#Flora Colossus

[heckcareoxytwit]

How Groot got his speech back

The Guardians of the Galaxy and Nova confront Gardener the Elder of the Universe who is responsible for the Flora Colossi attack and Groot's shrunken state. Star-Lord throws Little Groot and Ant-Man as a tag team attack. Star-Lord, Gamora and Nova join in to attack the Gardener but the Elder shakes them off. When Gardener yells at them, he gets blasted by Rocket Raccoon. Little Groot jumps in and leaps atop of Gardener's chest when he’s down and speaks to him at length, finally transferring his own life energy into him to make him realize that Loki poisoned him. Now healed and back to normal, Gardener in turn revives Groot, making him full grown again and fully articulate. As the Guardians are impressed with this change, Groot turns to battle the other Flora Colossus.

Infinity Countdown #1, 2018

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Long story ahead....

The Gardener was approached by Loki to inquire him about the location of the Soul Stone. Even though the Gardener didn't know its location, Loki poisoned him and drove him mad, making him become paranoid for the desecration of his work by the hand of the advanced societies of the cosmos. Because of this, the Gardener attacked one of the last Flora colossi, the Guardian of the Galaxy Groot, and shattered him. He took all but one of the creature's splinters, and grew an army of violent and morbid Flora colossus. The Gardener first used his army to attack and overrun the planet Telferina. The army was intercepted by the Guardians of the Galaxy, among whom was Groot, who had managed to regrow his body from a splinter, but since his other remains had been grown into evil doppelgangers, he couldn't reach full size. When Groot managed to get close enough to the Gardener, he used his powers to cleanse his body of Loki's poison. With his sanity restored, the Gardener came to his senses, and his first action was to heal Groot's body, thus bringing him back to his original form in the process

[ohfugecannada]

Flora Colossi Headcanon 5/?: Flowers

Being sentient plants, Flora Colossi are capable of growing flowers. Unlike other plants though, not all of these flowers are for reproduction. In fact, a Flora Colossus individual will only grow the specific fertile flowers needed for reproduction a small handful of times across their long lifespan. Most of the non-reproductive flowers they grow are used in a variety of other purposes. For instance, communication and emotional expression.

Some flora colossus will grow flowers that signify friendship and platonic affection to others. Others will grow flowers with calming scents to comfort anxious or stressed friends and family. And in some cases flowers just sprout from certain individuals whenever they feel strong positive emotions like happiness.

There are also some flora colossus on Talunhia (Planet X) that were known to use specialised flowers as signs of aggression and threat displays to enemies. Though this isn’t as common as other more effective threat displays like growing thorns or sharper branches.

[hikikomorialice]

This is a semi-Loki merch post.

Funko is releasing a bunch of Groot cosplaying as other Marvel characters in the 'We Are Groot' set, Celebrating 85 Years of Marvel', and one is of Loki.

There are 6 total, set for a July release in the US and up for PO on Entertainment Earth.

They're pretty cute, tbh.

I'm 50/50 on getting the Loki one , but the Wolverine one has me sold - look at the wittle tough guy~

(Side note: I also collect Wolverine Pop!s, he was my og Marvel obsession)

EDIT:

There are 2 more, Funko exclusive, Avenger-Groots - Dr Strange and Black Panther

[unclekoopus]

My Groot Design (2017)

Randomly sharing my old drawings of my extra himbo hunk Groot. Also him at various awkward, twinky, and adorable ages with a bonus papa Rocket.

[majorpepperidge]

damn Groot ur bobbies

[minifrau]

[ohfugecannada]

My own headcanon about Groot’s species (called Flora Colossus in the comics) is they do still exist but are just extremely rare. Maybe at one point they were far more common across the galaxy but disappeared for whatever reason. Thor is an immortal god so his lifespan on Asgard probably was slower, so maybe he learned Groot as an elective when he was a kid/teenager when the species was more common thousands of years ago, but became less so when he grew into an adult.

Another possible theory is the world tree, Yggdrasil, that Asguard and the other realms are connected through in the MCU films (and Norse mythology, of course), is connected to the Flora Colossus. Either a progenitor or the species or literally being a massive flora colossus itself. Hence citizens of Asguard, especially members of the royal family like Thor, learn the language as an elective as a way of honouring it and possibly communicating with it.

Bit of a stretch, but it could be a cool idea to connect Groot with Yggdrasil in the MCU continuity if the writers ever wanna flesh out Groot/flora colossus lore.

Edit: okay I looked it up and Yggdrasil isn’t a literal cosmic tree in the MCU but rather a metaphor Thor uses to explain to Jane Foster in the first film how the universal portal travel between realms works. My bad! I guess it’s just been a while since I watched the first few MCU movies and my memory on specific lore details is hazy lol.

It would be pretty cool if that somehow connected to forks colossus though. Like maybe in some of the realms like Asgard there’s legends that the world tