whole betraying my peoples to Koto thing, remember? I call that even.”

“Right,” Clover drawls, sounding anything but convinced as she looks from Maurice to Julien and back, “So we just, ya know hope he writes this off as collateral, then?”

“Exactly, whatever that means.” Julien agrees, “Nobody's going to get hurt. Now if you’d be so kind, can I get a little help with this? Please?!"

Clover exchanges a long suffering look with Maurice before stepping forward to take the trophy arm in her grasp. It's with comparatively laughable ease that the small female is able to pry the trophy out from the roots that the two men had struggled with moments before. With a grunt she hefts the entire thing onto her back, grasping the neck of it firmly.

Julien lets out an ecstatic chortle at her show of strength, evidently pleased at having his treasure secured, "Nice one, Cloclo! Now let's get this baby home! Your King has a date with a fine piece of trophy."

Pancho struggles to resist the urge to grin, his lips twitching at the corners. Clover rolls her eyes skyward before starting to head up the creek in the direction of home, passing Pancho on the way. She shoots him a sidelong glance, barking down at him, "Alright that's enough of that, on your feet Pancho!"

The former convict grumbles something under his breath that he sincerely hopes she can't hear, pushing himself up onto his paws and knees with a grimace. He has a few scrapes and bruises from his abrasive landing, and they protest his every movement. But he's long since used to Clover's violent confrontations, and he knows well enough not to take it personally by now.

And yet, as Maurice and Julien start to follow her, he can't help but throw his King an imploring glance, unsettled when the ringtail barely looks his way. Paranoia tightens his chest, and for an anxious moment he wonders if he'd dreamt up their intimacy entirely, or perhaps with the moment over his Julio had enough time for second thoughts about his new secret lover.

So when Julien walks past him the crowned lemur can't help but let out a quiet grunt of a whistle, an intimate sound reserved for the ringtail alone. It's insistent, like a question he sincerely hopes he gets an answer to.

Mine? Julio? Mine?

And he does. Julien looks back at him over his shoulder, and behind closed lips the ringtail sends a quiet chatter back at him. It's a lilting, reassuring sound, and Pancho's spirits quickly lift, affirmed by his new mate.

Mine.

He's not the only one who hears it however. Maurice arches a brow up at the taller lemur as Pancho gets up to trot after them, "What was that your Majesty?"

"Hmm?" Julien hums, seemingly only half paying attention to him, "What was what?"

"I could have sworn-"

"That, my vertically challenged friend," Pancho interjects, throwing his arm around Maurice's shoulders and making him stiffen against him, "Is the sound of a job well done! Hoo-ah!"

"Get the heck off me, man!"

"Maurice! Language! You're hurtin' my friggin feelings here!"

"That won't be the only thing hurtin' if you don't let go of me!"

Julien levels a sidelong smirk down at them, and Pancho clings to Maurice all the tighter, grinning back at him.

Job well done indeed.

----------------------------------------

End note? The whistle sounds Pancho makes are the chirp-like sounds crowned lemurs make to check in on their mates, and it's super adorable. Here's a really good example, my description doesn't do it justice for how adorable it is. The 'whistles' are at the beginning and end.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CFhY1pwB7Jw/?igshid=1amvv17rv3s5l

[i-loves-my-lemurs]

Fanfic writer's director's commentary! Thanks to @candycoloredwolf for the ask! I chose to talk about my first panchulien oneshot 'Wanna Dance?'. I wrote it in a single night on impulse so there's a few grammar mistakes and other stuff I noticed upon revisiting it.

I probably went way overboard on my commentary (oops) but it was so much fun going through it all. I hope this is entertaining.

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

*the crocodile ambassador gave him an unusually soft smile.*

After everything that's happened in the show, I feel like the croc ambassador would have warmed up to Julien quite a bit and come to respect him as a leader. Also he's trying to butter Julien up before complaining about one of his subjects.

*provided they were on their best behaviour. It had said on the invitation that it was a 'sophisticated' event, so Maurice had managed to wrangle all of the lemurs into formal wear, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, dancing in pairs to the soft music*

Man, I just love it when characters dress up in fancy outfits and go dancing together (like in the prom episode). One of my favourite tropes in fact, so I just had to throw it in there!

*but still all this fancy partnered dancing wasn't entirely to the ringtail's taste.*

As much as I like the formal dancing stuff, it wouldn't be something Julien would enjoy, so he's already looking for an excuse to bounce and throw his own afterparty. He's only stayed so far to try and be polite and improve relations between their kingdoms or something else that Maurice told him to do.

*Clover, Sage and the rest of the mountain lemur kingdom was there, and the king and queen were happily sharing a waltz. Maurice was dancing with his sister while Prince Brodney was teaching their children the steps*

This takes place after the show's finale, but without the inclusion of the zoosters, so sort of like a parallel universe? Where Julien and Clover are monarchs together, which I think is neat. Also People tend to forget that Maurice has a sister, myself included really, and I kinda wish they'd had more cute bonding moments, so I gave then a brother/sister dance.

*even Pancho was leaning against a tree*

Aside from the main squad (excluding Mort of course) Pancho is the only minor lemur that Julien really mentions here. Almost like he was looking for him specifically. Hmmm....

*He caught Julien's eye and winked. Julien chuckled fondly.*

Casual flirt.

*"I do have a minor issue with the behaviour of one of your, ahem, subjects*

That little cough just feels like something the croc ambassador would do when he's embarrassed, or to sound authoritative, so he did.

*Julien tore his eyes away from Pancho*

"Tore his eyes away" almost like he didnt want to look away. Hmmm...

*The anxious lemur was currently giggling as he twirled his new boyfriend around*

Ah, I just want Willie to be happy and have a good time with his bf. He deserves to laugh more. New boyfriend infers that they're in the early stages of their relationship, so they're just messing around being silly and cute and having fun together.

*but Horst and Mary Ann weren't doing much better.*

Horst and Mary Ann deserve a nice romantic dance. It would be pretty awkward because she's twice his size and can only really walk on all fours, but they don't even care. They just cut their own path through the dance floor and ignore everyone else, no matter how annoyed the other dancers are because they keep getting in the way.

*"Well, they're both males!" He said. "It's completely unnatural, wouldn't you agree?"*

Oof, the croc ambassador wants that snooty monarch solidarity with Julien since he's the most popular king in Madagascar, but that ain't happening any time soon. Not with that attitude!

*Julien was lost for words. He had known ever since he was young that he liked boys. Every male in the kingdom liked boys! In fact, it was considered a little unusual if you WEREN'T interested in the same gender.*

I like the idea that homosexuality is just the norm in the party kingdom, kinda like She-Ra. People are just gay and nobody thinks anything of it and coming out is celebrated. Julien doesn't care if you're gay or straight though, he just cares for his peeps and wants them to love who they love.

*whatever their genders were*

A subtle difference between Julien and the croc ambassador, Julien says 'genders' while croc ambassador says 'sexes' because Julien is more open to the idea of gender not being confined to biology.

*Julien took a few deep breaths and tried desperately to not get angry.

"What's the problem man, they're just dancing." He remarked in what he hoped was a neutral tone.*

Julien tries to keep his cool here, a bit of his character development showing. He now knows that everything doesnt have to be a scene, so keeps his temper. It's also kind of to protect Willie and his partner though. He knows they're having a good time and he doesn't want to bring to their attention that their host doesn't like what they're doing, because he knows they'll be upset.

 *"rather not have it ruined by such atrocities being committed!"*

And this was the point where I started to hate the croc ambassador too while writing.

*"Oh, hey Julio." Pancho smiled at him. "I was just gonna-"*

Pancho was just gonna say that he was bored with the party and wanted to leave. He would have asked if Julien wanted to come with (he could tell Julio was getting bored and he couldn't have THAT), which would have been a different fanfiction entirely.

*"Wanna dance?" Julien said.*

I honestly can't remember if I thought of the title or this line first.

*He considered sticking his tongue out at the reptile's back, but ultimately decided that such a juvenile display wasn't the best way to get his point across.*

Again, character development. Julien has matured (a little) and realised that there are better, more fulfilling ways of getting revenge.

*"OK." Pancho said with a shrug, and slid his paw over to Julien's waist,*

Once Pancho can mentally catch up with what's going on, he rolls with it. In fact, he sorta likes the idea of dancing with Julien, and had been trying to gather the courage to ask him for most of the night. I wonder why...

*As they danced though, he began to feel his attention drawn to a different place: how smooth Pancho was on the dance floor,*

We all know Julien's attention span is not great, so there's no way he's going to be able to stay angry when he's too busy being distracted by Pancho's smoothness.

*He raised an eyebrow. "You just couldn't resist?"*

Not entirely subtle flirt.

*"But you know, you're not a bad pick." He patted Pancho on the arm.*

Not entirely subtle either flirt.

*"Abner over there's been missing steps and stumbling all night!" He glanced over at Abner and his wife with a small frown.*

Poor Abner, he's the one getting picked on tonight. Bit of a running gag here.

*Pancho's eyes widened and he instinctively pulled Julien closer, whether it was to shield him or to further prove the point, Julien couldn't tell, but the ringtail wasn't complaining.*

Pancho does pull Julien closer on instinct to protect him, he knows how badly homophobia would hurt Julien's feelings. Julien is just loving it though. He was more angry for Willie's sake than hurt anyways.

*"But us lemurs dance with guys all the time!" Pancho exclaimed. "I've seen you kiss four different guys at a party once! What's his problem?"

"That's what I'm saying, wait I did what?"*

Even if they weren't a couple, dancing together is just something the males would do. They're that casual. And of course Julien would go around kissing everybody at his parties when he gets drunk enough. Poor Julien doesnt remember half of what he does at parties though.

*"Oh no, I don't mind." Pancho remarked, then cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away.*

Awkward silence much? Internally Pancho is just screaming *why did you say that?!" because he doesn't know how to handle his feelings right now, especially not with Julien so close.

(For any other ballroom dance enthusiasts, what they're dancing would be a mix between a waltz and a slow dance. Like a casual, less fancy waltz that's quite easy for them to get the hang of, but still quite romantic and personal).

*"You know Julio, I don't think he's gonna notice." Pancho remarked.*

But eventually Pancho plucks up the courage. They're already dancing, he tells himself. And Julien just wants to make the crocodile ambassador mad. Julien kisses people platonically all the time so he won't question it. If he doesnt like it, say you were doing it to piss off the crocodiles. And if he does like it... well...

*"Well, I had an idea." Pancho was avoiding his gaze again."*

He's still nervous of course, but he's made up his mind. It's all or nothing, baby!

*"Lay it on me." Julien said.*

And he does! Literally!

*And holy Sky Gods.*

I was tempted to have this line be 'holy crap' or 'holy sh*t' because that's what I would say idk but holy sky gods just works better for the show's lore, and allows the story to keep a G rating.

*All thoughts of spiting the crocodile ambassador had been fully driven from his mind*

Julien just gets so caught up in the moment, he's all "what crocodile ambassador?" he just wants to keep kissing.

*Julien stroked his paw through Pancho's soft fur and deepened their kiss.*

I imagine Pancho's fur would be very soft, he's always playing around with explosives so he's bound to get his fur burnt off every now and then, and it grows back softer.

This was the first time I wrote the lemurs kissing, so it's not the most explicit thing in the world. I probably couldn't write an explicit kiss scene to save my life though.

*"Hoo-ah." Pancho sighed softly.*

Hoo-ah" is exactly what Pancho would say after having his mind blown by a kiss like that. Just no thoughts, head Julien.

*"Yeah, crocodile ambassador certainly thinks so." Pancho said, a wild grin overcoming his face*

Heh heh, Pancho's happy because he just got to kiss his crush (and he liked it!) But also because he can see the croc ambassador is pissed and he loves the opportunity to mess.

*some looking angry, some looking intrigued*

Some of the crocs are intrigued because they've never been able to be open about who they are or experiment because of compulsory heterosexuality in their kingdom. Seeing two guys just being so open about their attraction to each other would definitely help them rethink things. They've never seen gay love expressed like this and it's new and exciting.

*Julien's face broke out into an ecstatic grin.

"Yeah that's right!" He called wildly. "I kissed a guy! At your party! Boom, I like kissing guys! Ha, suck on that loser! Woohoo!"*

Oh the sweet triumph of proving a point. This rant was a joy to write, it just feels very Julien.

*He grabbed Pancho's hand and held it up.*

Grab your boyfriend's hand, hold it aloft like a prize.

*"I'm like ninety percent sure Ted likes kissing guys!"*

Haha, poor Teddy needs to be extracted from the closet, pronto. Julien just has an excellent gaydar.

* and tucked a protective arm around his daughter's shoulders, turning her away from Julien.*

I imagine princess Amy would have some questions after this, questions which her father would definitley struggle to answer. If she really wants to find out what Pancho and Julien were doing, I imagine she'd visit the party kingdom alone, and the lemurs would be happy to answer her questions. Pancho and Julien may have ushered in a new era for the crocodile kingdom and their relationship with LGBT+.

*There came a cheer from the crowd of lemurs and they all began to head off the dance floor*

Of course the other lemurs go with Julien immediately, he's their king after all and the moment he suggests that someone might not be cool with their sexualities, they're ready to bounce.

*Clover and Sage at the front hand in hand,*

Clover and Sage would definitley be behind Julien 100%. The moment he declares that they're out of there, they just drop everything to leave with him.

*some mountain lemur ladies holding hands too.*

Mountain lemur lesbians? Anyone? I just think it's neat.

*"You read my mind, Julio."

Julien pulled Pancho towards him and tried to ignore how it felt like there was a little party going on in his stomach when Pancho called him that.*

Julien really likes that name! I see it as an affectionate nickname Pancho gave him that eventually just evolves into a pet name that makes Julien a little warm and fuzzy inside every time he hears it.

*Julien's heart leapt with joy to see Willie clutching his boyfriend's hands as they danced.*

Daaaww, Julien might pick on Willie but at the end of the day he likes to see him happy. He's glad they don't have to stay at a party where their dancing is scrutinised.

*Pancho rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as they stood face to face. "I'm sorry about kissing you, I just-"*

Now that there's some distance between them, Pancho has had time to think and wonder "oh sheesh, what if I messed it up, what if he only felt like it was platonic" and he's now all embarrassed, poor leem. He's just a guy in love.

*He nodded, then cleared his throat in an attempt to get a grip on his emotions. "You know, um, while we were dancing*

And now we see Julien trying to hold it together, these two are just so precious and I can totally see them stumbling over their feelings like that.

*kissed Pancho on the forehead, giggling slightly at the other lemur's squeak of surprise.*

Pancho is the perfect height for affectionate forehead kisses, let's not forget it!

*Pancho and Julien headed onto the dancefloor together and moved their bodies to the beat.*

They would have spent the night together just dancing and vibing (and making out probably).

*Nobody there who gave them the stink-eye or who told them that they were wrong. They danced and had fun and kissed without a care in the world. Julien felt so happy that his kingdom was a place where he could kiss Pancho all he liked.*

Ah I really went to town on the "love is love" concept here, didn't I? Well, a theme is a theme.

Julien's just really happy at the place he's created. He's glad they can dance and kiss and all that jazz, and he did that, he created a kingdom free of prejudice. It's exactly how I can see the kingdom's relationship with LGBT+ going down, a place where they're all just happy to vibe and be themselves.

.........

And that's the end. I hope you enjoyed this premium insight into my writings, and if you want commentary on another of my stories, or just have random questions, then my inbox is always open :)

[extraneousdominomask]

Night.

Living with Sly Cooper soon reveals another side to him.

Sharing a living space with a person very quickly strips back any remaining mystique. It was an odd transition for Carmelita. That shadowy, smirking figure who had so smoothly eluded her all those moonlit nights became, quite abruptly, her roommate who couldn't use a dishwasher.

That part of the process was awkward. Carmelita generally maintains her apartment with the same tireless efficiency she puts into her work. Sly, by sharp contrast, spent his entire 'adult' life until now on a never-ending road trip with his two adoptive brothers. It showed.

But as with everything else, Sly proved a quick study. For so long, the mere idea of moving in with Carmelita sounded impossible. He treats this opportunity seriously, almost reverentially, and is always quick to drop the jokes when her frustration becomes genuine. As much as Sly's inelegant habits came as a surprise, the problems clear up fairly quickly.

It takes about three weeks before the real issue manifests.

After yet another day of nonstop work, Carmelita is sound asleep, almost unconscious. But even in her own bed, she's attuned to danger.

She wakes suddenly. Unfamiliar movement. Erratic and sharp. Carmelita catapults out of bed, ready to spring into action armed with nothing but her fluffy pyjamas.

But when her eyes adjust, there's no intruder. Just her and Sly. Thrashing under the covers.

She switches from Close Combat to First Aid, a change barely slowed by the fact her most recent setting was Being Asleep. Whatever's happening to Sly looks terrible. Every second counts.

Carmelita drops down by his side of the bed, looking him over. Her hand finds his shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Sly? Sly, can you hear me?"

At first, he doesn't respond, still shivering sickly. Carmelita has just enough time to worry it's truly serious before his eyes shoot open. They're wild. There's more fear in them than she's ever seen before.

Sly makes a choked little yelp. Then he goes silent.

The silence drags. Carmelita kneels there, expectantly waiting for him to crack a joke. No joke comes. There's no explanation, either. No comment of any kind.

Nothing.

Sly glances around the room. She sees the tight motions of his chest even out as he catches his breath. He grounds himself, returning to their shared bedroom from… wherever he just was.

His eyes meet hers, and go wide with shame.

"Sly, what–?"

She's gotten complacent. Apparently, it only took a few weeks for her to get used to him as her goofy boyfriend and roommate, instead of the unnaturally agile thief who had escaped her so many times.

It catches her off guard when – without a word – Sly bolts.

He throws himself away from her, landing on the opposite side of the bed directly into a crouch, then a sprint. Towards the door.

Old instincts have her moving before her mind fully catches up. "Sly! Slow down!"

Another chase, small and absurd, plays out within Carmelita's modest apartment. Sly's clearly not at his best, but like Carmelita, muscle memory is all he needs. He would easily pull ahead except, in the dark, he stumbles straight into the sofa. He had complained about its placement just yesterday. Carmelita doesn't have the luxury of finding that funny.

He makes a run for the balcony. Of course he does. Even with no cane and no equipment, he could just fling himself into the Paris skyline and disappear. It's a thought that hangs over Carmelita every day.

Her hand catches his before he can jump. Not today.

"Sly, please." Carmelita's voice is quiet, mildly desperate. It's cold out on the balcony. "Can you just tell me what's wrong?"

He turns, slowly, and meets her gaze. There's still that shame, that fear. He opens his mouth.

Nothing happens.

Then he bites his lip, eyes on the floor. His hand tenses around hers.

Carmelita blinks. "Oh. You… really can't tell me, can you?"

Sly, ears low, shakes his head. He looks humiliated.

"Oh, Sly…"

This is a man Carmelita has seen breezily laugh off imminent death time and time again. She hesitates to imagine what he must have seen. Based on his file, she has an educated guess.

She moves in close. "Was it a nightmare?"

He nods.

"That's right…" She lays a hand on his cheek. "Just a nightmare. It's okay, Ringtail..."

Sly doesn't look at her. He grits his teeth for a second, then tries to speak again. Silence at first, and then, angrily exerting himself, he manages a mangled gasp. His face screws up in frustration.

"Sly, honey…" Her hand drifts up, stroking his hair. "Just relax. You don't have to say anything." Then, after a moment contemplating the anguish on his face, she adds, "I'm not ashamed of you, you know."

The effect is immediate. He finally meets her gaze, surprise in his eyes.

"Of course I'm not. How could I be?"

She gathers him up and brings him gently into an embrace.

"I am so, so proud of you," she murmurs in his ear. "Of everything you've done. If you want my help dealing with this, you know you have it. But it doesn't make me think less of you. Not at all."

Sly just stands there for a second. Then his arms wrap around her and he returns the embrace, very, very tightly. Carmelita closes her eyes and strokes his fur.

"You know you're safe with me, don't you? That I'll protect you?"

She feels Sly nodding. He sniffs, and she holds him a little tighter.

After a while – Carmelita honestly loses track of time, just holding him – Sly pulls back. He gives her a timid smile. Grateful.

"I love you, too." She punctuates the thought with a kiss, which he returns. Then she steps back, toward the balcony door. "Come on. It's cold out here. Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

Sly nuzzles up against her, peppering her cheek with small kisses. She laughs.

"Yeah, I thought so…"

They do just that. Before she drifts back asleep, Carmelita savours the feeling of Sly cuddled tightly against her. The absolute trust he has in her unspoken, but very clear.

No more nightmares.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score Ch 12 Old Wounds

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

It's not your eyes, it's not what you say

It's not your laughter that gives you away

You're just lonely, you've been lonely, too long

All your actin', your thin disguise

All your perfectly delivered lies, they don't fool me

You've been lonely too long, let me in the wall, you've built around

And we can light a match and burn it down, let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flame In front of us, Dust to dust.

Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars  

Zen Whoberi - 10 Terran years earlier

“Come on baby,”

Gamora tossed her head, trying to get the hair to loosen from her sticky cheeks, sweat perspiration out of every pore.

“Mama I’m hot!”

Her feet tumbled over the dust, body aching.

“I know baby, come on this way, quickly!”

“Why’s that man sleeping in the dirt?”

Another scream sounded, Gamora turned to look. A woman arched backward, spinning and crumpled to the ground. The armored alien reloaded his weapon and ran towards a burning hut.

“We have to run now Gamora, come on!”

Her feet were hoisted off the parched ground and her mother ran. Gamora clutched on tight, over the shoulder of her mother’s robes. Burning, everything was burning. A chorus of wails sounded, followed by the sounds of gunfire, shouting, smoke. Colors blurred.

“Consider yourselves lucky,” a voice boomed through the flames of burning homes. Gamora tried to turn her head, in every direction people ran, people fell, people cried. “You have been chosen for a higher purpose. To bring balance to the galaxy. Thanos thanks you. Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

“Mama!”

“Shhhh Gamora,”

“Mama I’M HOOTTT!”

Fffffoooooosh!

Gamora turned, and let out a high-pitched scream. A wall of fire, swelled and roared, dancing red and orange burning, burning burning. She was falling into the yellow scorched earth. Her mother falling, more shouts, more pleas. The flames. The flames. It was so hot, she was falling. No. She was burning.

--

She was burning.

“Groot! Grooot!”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Gamora squinted through the smoke, heart hammering in her chest. The Benatar tipped and surged with the efforts of Peter and Rocket trying to pilot the ship. Another blast of heat assaulted her, she swerved to the side, cursing against the weight of the smoke. Down through the halls into the rear storage unit.

“Groot!”

“Ack, ack...I...I..a..am...ack...G..groot!”

“Groot! It’s Gamora! I’m here, it’s okay!”

Black smog closed around her, obstructing the hall. Breathe, walk slow, feel your way. You know this ship backward and fowards...just...fuck. Her leg folded, sending her shuffling forward in a deluge of burning heat. The metal in her body rose in temperature, oddly comforting at first, warm.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Groot!” she reached her fingers out, straining for any purchase in the disorienting smoke.

“Groot! Can you hear me?!”

“I...I am Groot!”

Momentary relief cooled her fear, though the itching of her cybernetics mounted, turning at last to white hot agony.  Breathe, you’ve had worse.   Focus. What is the objective?  She shoved a large container aside with a grunt. No sign of Groot. The ship bounced,

“Fuck!”

The metal in her hips and each of her sides ached and burned.

“I am Groot!”

“It’s okay...hey, don’t say that! I’ll be right there, come on, where are you?”

She waved the thick plume away from her face, Groot’s small face looked up at her through the containers, he himself squished between two large boxes of Estervine foodstuffs.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Stinging hot metal pricked at her face, up throughout her entire body, through her legs and torso. She gritted her teeth, reaching out and snatching the crying flora.

“You can’t just run away like that you could be hurt!”

Groot only cried, small fingers twisting through her hair.

---

“I got him,” Gamora leaned against Peter’s seat, legs trembling. “There was an explosion.” I...I think...I couldn’t see….

“Yeah we got that,” Rocket’s growl elicited no response. Not even his sharp claws grazed her as he snatched the saping away.

Quill looked at her, with no small amount of concern. How nice it would be to just fall into that chair, that embrace. She could rest ….he would not judge that would he?

“You good Gamora?”

She itched her skin, its heat unbearable but managed a nod.

---

Solitude, finally. Gamora shifted her weight upon the log on which she sat. The cooling pen she held shook uncontrollably.  She gnashed her teeth in frustration.  You can do this. You’ve done it before.  The dark dank cells of Thanos keep. She sniffed,  wincing at the searing burning in her arms. From far off the sound of Peter’s music echoed through the trees. I should be helping. But no, she attempted again to pinpoint the tool towards her wounds; the post-combat ritual from her days as a living weapon was hard to overcome. Fight, if wounded, get away, hide. Hide so he cannot find you. Cannot torture you. But he always found her in the end. So she learned to wound others worse instead. Nebula.

She blinked the tears from her eyes, each sting of the cooling device making her heart race. The agony of the cybernetics throbbed through her in waves of heat.

Shit….

“You’re never gonna cool the entire thing at that angle.”

Rocket.

Gamora wiped a hand across her face, summoning a breath. Straightening her back. Pretending to be well. Another old ritual.

“Are you offering assistance?”

“Since you’re askin’. Gimme that.”

She sighed, too tired to argue.

She winced at the small claws on her skin, instinctively gripping on to her arm with surprising strength. She stiffened, watching him concentrate as he held the object, carefully dragging it over her cybernetics. His motions were slow, deliberate.  Careful ...gentle.  The cold blast hit against her skin, she flailed.

“Stop moving,”

The raccoonoid’s paw curled around the ball of her shoulder, too small to fit around the whole thing but steady all the same.  She sighed, the slow relief of dissipating heat most welcome. Gamora swallowed as Rocket worked the tool farther up her arm. Watching his whiskers twitch, his eyes narrow. He switched the angel on the grip, hovered the pointed end over her wound for a moment, then slowly continued. Remarkably careful, she noticed, in contrast to all the other times Rocket handled any type of machinery.

The breeze stirred, sending the trees rustling, a tuft of her hair billowed. Without thinking she pulled her locks back, holding the tangle bundle behind her head, careful not to get in the raccoonoid’s way.

“Hang on, this might hurt. Move your head.”

I’m surprised, he warned me…

A zap of stinging cold shot through the delicate cybernetics, close enough to the nerves making a wave of shocking chills wrack through her along the metal highways under her skin.

“Ahh!”

The cry escaped her without pretense. Heat immediately heated her cheeks in an angry flush. Never show pain...showing pain means more painful procedures...breathe. Breathe...don’t…

“S’alright, it hurts,” Rocket whispered uncommonly soft; an apology. Gamora unclenched her jaw. She never allowed herself to feel agony. Yet here was Rocket, of all beings in the galaxy, giving her permission to do just that.

The ringtail continued his sutures slowly examining his handiwork after every other stitch. Gamora opened her mouth to say something-exactly what she wasn’t sure-but he spoke first.

“When Thanos made yah….did he keep all your insides intact?”

The assassin frowned, my insides? Of course he did, I needed to be enhanced and trained not torn apart. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the strangely quiet raccoonoid.

Rocket is bipedal, his intelligence, voice, dictation and syntax humanoid. Those eyes though, large and red and lacking any iris or pupil, large red, unfocused orbs glowed ominously in the dark. They were inexplicable, alien. Left over from a time and a place Gamora had no desire to dwell on. Those foreign orbs of fiery anger made his face even more difficult to distinguish even for someone as skilled in interpreting behavior as Gamora.

“My cybernetics are muscular and skeletal,” she finally answered, the words heavy on her tongue. He asked no further questions, for that she would be eternally grateful.

The pain in her cybernetics no longer stabbed, but ached with a dull throbbing that she managed to ignore with practiced callousness.

“That’s good at least,” he managed after awhile. “I don’t know how much of me is actually me. Sometimes I wonder if I even got a heart that’s my own or if that’s just a piece of metal too.”

Her own heart synched in her chest at the confession. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and he tied off the last suture on her arm.

“All set,” he finally declared, examining the outcome of his efforts.

Gamora sat stiff. Glancing at him in the darkness. The breeze stirred. The branches of the trees cast shadows like dancers on the leaf strewn forest floor. She looked at her teammate with sympathy.

Though Rocket’s red eyes were unnervingly unreadable, the rest of his body language was screaming. Mechanized shoulders slumped, tail low and between the legs, ears flat and dropping. Part of her wanted to know what had been done to him. What process he had to go through to become the thing he was today. Did they train him with weapons of steel and iron? Did they punish him if he failed in combat? Gamora wondered if he was like her. The only battle she ever lost was the one waged on her own body. And after that she vowed never to lose again. No matter the cost. Did Rocket ever make a similar declaration to keep himself alive in the endless nights locked in a cage . Ha ...there wasn’t a cage in the world that could contain Rocket.   Gamra wondered if he too was made to watch what they did to him as they did it? If he looked at his scars the way she looked at her own.

She turned, daring to lower her eyes to where the metal bolts fused into his clavicle. The metal had rusted over the years, like her own implants the skin around the foreign substance had swollen and puffed with red irritation not even a thick layer of fur could conceal. Gamora’s breath quickened, reaching out to brush the cold bolts. The right one….it’s crooked, not flush against the bone. She squinted, hand held awkwardly hovering above the metal. It was stuck in without much thought, quickly. Several patches of black, crusted gunk were...holes where they didn’t re-graft the skin to the metal. It would risk infection, she remembered Ebony Maw’s voice, all new cybernetic modifications must be properly inserted, the flesh and bone and muscle reattached with exceptional patience and diligence. So why would Rocket’s creators….unless Then it dawned on her….how did I not realize it sooner?

“You were awake when they did this to you.”

He was moving when they inserted that right bolt.... Properly graphing the skin would take too much time...impossible if the person was struggling.

Gamora looked at him, eyes narrowing, trying to discern his face.

What did they think when they stood over him, strapped helpless to a metal table? Gamora wondered not for the first time. Did his creator...creators...truly revel in the distorted beauty of what they were making or were they more like Thanos? Were they trying to destroy a part of themselves instead? Had he been painfully aware of his creation like she had been at times? Forced to look at herself in a dirty mirror or had he been granted the small inadequate mercy of ignorance at what was being done and undone to him...Not fully realizing the extent of his torture until it was already done. If he had been aware, like she was ...did he see with his creator's eyes like she had? Believing them. Did he try his best to fulfill their demands because complicity was better than punishment? Did he genuinely believe his creators as she had? Taking their praise to heart?

She could tell him, here and now, that she too had been held down by impossible machines, made to fight and kill people who never did her any wrong. Every bolt of electricity, every stain of blood on Ebony Maw’s grey fingers. The words of it, the truth of every blinding light and blackened cell threatened to bubble up through her mouth and spill out, unearthing every horror she’d ever experienced. No. Don’t do that. Don’t. Rocket had had enough pain in his short life-span. She wouldn’t make him bare witness to hers.

And yet…

Gamor seized his paw….hand? She wasn’t totally sure on the appropriate wording but she took it nonetheless, with perhaps too much earnestness then she’d otherwise care to show. In the dark of the night, she could not see how much her own hand trembled. The mind she kept so tight under lock and key ran rampant. Did his creators profess to love him? The most dangerous lie there was. Did they give him false praise with the same empty words as Thanos? Did his creators believe that they were helping him? That they were modifying him for his own good? Had he come to the realization of his abuse in a single instant or gradually as she had? Was he determined to live his own life as his own person or...as was becoming more apparent, had he only learned to hate himself for what was done to him? Gamora did not know the answer to that question herself. It changed everyday.

The small, firm squeeze of Rocket’s grip brought her back to reality. She squeezed his hand back, not wanting to let go. The padding on his paws was leathery and rippled with millions of adept sensors. But warm. Little claws sharp, but not painful. They curled into the back of her hand, clinging. She allowed herself to stroke his fur, surprisingly grounding and rhythmic. Gamora lifted her eyes to his animal face once more, trying to read the ringtail, but he was an enigma.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking him for.

“Don’t mention it."

She let go of his paw, though she did not want to. But who knew how long the raccoonoid would stand it? Was he shaking? Or was it her? Either way, she didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want her hand to be the hands of his torturers. She nodded to him and curxft acknowledgement and stood up, striding back toward the Benatar.

---

In the safety of her own quarters, after slipping past Peter and the others; there was no way she could face the man right now, she was far...far too raw, Gamora wrapped her fingers around her own thumb, trying to replicate the feel of Rocket’s rough little paw. His fur was surprisingly silky and soft, contrary to everything else about the brash small beast. It was not lost on her that Groot was the sole person with whom Rocket permitted such intimacy. What had changed she could hardly guess. Maybe he had allowed her hand to remain for the same reason she had taken it in the first place. Because she was frightened. Frightened of being alone, of being incapable of compassion. Frightened that Thanos had succeeded in making her an unfeeling servant of his wrath. She’d taken his hand because he was there, because she had to to prove to herself that she could. Because her hands were one of the few parts of her not melded with metal.

She sat on her small cot, her wound aching but much more subdued and clean than before. Gamora rubbed her thumb into the palm of her hand and leaned over to unlock the safe beside her bed, rummaging around for some loose bandages. Something metal cold and unforgiving graced her fingers. She frowned, scooting closer and bit her lip realizing: the device the Halfworlders had given her.  Gamora scrutinized the thing, similar etchings of circles, rusted, she touched the matching with the same hesitancy as Rocket’s cybernetics. It was a disturbingly similar style to the raccoonoid’s enhancements. Clearly developed by the same sadists. Her fingers curled around the small device, knuckles turning pale with anger. She set it down on the bedside table.

“Aaaaargggh!”

Gamora whipped out the knife on her belt, arching the blade through the air in a single motion and stabbed, denting into the flimsy metal of the table; inches from the halfworld machine, shaking from side to side with the force of impact.

Gamora cursed, and allowed herself to flop down casually on her bed, letting her eyes close-the aches of her cybernetics a pulsing lullaby sh had learned to find soothing.

---

Knock knock,

The assassin shot upright, grabbing her dagger and stalked to her door,

“Who is it?”

“Its...it’s uhh me!” Peter fumbled. Gamora sighed with relief, allowing her heartbeat to soothe back down before opening the door.

“What is it?”

“I uhh….I think...that...umm…”

“How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours, it’s uhh….just that you might want to see this.” He ran a hand through his hair in that nervous gesture she couldn’t help but find adorable.

“See what?”

“The uhh...there’s a ship here.”

She frowned, brows drawing together. Peter blinked, pursing his lips.

“They're from the Nova Corps.”

[theheartrobber-blog]

SEMI-HIATUS NOTICE

//Hey everyone, long time no speak ;w; things have been getting pretty crazy lately and I have nearly 10 RP blogs as is too. I gave it a lot of thought, and i’ve been stressing out trying to balance all my blogs (poorly) and real life stuff like job and careers.

For right now, I’m putting the blog on semi-hiatus while I pull myself together and spread myself less thin. It’s not a full hiatus, but a hiatus nonetheless.

From the bottom of my heart though, thank you to everyone who gave this blog a shot and RPed with me on it. If you do need to get into contact with me, I’m mostly found at @mayhemforhire​ and Skype will be available to longterm mutuals. I will be a bit picky though.

But yeah, I’ll see you all around, and thanks for being so understanding <3

...

That being said, Sly was originally be one of the blogs I would be keeping up with out of the 10 in like, a small batch, but that changed and my reason will be a bit negative and put under the thingie.

Look, if you want to RP with me, that’s cool. If you want to plot, that’s cool too. But don’t like, randomly tag me in starters if it doesn’t follow my rules. Which is mutuals only. If you have a sideblog, and I’m not following the sideblog, that still counts.

Cuz all it does is panic me out, and chase off my muse for whoever the blog is under.

If I ever get back here, you bet your loot im gonna be blocking people... but for now yeah, gotta step back and stress myself out less.

[grumpytrashpanda]

Requested by anonymous as a featured one-shot and featuring the likeness of @taikothecat as a guest character.

Summery: During what was supposed to be a normal breakfast, Rocket is once again duped by his fiancés continuous pranks. Growing tired of being on the receiving end of these petty gags he goes out of his way to plan some sweet revenge on the Star-Lord that he'll remember for weeks to come after this, with some inside help of course.

Word Count: 5,343

It was just another day in the galaxy within the early hours of morning. Now of course there wasn’t a normal cycle like you’d expect but there was a schedule everyone would try to fix themselves to for the coming days, some of the crew aboard the Quadrant still asleep in the wee hours of waking up early at seven’ in the morning.

As his normal routine schedule played out Rocket would always get another hour or so of shut eye after his partner would be up and about for the day ahead, usually attracted out of his makeshift blanket fort in the bed shared by two by the smells of pancakes and other scrumptious delicacies he’d never known before joining the Guardians.

For years alone with Groot trying to make ends meet as a bounty hunter, the raccoon would always be living off protein bars. They were easy to transport when living on the run and didn’t break his bank since his other option was rummaging through the trash for scraps.

They didn’t taste great but he managed and didn’t care, they were all he knew of when it came to feeding himself. These days he couldn’t stomach them since the bars tasted like cardboard compared to the simple pleasures he’d indulge in almost every morning, guess you could say he was pretty happy and easy to please.

The raccoon was curled up in the bed, always shifting his body into this little ball under the beige covers with nothing but his nose sticking outside to be seen. He’d always shift his sleeping position throughout the night with the warm inviting body beside him, sometimes clung to it like a child to their favorite stuffed animal during the late hours but his favorite pose was to be held by those arms from his lover.

For the most part he still hated being touched, prodded, or anything else involving his personal space but he was better about affection from others after he learned it didn’t have to be bad.

One night during their first week sleeping together Quill absently while dreaming wrapped his arm around the raccoon. Rocket’s first instinct was he was he was in danger, his small body tensing and the rational side of his mind telling him he needed to get out of there.

His tired copper-colored eyes darted around the dark bedroom nestled under the blankets and like a deer in headlights, he was completely frozen in place and unsure of what to do right there.

He’s never done anything to hurt me, so why am I afraid? if I wanted him to stop I could just say so right?

Rocket had never been given a single reason to be scared of the Star-Lord in their history together. Your average betting man would’ve known if he didn’t like what was being done right here, being cuddled with a loose arm, he could’ve easily gotten away from it and left everything there where it stood.

But he didn’t, he liked it that way...

That night he learned two important things, the first one was that touched and comforted like this was something he secretly always wanted but never knew how to ask for.

Secondly if this was going to become a routine thing for them, Peter needed to get himself some better soap or Rocket was going to take over the bedroom and kick him out into the hallway.

Rocket’s nose twitched under the thick covers when he woke up to the familiar scents of pancakes being served with his favorite marmalade, yawning with a high drag and crawling out from the sloppy mess of the large bed and onto the floor.

His feet clicked across the metal floor, the raccoon wearing some casual cloths consisting a grey shirt and black shorts he had tossed on when entering the hallway being further drawn in by the scents of pancakes and other side dishes to come.

When rounding the corner into the common room he heard a couple mixed laughs among the crew talking amongst themselves, still not having noticed him walking in yet until he yawned again catching the attention of them all with his presence. Everyone aside from Gamora and Kraglin were there for breakfast, the other two off still in slumber for the early morning today.

“Morning, Rock’.” A voice greeted him from the room’s worn out couch, the body laying on it with a single knuckle resting under his chin watching everyone go about their business and occasionally throwing in a few chats with them.

Rocket tensed up from hearing the voice, part of wished it was still waking up and misheard it coming from within his reach. The first thing to catch his eye after noticing Quill over in the ship’s kitchen still in his blue pajamas and preparing a delicious banquet for the group was their guest sprawled out like a stereotypical feline would he was sitting here among the group.

Rocket turned his head to where it came from and sure enough, the guy was still here today, his face tensing up slightly. “Go home Taiko…”

“Rocket?” Peter voiced over to him from the stovetop, the man’s informal tone sounding almost parental telling him to behave.

“Well good morning to you too, grouchy head.” Their feline guest peeped back to the raccoon, sounding even more enthused if his grinning face wasn’t already a give-away.

In a short answer Taiko was a humanoid calico cat and a guest staying with the Guardians for the time being, the black and white spotted feline had a similar skeletal structure to Rocket’s but weirdly enough without the need for cybernetics or any other enhancements.

His overall character was much more upbeat compared to the ringtail he’d often playfully tease when around him noting here that in some instances Taiko was a polar opposite with his behavior.

Rocket paused where he stood before he spoke up lowly to the cat idly staring back at him. “Look, about last night-“

“Last night? Last night was a blast…” The cat replied back to him, those eyes watching Drax as the muscular man walked back into the room not paying much attention to their conversation.

Rocket was cautious with his words mentioning the discreet topic he was talking about since nobody besides his fiance knew about their new trials as a couple, having an undisclosed third partner in the action as something they both agreed to have for the week.

That image of them all was the last thing he wanted any of their friends knowing was going on aboard the ship beyond the next room.

It was Quill’s idea first and foremost and it all was about trying new things to keep his and Rocket’s relationship together exciting, though maybe having a threesome with another guy in the basket was a mistake looking back but there was a first for everything with him.

“Yeah, ya’ can knock it with the jokes…” The groggy ringtail turned away still unsure of the whole thing. Anytime you introduce someone new into the fold there’s bound to be questions asked, many of them that couldn’t be answered without spilling the whole picture to everyone.

Rocket climbed up the steel counter and reached up to one of the cabinets containing his fruit spread, standing on his toes to grab the circular glass jar containing the marmalade and trotting back over to the table already set up.

He never asked for help with anything because yes almost everything in the ship wasn’t accustomed for his stature but he still held quite the ego when it came down to what he was physically capable of doing.

Unless on rare instances like when he was injured, Rocket would often feel insulted if something out of his reach was handed to him as if he couldn’t retrieve it himself without assistance. Instead Peter among some of the others in the group would leave things within his reach, which he always appreciated of them.

“Coming in hot, who’s hungry?” Peter announced putting dishes down for every seat at the table, a couple stacks of flapjacks on each plate with a side of vyloo eggs, which the man claimed had a sweet aftertaste compared to what he grew up on at home with but nobody else would’ve known to compare.

Everyone was busy eating and casually chatting while Rocket was fiddling with his marmalade jar, trying to get the damn thing open after he could’ve sworn it’d been popped already.

“Ok, I’ve got a good one for you.” Peter took a drink of his coffee, trying to recall the events of last night when him and Rocket were having their usual date of shared drinks. “So we went out last night and Rocket over there tries to wave down the tender to get our drinks. Only thing was that the guy serving everyone was this old guy, grey haired and wearing an eyepatch over his left side and he didn’t hear us so we were getting tired of waiting around…”

The small crowd at the table was listening onto the words while Rocket still continued to struggle with the tightly sealed jar, cursing the item a few times as the man went on with the joke.

“So anyway, Rocket climbed on the countertop after that and yelled at the server from the top of his lungs…‘ay’ does a guy gotta wait till’ his friggin’ bar mitzvah to get a drink around here?”

Peter took another bite of the flapjacks, thinking he’d done a pretty good job on them today. “After that the bartender looked over at him from across the room and with the most serious face I’ve ever seen, asked Rocket how old he was.”

“I loved that story very much.” Mantis chirped, though it was questionable if she understood everything. She wasn’t dumb but there were certainly things that’d fly right over her head at times.

“Good joke, Quill.” Rocket muttered sarcastically while everyone else laughed off the story, it sounded like something that would’ve happened. “Guy was being a real dick holding back like he did.”

“I still thought it funny how he backhanded you like that.” Peter laughed thinking about it. In all seriousness he wanted to believe the elderly man in his seventies serving them their drinks was that sly, maybe he wasn’t but it was funny to think so.

“I did not know you were one of holding beliefs such as that.” Drax stated when he looked down at his furred companion in the seat next to him at the table. “I am interested in knowing more…”

“I don’t have any beliefs ok?!” Rocket retorted to the comment.

“Hey if he does it’s fine.” Taiko had to give his two cents across the table finishing a glass of milk, knowing already Rocket wasn’t into that stuff or believed in it but he liked teasing him nonetheless. “We can have a party right here, though we might be a little old for that sort of thing yeah?”

“Can you people just shut up?! I haven’t even had my coffee yet and everyone’s on my ass already.” Rocket pointed his ears back to all of them ganging up on him.

Drax looked down at the jar, the raccoon still fiddling with it for the past couple minutes be nobody bothered to say anything. “I think our friend here is feeling insecure…”

“Drax you’re going to feeling something too if ya’ don’t shut that trap of yours on the topic, I ain’t like that.” Rocket argued back to which the muscular brute didn’t answer and continued staring at the glass.

“Do you require assistance opening that?”

“No Drax I don’t, I can open my own jar of fruit so thanks.” Rocket didn’t look him in the eyes telling him so, he’d never had this much trouble opening it before. It was as if someone deliberately tampered with it beforehand without his knowledge.

“Got it!!” The raccoon exclaimed when the jar clicked and he was finally able to slide it open, hoping to get some food in him. His excitement was short lived however, the mashed fruity contents bubbling up from the exposed air within a matter of seconds.

“What the-“ He slowly gawked peering into the container when the homemade concoction overlapped and exploded in his face with all the sticky and sweet residue.

“What the flarg’ was in that?!” He hollered aloud at everyone, hearing someone giggle while he was trying to wipe the sticky residue off himself to little avail with his hands.

“Got you again Rocky’, that’s two in a row.” Peter told him, unable to hold back his laughter any longer from being known as the one responsible for this.

“I’m going to kill you Pete, you know how hard it is to get this stuff out of ma’ fur?! Thought that was a ground rule?”

“I thought we agreed that rule wasn’t in play anymore.” Peter grinned widely leaning back in his seat, taking another tally for himself.

This little game between the couple was an ongoing thing and it came to the point these days it was like a competition between teenagers, seeing who could prank the other the most and there never was a truce because the moment it’d be called someone who hit the other again.

The only rules of the prank war were that you couldn’t physically hurt the other or at least not too bad, tamper with that person’s gear on a job since it could very well end badly for them and finally there was always a grace period during mealtimes for them both.

Simple enough rules to follow but it seemed the Star-Lord had either forgotten or disregarded that last one when compromising the raccoon’s fruit preserves right here.

“You’re an asshole.” Rocket told the man, his brows lowered and expression seethed when hopping out of his chair at the table, the raccoon stalking his way into the cockpit.

“Ah come on, it wasn’t that bad….Rocket-“

“I can’t hear ya’ I’m already gone, enjoy staring at my backside.” Rocket hollered aloud climbing up the stairs into the helm. “Hope ya’ll enjoy the rest of breakfast.”

“Rocket- “ The metal door into the cockpit slid shut leaving them out as Peter tried to talk to him, knowing if it was a real hinged door it would’ve been slammed for them all to hear downstairs.

“Shit…” Peter breathed with a sigh, looking at everyone’s reactions around the table. “Was it really that bad?”

“I Am Groot.” The teenage tree shrugged at him, still not understood by the bunch around him but his body language was uncertain.

“I believe you gave the mammal a false hope…” Drax noted from his table, having already finished his food before everyone else had.

Peter cocked his head at the brute’s words. “What’s that supposed to mean, you saying I did something wrong?”

“Yes.” Drax told him as bluntly as he always would, looking up at the man resting his palms on the table. “In this game you both play, there are rules and from I have learned watching so-called this game is you broke one of those rules here at our meal here.”

“On my planet, we would hold ceremonies for the coming of age for our children to be tested in ritual combat, to know who’d eventually become the next Destroyer. It was seen as disgraceful to attack an opponent after the fight was over, when that person had lost.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Peter lowered his head at the table before lifting back up to the face the brute. “He’s done way worse to me with his schemes right?”

“I mean- I’ve only known you folks for a month but isn’t the point of the game to do exactly just that?” Taiko concerned with a raised fork making his point, a mouthful of spongy hotcake gargling his speech.

“May I ask who this other mammal is again, he is shaped like our furred friend but is different...” Drax leaned across the table, his arms crossed when the cat’s emerald colored eyes darted up to the brute’s nose hovering over him from his plate. “He smells different too.”

“Please don’t do that-“ Taiko paused looking up the brute.

“He’s an exchange student Drax.” Peter couldn’t believe that was the first thing he thought of, it sounded so stereotypical to say but maybe Drax wouldn’t understand and thus wouldn’t question it. ”The guy’s been tagging around with us to get some experience from the best advisers those people can give him.”

“Very well…” Drax sat back down in his seat, the man breathing a sigh after feeling like he dodged a bullet with nobody still knowing. “I do not know what he expects to learn from you though?”

“I’ve been learning plenty, from him and Rocket.” Taiko chucked finishing up his plate and pushing it to the side.

“Yeah…” Peter mumbled looking not talking much either, partly because he did feel like he went a little overboard in that Rocket didn’t even get to eat before storming off in a heap.

“Hey Taiko?” Peter called out to the cat about to stroll off from the table with an outreached hand. “You mind talking to Rocket, maybe get him to come down and eat something?”

“Yeah sure thing.” Taiko replied turning on his heel and walking the short distance up the stairs into the cockpit.

“Asshole…” Rocket was in his pilot’s seat looking over the galaxy, his orange ball in hand and tossing in against the ship’s windshield.

cur-clink

cur-clink

He was beyond pissed, still pissed at Quill for being the stupid idiot he was sometimes just like when they met back all those nights ago.

I mean- I know I’m crazy but he’s supposed to be better then that.

I’m so friggin’ hungry right now, damn it Quill.

His tension on the stress ball tightened, a few holes from his claws in the worn-out object he’d been given for these situations chucking it off the glass for his waiting hand to catch again.

cur-clink

cur-clink

Before he could toss the ball again his ears perked to the sound of someone knocking on the locked door from behind, the raccoon leaning his head past his seat to the noise and clicking his teeth.

“Who is it?” He raised his voice to the whoever it might’ve been.

“It’s me, I wanted to talk to you.” Taiko stared at the metal wall for a few seconds, a tense pressure he wasn’t sure he was meant to carry but would still give his best shot. Fingers were crossed that Rocket liked him in their short time together to even let him through the doorway.

The locked door buzzed and swooshed open, the cat quickly making his way inside when it closed behind him. He noticed Rocket was down the few steps leading to the helm in his usual seat, his backside facing before the chair swiveled to face the cat.

“Let me guess, you’re supposed to be the negotiation party that wants me back down there?” Rocket looked at him as the cat walked up beside him in the quiet cockpit.

“I just wanted to check in, that’s all.” He meant it staring out the window with the ringtail but wondered if Rocket would believe it.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to go?” Rocket questioned him with a raised eyebrow, the cat turning his own head to his attention. “Or are you just out of the bag and into the bunch with the rest of us?”

“Well my ship still isn’t fixed.” Taiko replied, leaning an arm on the pilot’s seat. “I’ve been trying to see about that.”

“Don’t tell me that’s the excuse ur’ going with right?” Rocket cracked a smile at him, catching that there wasn’t much truth in it. “I could’ve fixed it right up and sent your hide off and away from here.”

His dimple grew further into a smirk looking at the cat leaning over him on the chair. “Don’t tell me you stick around and put up with all this just to check in on little ol’ me up here all day?”

“Ah come on…” Taiko nudged him playfully with a small jab. “yeah I like everyone else but I’ve got favorites, those I like more then others around here too.”

“You know what?” Rocket reached under the ship's dashboard for a brown box containing his usual bunch of trinkets and gadgets he’d mess with when up here for long periods of time. “Since you want ta’ stick around so badly, maybe it’s about time you help me out with something on Quill.”

“Ok…what do you need?” From the look on Rocket’s cunning face and the atmosphere of the room, the cat couldn’t help but be hesitant since he didn’t know what he was agreeing to here with the raccoon.

“Someone here tainted my shampoo, shouldn’t need to remind you what I looked like when you came here.” He didn’t want to go in detail on that when meeting Taiko for the first time, the conversation turning into one of those awkward introductions where the infuriated pink trash panda was scrubbing for days after his shampoo was filled with pink hair dye as a prank.

“Anyway, I don’t got any doubt it was Quill, guy couldn’t keep from snickering whenever my back was to him so I thought I’d do the same.” He pulled a small homemade device wrapped in black tape that could be hidden in the palm of his hand, giving it to Taiko to take.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Taiko curiously looked over the crude device. Whatever it was, it didn’t look very impressive compared to everything else he’d seen made by the raccoon’s hands.

There was a short black fuse tied in and it smelled of fresh gunpowder, it’s appearance looking more like a small makeshift firecracker if he knew any better.

“That’s a dye bomb.” Rocket said, still holding the orange ball in his lap when continuing. “Never made one before but thought it’d be kind of funny ya’ know, for what’s I’ve got planned for him?”

“So…what do you want me to do with this?”

“How about you shove it up somewhere for starters for asking that.” Rocket swished his mouth and his ear twitched for a moment. “I’m joking....”

“Next time he’s in the john, go ahead and toss that thingy in there with him in there. Think it’s about time he’s get his fair share of color, idiot should be grateful I didn’t choose a worse color then pink.”

Taiko nodded in response. “You share what you get right?”

“Dang right I do.” Rocket replied, sounding enthused with this plan of his he had put together over the last couple days. “It’s part of eh- what’s that thing called again? Personal growth yeah, that’s it!! I’m going to be the best future hubby for this one.”

“Ok I’ll do it on one condition.” Taiko couldn’t help but have this idea of why the raccoon had these type products around the ship it wasn’t for him personally to use. “If you tell me why someone like you would have hair products and dye just sitting around here.”

Rocket stared blankly at the cat for his words. “Dun’ know what you’re implying, I just told you it’s for-“

“You know what I’m talking about Rocket, the ride might be cheap for but it’s not free and you know that.” He hoped bartering like this would get an answer either it be with booze, a favor, or anything else he learned was the only way to get a confession from the raccoon.

Rocket growled lowly before lowering himself in the seat. “Fine, I was thinking of dying my tail purple a while back, is that what you wanted ta’ hear from me? Now get out of here…”

“That’s rich.” Taiko laughed it up, not in a mocking manner but he couldn’t imagine getting himself dyed ever crossed Rocket’s mind. It sounded so offbeat for someone of his character to care much about his appearance. “You should let me do it sometime, I’ve done it to myself before so you’d get a good job back there.”

“You ain’t gonna be doing much of nothin’ if you don’t get out of here and handle that thing first.” Rocket tried to sound threatening but it fell on deaf ears to the humored cat, nothing but hot air coming from the raccoon's muzzle.

Taiko chuckled at him, him and Quill were certainly one of the craziest couples he’d ever seen but it was sweet how those two guys would reconcile over these pranks. Sibling rivalry at its finest.

“Anyway imma’ go take a shower in the meantime, I feel gamey right now and it’s making me sick.” The raccoon huffed from his slouched position in the seat, picking a piece of black hair off himself.

“So I guess I’ll get to it…” Taiko tossed the device in the air, catching it back in his palm when leaving the cockpit before turning back. “Hey I’ve been meaning to ask you where you get those awesome jumpsuits made, do you have a personal tailor for those things or what?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason, just when I tried it on last night I loved how it felt on me.” He grinned widely when Rocket crooked his head over the chair, his face frozen there. “I might get one for myself in green.”

“You tried on my suit?!”

“Yep and I’ve got to say, I think I wear it better then you do.” Taiko winked at him flirtatiously and strolled out of there before the other could properly respond to his comment.

So while Rocket was off washing himself down Taiko was tasked with delivering the package to its rightful place but needed to wait until it was a good time. The  cat decided to go back to go back to his earlier place on the common room’s couch and wait, lazily sprawled and looking over a few things on his own holo-tablet.

He was wondering why Rocket didn’t just go ahead and do this himself but the truth was he didn’t need too and he wanted to see if Taiko would actually go through with this request of his.

It wasn’t too long before he was approached by the Star-Lord strolling through the ship, his face looking rather mixed of guilt.

“Hey Taiko…” Peter gestured with a waved hand when walking by, the man kneeling down to speak to at the cat’s level. “How’d your talk with Rocket go up there?”

“It went fine, a bit crabby but yeah.” Taiko said passively. He didn’t want it sounding like things went exceptionally well or anything, even that was in question still but he didn’t want to ramble too much out of fear of what he might say here.

Peter nodded. “That’s good. So where’d he head off too, I went into the cockpit earlier and he wasn’t in there anymore.”

“Think he said he was going to take a shower or something, maybe that’ll help him cool off from happened…”

“Yeah.” Peter rubbed a hand over his chin with a drag. “Can’t help but feel like I was a bit of a dick back there right, like more than twelve’ percent and the usual bit.”

“It happens and yeah you were kind of a dick to him.” Taiko typed in a few things on the tablet and scrolled across a few pictures. “He’ll be fine though, just needs to chill in his own time."

“Well when you see him again can you let him know I wanted to talk? Maybe I need to make him something to eat since that’s my fault too...”

“Yeah sure, I’ll tell him…” Taiko perked to which Peter smiled and walked off to his own things again to attend too, the cat watching his backside like a hawk with those green eyes from afar.

Meanwhile away in the captain’s room away from everyone, Rocket was showering and getting all the sticky jam and grime of yesterday out of his fur under the steamy water, reaching for his usual shampoo and lathering it everywhere he could reach.

“Duh duh duh, da da. Duh duh duh, da da.” He hoped nobody could hear him through the thick walls when singing along to an old tune he’d heard before once, a timeless classic he had fallen for and would argued he had the swagger to pull off if he wanted too.

Part of his mind, the really cynical part that is, was snickering at whatever awaited his partner when he’d be finishing up here. Somewhere deep down he felt kind of bad about doing this because it was that the cute kind of romance with them where’d he’d sometimes do something outlandish and act like he didn’t care if it hurt them when that couldn’t been have been further from the truth.

He trusted Taiko, well as much as anyone you’d trust enough bedding together with someone else but it went further than just that, it was always going to be awkward because his commitment wasn’t to this new guy and it was repressing when they were alone.

Still when thinking about it, maybe when everything settled and the nightly adventures under the stars shared y three stopped here or later there’d still be a place for Taiko around here.

It didn’t mean they’d stop being a thing but just maybe something a bit of themselves for here on out, their own special thing that didn’t have to result in just being here for each other’s pleasure and company.

It was complicated when he rested his head under the rushing water, letting it drown him out into his thoughts. They’d taken in so many people over the past and came across many more in their adventures of helping those abroad and far, most coming and going without a second glance but something stuck out with that spotted feline back there.

It’s something Rocket never believed he’d be having to think about, something with how this tugged at his heart in a way that was sweet and endearing to have around. It wasn’t even about sexual tension, just how he felt here about going forward.

I still can’t believe that hairball’ was in my clothes.

Eventually the man did come back into the hallways, his footsteps heard across the grated floor as the cat listened with a raised ear to a metal door being opened and closed again when captain entered it.

Being very subtle, he crawled off the couch and slinked to the corner of the room that lead into the ships corridor and sure enough, he was in the bathroom and right where this needed to take place.

“Ok well here goes nothing…” Taiko breathed seeing there was nobody around to see what he was doing when, striking the small fuse and opening the bathroom door just enough to chuck the explosive into the room with the man sitting on the toilet.

“Hey Taiko.” Rocket came down the hallway with a white towel wrapped around his waist, his fur still damp and spiked in places on his head with water from his shower, his feet clicking when walking by the cat standing outside the bathroom “You get that thing taken care of we talked about?”

“Just one second alright…” Taiko raised his hand to the raccoon.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

With that the tiny explosive went off, covering the entire bathroom and the Star-Lord in a flurry of bright pink dye that’s be in his hair for the weeks to come.

“OH MY GOD- WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS CRAP?!”

“ROCKET!!”

“And see…” Rocket grinned holding back his laughter, leaning over Taiko’s shoulder and whispering into his ear. “that’s why I like ya’.”

[zooptoopfanworks]

False, Fatal Motif; Pt 1

Hey, guys! It’s been a long time since I posted an original work. I guess that’s because I admittedly haven’t been writing as much as I used to. Part of that I attribute to writer’s block, the other to just flat out lack of motivation.

But I’m back, for the time being, with another fic! It’s a slight work in progress, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! Prepare for heartbreak! Angst! Tension! Hopefully not false advertising on my part, but I digress...

“No.” A young Judy gasped in disbelief. She backed away from her bed until her back thudded against the wall of her own little burrow. Her friend’s cell phone dropped at the foot of her bed as she hurriedly scampered back. Her mind suddenly filled with a maelstrom of emotions, disbelief, anger, and betrayal proving to be the most prominent at the moment. “That can’t be real” She gasped, tears threatening to burst the dam she was struggling to maintain. “You... you must’ve altered the pictures somehow.”

Jean, another rabbit, one grade level higher than her, with her fur a darker shade of gray than Judy but shorter ears, shook her head solemnly. “No, I didn’t Judy. This is as real as it gets.”

Judy’s eyes darted from Jean to the phone, then shook her head deniably. “No... There’s some explanation to this, I know it... She’s... a sister, or a cousin, or something like that.”

“Judy...” Jean sighed and crouched down in front of her “Family don’t hug like that. They don’t kiss like that. You saw the pictures for yourself”

Her state of denial remained strong, but began to crack along with her composure. “He... he wouldn’t do that to me... He said he loved me...”

“Judes, I know this is a lot to take in. I’m gonna be blunt. He lied. He doesn’t care about you.”

“Don’t you DARE say that!” Judy reared defensively, the first hints of tears leaking through her eyes. “We love each other!”

“Judes, it’s obviously not double sided.” Jean calmly replied.

“Yes it is!”

“Maybe at first. But lately he hasn’t been with you for more than an hour”

That was true. But so what? He was perfectly capable of having a circle of friends that extends beyond her.

“You’ve been quote-unquote ‘dating’ for a year, but he has yet to take you on an official ‘date’”

“Yeah, but we kiss! He loves me!”

Jean sighed and shook her head “Judy, from an outside perspective... it’s unbalanced.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe on your end, you feel whatever passes for love, but his side is purely lust, if anything.”

Judy’s rage started to show in her face. “Get out of my room.”

Jean kept pressing on. “I’m serious, Judy. It’s clear he wants something that you’re not giving him.”

“I said get out.”

“Judy, boyfriends wrap their arms around your waist. In the rarer occasions where he touches you, he takes every chance he can to cup at your ass”

“GET OUT, DAMN IT!”

“I know guys like him! To him, you’re nothing but a trophy!”

Judy screamed louder than she ever screamed before and chucked her pillow across her bedroom, sending a small potted flower toppling to the floor. Then, she faceplanted on the bed, defeated. The hard truth of her friend’s words finally sunk in, and she realized how true her words were. It was astonishing how believable he would make his lies just to keep her around. Her screams were replaced with pathetic sobs as her body convulsed uncontrollably as she took air in sporadic gasps. Within seconds, her pillow was soaked with tears. Jean set a paw on her back and stroked it as though she were the most delicate newborn bunny that would shatter at the slightest hint of aggression.

“I… I really thought…” Judy struggled, unable to finish the thought.

“I know, Judes…” Jean whispered.

“He said… He’d never… But…” More sobbing. It was amazing Judy didn’t drown herself yet.

“I can’t believe I actually believed him…” the first full sentence she’s managed.

“Happens to the best of us, Judes.” Jean replied, clearing her throat

Judy’s broken heart expressed itself in similar bouts of broken speech for a good hour. After a while, her whole body hurt as much as her heart did, and the pair sat together in silence.

“I’m sorry, Jean…” Judy finally muttered, her face finally out of the pillow. “I said some things I didn’t mean.”

Jean pulled Judy to her feet. “It’s not your fault, Judes. He’s a dick. C’mon, I hear your mom made another blueberry pie.”

Fast forward to a few years after her employment.

It had been two years since Judy first met Nick outside the elephant ice cream shop. Within the following days, he became her first friend in the city. A few days after, she said somethings and fucked everything up, and after endless sessions of self loathing and regret, He forgave her after three months, even though it took until three months after that when she forgave herself for what happened. They became police partners on top of best friends, meaning they spent a lot of time together. In that time, they became close. REALLY close. Before either of them knew it, they were sharing secrets they thought they had blocked out for years, and their feelings for each other grew exponentially. Six months later, he finally grew the balls to ask her out, which she quickly agreed to.

It started out rocky, as could be expected. On top of hiding their relationship at work, inter-species dating wasn’t exactly held in high regard. But somehow, Nick made it work. He channeled as much of his optimism and energy into what they had. Even on days when he was dead tired, he always tried to make time for Judy. They’d cancelled each other’s dates more times than either cared to admit, whether it was work or something personal, but they always made up for it. It wasn’t exactly something out of some teenage romance novel where everything is perfect and everything worked out… but it was theirs. It was theirs and they loved it.

But Nick changed.

It was gradual at first, but zoning out quickly turned to unnecessary aggression, on duty as well as off duty. It even took Judy a while before noticing herself, and a little longer to ask Nick what was wrong. Sometimes, he would brush her off, denying that anything was wrong, other times he’d change the subject... sometimes he would even ignore her completely.

Judy prodded him for answers for weeks on end and made no progress. Nick had always been a closed door, but she would usually get him to open after a little . But not this time. This time, Nick was not only closed, but locked, deadbolted, and barricaded. Nick was getting worse and worse, and she wanted nothing more than to help him. But to do that, she needed to know what was going on, and he wasn’t opening up to her.

So she hired a private investigator. Probably a bad idea in retrospect. Terrible idea, but It made sense at the time. And within a few months, she got results.

Results she was completely paralyzed by. Results which made her relive that same scene in her bedroom when she was in high school. She REALLY needed to talk to him now.

Just then, she heard three taps on her door, followed by Nick’s voice. “Carrots? It’s Nick. Look, I need to talk to you about something.”

Judy pursed her lips and marched over to the door, swinging it open and crossing her arms.

Nick looked like a mess. His shirt was buttoned one button too low, his fur was tangled and in a matted mess, and his tie wasn’t even tied on correctly. He fired a half assed smirked in her direction and rubbed the back of his neck as he walked into her apartment.

“Look, I know I haven’t exactly been myself lately, and I know you noticed too. You asked me what was wrong, and I did nothing but shut you out.” He held up a paw and shook it in front of him. “I have a nasty habit of doing that, don’t I?”

Judy gave him nothing but scowling silence.

Nick tilted his head slightly. “What’s with the look?”

Judy’s eyes shot fire as she spat at Nick. “Who the hell are you, Nicholas Wilde?”

Nick squinted his eyes. “What? Judy, what’s this about?”

“Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“Find out about what?”

“THIS, Nick!” She thrust the photographs to Nick’s chest. Nick took them, puzzled as he thumbed through them, Each phototgraph, courtesy of Judy’s PI, featured Nick with a mystery... woman. A husky, actually. Slightly shorter than Nick, beautiful, well built... Essentially, the kind of mammal that would be more... suited to someone like Nick.

“Where the hell did you get these from?” Nick questioned.

“RJ Ringtail”

“Ringtail? The PI?” Nick sputtered. “You had me FOLLOWED? What the hell, Judy!?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Judy demanded. “It was clear something was bugging you. I was given limited information,so I did what I needed to do to get to the bottom of it! All I wanted to do was help you! Apparently, you were already helping yourself to something I couldn’t give you!”

Nick thrust a finger toward Judy. “Is that what you think is going on? Well, let me tell you...”

“It’s clear that’s what’s going on, Wilde!” Judy interrupted. She shoved her paws in her eyes and leaned her head back. “God, Nick! I can’t believe this! This is Quinn and high school all over again!”

“Quinn?” Nick asked, confused. “You mean…”

“Yes, Nick. That Quinn!” Her paws were balled up into fists and she just wanted to punch something. “You’re just like him!”

Nick sighed heavily and shut his eyes, scowling. Comparing him to Quinn, Judy’s high school sweetheart, ex boyfriend, certified asshat… It hurt a lot more than he let on. “Judy, if you’d just let me explain...”

“NO, Nick!” Judy screamed. “No more! These pictures tell me just enough.” She heaved many heavy sighs, on the verge of sobbing before she continued. “...I can’t do this again...”

Nick’s own enraged disposition suddenly melted. “Judy, what are you saying? Are we okay?”

Judy shook her head and turned her back to him. “There’s no ‘we’ anymore, Nick...” She muttered. “We’re through. I’m done.”

All she heard was Nick’s own shuddering gasps as he struggled to find the words. “Judy, please, let me explain...”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! JUST GO!”

She kept her back to him. She couldn’t bear to face him now. Things were silent, except for the labored breathing from both parties. Seconds of silence turned to minutes, and she spun around, only to find Nick gone, and her front door neatly closed.

For a few seconds, she stared at the door, and simply couldn’t feel anything, as though the adrenaline from the earlier event left her numb. Then, all at once, it hit her like a cement mixer. One second, she was bravely staring down her closed the door, the next she was a pathetic huddled mess on the floor, heaving gasps as her own sobs suffocated her.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She whispered to herself as she smacked herself in the head with her fist as she condemned herself for letting this happen to her again. She should have thought better than to become involved with an ex-con artist, reformed or not. The dates, the smiles, the sidelong glances, the smirk… the kiss… it was all a lie. And she fell for it all over again.

Work was probably going to be really awkward from now on.

[trashpandaorigins]

Understanding

After the events of Heaven Can Wait Groot must tell Bucky and Steve about Rocket....

*Contains Spoilers for Heaven Can Wait We’re Only Watching the Sky and other GRSB Scenes from a Life series*

…...In another hundred years this technology could be utilized in every country on earth. Bucky let out a small belch and took his gaze off the documentary and down to the empty ice cream container propped against his belly. Damn, all gone. He shrugged, turning back to the TV. There were many things in this century he was still getting used to, many things he didn’t like. But Netflix. Netflix was fantastic. He smiled to himself and licked the spook free of chocolate ice cream.

“Groot?” Bucky thought he heard Steve question from the other room.

“Steve is that…?”

“Yes, yes of course come on in,” Bucky knew that tone without seeing his face. He groaned, heaving himself to a sitting position on the couch as Groot lumbered in. He was taller, brown twigs stuck out of his limbs where leaves should have been. His eyes sunken and forlorn. Groot’s eyes slid to Bucky, then to the TV, narrowing. In a single motion the long wooden arm swiped up the remote and the screen clicked to black.

“Hey man, what gives?” Groot turned on his large feet and looked down at him with some unreadable look between remorse and a scowl.

“He said he had something to tell us,” Steve inferred, coming and standing beside him. Groot lifted his lithe fingers gesturing shortly with his hands in the ASL Steve had taught him.

“R….Rocket?” Bucky pieced out. “Where is the little fucker?” Groot signed again, this time slow deliberate.

“....d...dead?” Steve guessed with quite trepidation. The flora colossus nodded curtly.

“Yeah right,” Bucky scoffed, standing up and looking between the two of them. “I’m not buying it. He’s tried this before it’s not going to work.”

“Tried what?” Steve’s confusion redirected to him. Bucky only waved his good arm dismissively. “I’m not giving him anymore money”

“He faked his own death to get money off you?”

“Oh don’t worry I’ve done the same thing to him.” Bucky grinned impishly. “Only he falls for it every time!” Steve only raised a brow, folding his arms. “Ive been emotionally blackmailing Rocket  to extort him for money and weapons for years!” He forced a laugh, “That’s like the basis of our friendship.”

“Dare I ask how many times the two of you have done that to each other?”

“What!? I have to channel my impulsive violence somehow!” Steve cracked a smile that quickly diminished by Groot’s furious words,

“I am GROOT.”  Bucky huffed,

“Your not...you're not serious.” But the flora colossus only blinked, looking at him incredulously. It couldn’t be. He saw Rocket just a few months ago and the raccoonoid had been as scrappy as ever. Maybe a little worse for wear, some white fur encroaching on otherwise silky brown grey fur but that was to be expected. He was getting older, they were all gradually getting older.

“When?” Steve murmured, but Bucky hardly heard him. The severity of Groot’s words closing in on him. Rocket couldn’t be gone...that brash heat packing reckless thief had broken out of who knew how many prisons, (98 the last time Rocket bragged about it), he’d faced down a celestial, he helped defeat Thanos, he’d taken on baddies ten times his size! Hell he’d survived much the same torture Bucky himself had gone through. He couldn’t be...dead. Yet somehow looking at Groot, Bucky knew. No wonder the tree like creature looked miserable. His bark was flaking off in sloughs, his eyes not just sunken but exhausted and hollow. Bucky ran a hand over his face,

“Was he alone?” Bucky murmured, staring anywhere but those large dark eyes. Groot shook his head. “Was....was he in pain?” The flora’s frown deepened, large shoulders shrugging.

“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?!” Bucky accused, stepping dangerously close. He shook with indignation, jaw clenched. So that was how it was going to be? Had Rocket had died in pain...trying to claw the metal out of his flesh? Was that to be his fate then too? A sharp throbbing at the stump of his shoulder where his own skin met metal was the only answer.

“I...a...am Groot,” Groot breathed, holding his arms out helplessly.

“How?” Bucky suppressed the growl in his voice. He watched Groot’s now trembling hands, slowly bending and forming the words.

“Age?” Steve guessed before Bucky could. No that isn’t right. If Rocket is going go down it should be fighting the biggest scariest space demon, going down in a blaze of gunfire pulling the largest heist the galaxy has ever scenes or tail deep in Asgardian whiskey in his room full of gold coins and units...anything but age. Age was too typical to calm for the thievish ringtail. Too mundane.

“I want to see him,” Bucky managed, still trying to grasp the news.

“I am Groot?” Groot signed with guarded rigidity.

“I don’t care,” Bucky bit his tongue before he could shout. “I want to see him.” Steve’s warm hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him.

“Buck...now might not be the best time to….”

“He was my friend too,” He measured Groot’s look of shielded sorrow with his own. Dark and challenging and righteous. The flora said nothing, but nodded, motioning for the two of them to follow.

---

Bucky marveled up at the Benatar’s arching iron ribs, so huge and yet graceful? Or at least it would be if there wasn’t trash thrown about, wires and exposed pipes in bad need of repair. Had Rocket really been gone that long? The sharp scent of too much axe mixed with the ichor of engine grease and weaponry and candy of all things. Groot guided them through the echoing halls to the main bridge.

“I am Groot,” he announced as Gamora, Quill, the bug lady, Nebula and the tattooed guy, turned to face them. Steve’s smile was almost as strained as his voice,

“Groot was kind enough to let us aboard...he told us...about Rocket. We were hoping to see him...to say goodbye.” Most of the time Steve’s running mouth got the two of them into a host of troubles but it was times like this Bucky was grateful for it. Quill planted his hands on his hips,

“Well, seeing as this is my ship. He really should have asked me first.But I’m feeling generous today so,”

Bucky tossed his hair from his face, instinctively reaching for his pistol. The man’s arrogance was unending.

“Cut the bullshit,” he hissed. “we’re here for Rocket. Not you. Get this ship  the air and take us to him and we’ll be on our way. It’s thanks to Rocket this thing is even flying at all” Quill’s mouth gaped like a fish, blinking mutely.

“We cannot take you to Rocket,” the tattooed man who’s name Bucky could not and did not really care to remember intoned, “There is nothing left of him. Besides his cybernetics. Fur and flesh will have rotted away by now.”   Nothing left of him besides his cybernetics. Sour churning bile rose within Bucky at the thought, he fought the urge to gag and redirected his murderous glare to the muscular alien.

“Planet X2 four systems away,” Gamora intervened before Quill could come up with some lame comeback. “It won’t take long. But you’ll want to find something to hold on to when we announce the jumps.”

“Thank you,” Steve answered for the two of them. Groot slid around the tattooed man and Mantis, taking a seat in the pilot’s chair and punching in the codes.

---

Bucky fiddled with the odd package in his hands, is this supposed to be food? It was impossible to tell what time it was from the endless void of space. The ship drifted forward with the similar movement of the naval ships he’d been aboard during the war. Smooth, with the occasional pitch and throw. Steve had sought out Nebula, the two of them not having seen each other since the battle with Thanos. Bucky thought he heard Steve mention Tony, thus he and cyborg woman had fell into a somber but good natured enough conversation. He found himself wandering the ship alone until coming upon the kitchen area. He gazed at the symbols on the metallic wrapped package and shrugged, sliding into the diner style booth against the wall.  

Footsteps alerted him to someone’s presence a few moments later. He craned his neck and watched the green woman stride in. She instantly looked at him with a passing curiosity and finally walked over to the table, sitting down on the opposite side.

“What happened?” Bucky broached the inevitable subject with what he hopped was sensitive respect. It was the elephant in the room and his morbid curiosity would not abate. Gamora kneaded her hands together. “Please, I can’t ask Groot,”

“Nor should you,” she quipped sharply, her eyes meeting his with a fierce protectiveness he knew too well. She held him there in that gaze for a moment before looking away, shoulders dropping. “There’s not much to tell. He just got old. It’s not like he took good care of himself. With the biology of a terran animal that only lives a few years...combined with the injuries he suffered and the untold volumes of alcohol...a history of insomnia…..it caught up with him.” Bucky bit his tongue, he could only imagine the aches and pains that were going to get his goat one day. Too many fights in too many narrow stairwells. Too many falls from too many heights.

“He...died….in pain…?” He repeated, clearing his throat.

“Yes.” Gamora answered, clinically. “Won’t we all?” She scrutinized him, the silver metal webbing etched into her flesh gleamed in the passing stars. Bucky looked at his own vibranium arm, rubbing it unconsciously with his good hand.

“Guess so,” he forced through the sudden lump in his throat. The confirmation of Rocket’s suffering riled in his stomach. “Why didn’t you take him to a medic?” He challenged, anger was easier than grief. “Your the Guardians of the fucking Galaxy, one of you must have known someone, someplace that could have fxed him!” His fists clenched, leaning forward against the table. “You could’ve taken him to Wakanda!” His voice rose in rage and helplessness.

“We did everything we could,” Gamora answered calmly. “And nothing that he didn’t want us to do.” Her eyes landed on Bucky’s arm. “He didn’t want to go to Wakanda,” she finished with a breath. Bucky watched her facade momentarily betray her. Like an expert, she hid it instantly, clearing her throat and looking down to fiddle with her rings.

“Who cares what he wants! It’s not like he had a choice at that point….” the words died in his throat and he covered his face with his good hand, forcing himself to breathe.  You know what sentience means Barnes?! Choices! I could make my own dast choices! The memory of Rocket’s words rang loudly in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed, the fight gone from him. It was a stale sorry, forced and awkward and both of them knew it. But that was what you said didn’t you? When someone died and you didn’t know what else to say? It was sircumcript. Gamora’s frown only deepened. Her observation of him uncomfortably impeccable, scrutinizing him further with the eyes of a trained killer. Looking for any signs of hostility, identifying the places where he concealed his knives and the one gun he’d brought along just in case. Old habits die hard.

“Don’t let Groot bother you,” she continued as if she weren’t sizing him up. “He hasn’t been the same since…”

“Ahh,” Bucky leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m used to people treating me with contemptuous resentment. It’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Murderous unadulterated loathing.” He smirked, “I have that effect on people. It’s a gift.” Gamora flashed a smile with a satisfied huff to boot. Bucky returned the grin, sharing the levity for a moment. She had a nice smile, rare but genuine.

“We don’t have much extra space,” she stood after a moment, back into her distant severity. “But you and Captain Rogers can settle down wherever.”

“Thanks,” Bucky nodded to her as she turned to go, halting in the doorway

“We’ll be on X2 in 10 hours terran time.”

---

Maybe it was because he was sleeping in a new place, surrounded by new people. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since he’d last had night terrors this bad and the universe just liked to fuck with him. Or maybe it was because the only other person to have nightmares like these was no longer dreaming at all. Whatever the reason, Bucky jolted awake in a sweaty daze, chest heaving, trying to shake away the feeling of prying gloved hands poking into his flesh.

“Buck,” Steve’s quiet voice beckoned him from the terrors, one arm sliding up his back, rubbing between his shoulders in small smooth circles.

“He didn’t deserve it Steve,” Bucky’s voice trembled. His fingers curled around the metal bench on which they’d squeezed themselves. “R...Rocket he didn’t deserve what they did to him.” He tried to suck air between words as if he was drowning. “he shouldn’t have died Steve, not like he did. Not...not with metal festering in his insides.”  Bucky’s breath came in ragged gasps no matter how hard he tried to settle himself.

“Bucky...shhh….” Steve tried, but the man continued.

“He didn’t deserve what happened to him...but...I, I did.” Bucky shut his eyes against it, trying to concentrate on Steve’s steady touch.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked softly,  Bucky lifted his head from his hands, meeting Steve’s steady gaze with his own.

“I killed those people Steve,” he choked.

“That wasn’t you James, Hydra made you do those things,”  the fervor in Steve’s face spoke for itself but Bucky only let out a shuddering sigh.

“Not Hydra,” Bucky cut him off with more vitriol then he intended. “Before that,” he ran a clammy hand over his brow, silently praying none of the Guardians were awake. “I killed those men in the war...and when Hydra took me,” he leaned against Steve’s chest. “It wasn’t just brainwashing. They took that violence and just...enhanced it.” Bucky turned over his shoulder to look at Steve’s determined face. Still seeing the best in him, even after all he’d done. After everything the two of them had done. “Rocket was a little animal before they...c..created him...he was innocent. But...me...I…” he swallowed. “I was already a killer.” Steve opened his mouth to continue but Bucky leaned forward, kissing him roughly.

“I’ve killed more men than you,” Steve breathed, hoarse. “What does that make me?”

“I have killed more men than either of you. And women too. I am not sexist. I hold enormous respect for women.”  Steve and Bucky leapt up from their cot to see the large tattooed man emerge from the shadows.

“D...Drax!” Steve stepped between the Destroyer and Bucky. “That’s not what sexism….wait...how long have you been standing there?!”  The muscled man only looked between the two of them.

“Groot sent me to get you. We are approaching X2.” Without further assurance Drax turned on his heel, motioning for them to follow.

Out the window of the cockpit, still trying to calm his racing heart, Bucky gapped at the teeming planet before them. Enormous alone in the galaxy but for the stars and colored in a thousand shades of green.

“Hold onto your butts,” Quill smirked, slamming on the controls sending the ship speeding forward.

Steve hissed in shock, slamming his hand on a fake break,

“Fuck!” Bucky let out a small laugh, catching Steve around the waist as they plummeted closer to the surface.

---

Bucky did not know what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it.  Trees of every shape and size covered the planet in a rainforest like density. Streams of clear water gilded around trunks and through spindly roots. He arched his neck to look upward at one of the four suns circling the planet, their rays of light streaming in gilded brilliance through the canopy. Flowers bloomed fragrant and bright along their path, giving of sweet scents the likes of which he had never smelled. Bucky looked over his shoulder to where Steve was gazing in wonderment, he knew the man well enough by now to know when he was suppressing the urge to whip out a sketchbook or notebook. Steve’s unfettered curiosity made Bucky grin despite their somber destination.

“Too bad you left your khaki shorts at home,” he couldn’t resist teasing, brushing a large fanned leaf out of the way. Steve smirked, stepping over a large low lying root. Bucky looked forward again, making out the top of Groot’s head through the dense foliage. Gamora followed him, then Drax and Mantis, who remained close to Nebula, clinging on the bionic woman’s arm. Pointedly, Peter had refused to go no matter how much Gamora had pressed him. The last place Bucky had seen the man before they set off was the main corridor, down which Quill lumbered, headphones on, going to brood no doubt. Bucky knew it was wrong to hate him for it, but something about the cowardice, set him smoldering.

Bucky ducked his head under a low hanging branch, stooping over and then stood.

“We’re here,” Gamora gestured to the clearing before them. A sloping hill arched upward to the edge of a drop off  overlooking the vast vista of forest and pools beyond. On the crest of the hill a noble sprawling tree grew strong and taunt, its large crown wide and full. The thick roots bore deep into the earth and spilling off the edge of the cliff.

“I am Groot,” Groot pointed towards the tree stoically. His face un-readable. He looked to Gamora who only nodded in confirmation, turning on her heel and walking towards the large tree. Bucky swallowed, mouth dry and turned to Steve.

“You still want to do this? No one will judge you if you don’t.” Bucky could feel Groot’s narrow gaze on him.

“Oh I know someone who will,” he smirked sarcastically and followed Gamora up the hill.

---

“There,” Gamora breathed now that they stood before the large tree. Something about the place made Bucky feel small and quiet, a hallowed ground of its own kind. The tree itself was no distinct species as far as Bucky could tell. He followed her eyes to a notch in the tree dark and perfect size for a small creature to curl up inside. He stood there a  moment, frozen in what to do. Not dissimilar to after he’d gone on a spree, after he’d murdered someone, taken someone out. Head in a fog, on the verge of running in a panic, fueled by nightmares and whatever else Hydra had pumped into his veins. This time however, he did not run away. Bucky reached out, fingers brushing the rough bark of the tree with the same hesitant tenderness he had used to touch Rocket’s fur. In their years of friendship Bucky had stroked Rocket’s fur a total of three times. (Besides the handful of occasions on which he’d grabbed hold of that ringed tail to yank Rocket out a jam in the heat of some drunken brawl or the target of some enemy five times his size). Once shortly after they met and it was revealed how alike the two of them were. The second time when he’d had to save the raccoon’s life by re-assembling his cybernetics, using the howling voices in his head to guide him and lastly when he had told Rocket the true nature of his creation. A prototype made by Hydra as a test run for making howlies.

Bucky willed himself to take a deep breath, resting his palm flat against the tree. What had Rocket done after this violent discovery? He’d curled up in the man’s lap, and  fallen asleep. It was a trust Bucky had not earned, had done nothing to deserve and yet, Rocket snored and slept content and Bucky hadn’t shut his eyes a wink that night in the dimly lit apartment. Instead he ran his  hand over the raccoonoid’s side rhythmically, letting the warm soft fur calm his mind and ease his fears.Watching as with each little breath of the sleeping creature, skin pulled tight across metal. Yet Rocket curled in his lap, not unlike an abused dog who finally came to rest content by your feet.

Bucky looked up, into the leafy crown of the tree, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. He swallowed, hand still resting against the tree. Stop being such a sap Barnes, Rocket’s husky voice mocked in his mind, laced with irritation. If only the raccoonoid would reprimand him now. A hundred different sarcastic cutting remarks ran through the man’s imagination. How Rocket would tease him if he could see the tears pressing against the back of Bucky’s eyes. He waited for it...for any grating laughter or flick of the tail. But no, he’d never hear that sarcastic voice again. Rocket would never make fun of him. They’d never spend another night at some dive bar getting increasingly drunk and daring each other into dumber and dumber acts of brazen stupidity. They’d never exchange weapons or old tales of battle. Rocket would never perch up on Groot’s shoulders or scream over a hail of gunfire in blood thirsty joy. They’d never look warily at each other, knowing the other had spent the night in a terrorizing nightmare. They’d never steal a sympathetic glance when they thought the other wasn’t looking especially during the drizzly days when the metal in their skin ached particularly bad, or during the sweltering heat and frigid cold. They would never share the shame of the things they’d become, the things they’d done. Guess I’m the only monster left. But if the little abomination could drift off peacefully...surrounded by a family he’d found in the arms of the person he loved most in all the world, then well, maybe there was some hope for Bucky after all. He could only hope for as much.

The spell broke after a moment, his hand slipped away and he stepped back gazing at the lush grass. Gamora, Drax, Mantis and Nebula stood some distance away lost in their own thoughts. Steve gave him a sad smile, squeezing his shoulder before stepping up to say his own goodbye. Bucky looked out across the immense forest, his gaze gliding in a haze over it’s beauty until he saw Groot. Back turned to the tree, form rigid and away from the others.

“I’m sorry I shoved you earlier,” he tried approaching the flora slowly. “If there’s anything you need or want….just...let me know.”

There’s nothing I need or want that you can give.

Bucky nodded, “I know...I just mean...well...if you ever want to…” his heart tried to find the words, muddling through the thick black tar of grief. “He was my friend too and….I know it’s obvious but...he really loved you.”

He loved you too.

“Ha, I don’t think….wait,” Bucky turned to the flora in slow comprehension. “Groot, I think I….I think I understood you. Wait say something again!” Groot turned to him, face still drawn but no longer contemptuous.

It’s about time,

“Ha! No shit! I’ve been trying to understand you for years!” A laugh broke through Bucky’s melancholy. How many hours had Rocket tried and subsequently failed to teach him?

Only when you truly listen do you begin to understand.

“Is that some zen buddhist saying or what? Shit,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I guess you're right!”

What is zen?

“Ask Quill later,” Bucky waved a dismissive hand and the two of them resumed their silence, gradually turning around to face the large tree where Rocket lay.

I guess he was right about one thing

“What’s that?”

He promised not to go until someone else could understand. I thought he meant them, Groot gestured to the other Guardians.  It seems I was wrong.  But Rocket was right after all. Those large eyes looked at Bucky with renewed appreciation. Bucky felt something inside him inflate, joy or sorrow or something in between he couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was one in the same. He rubbed his eyes, watching the suns set against the magnificent tree casting a glowing golden light upon them all.

“Guess he was.”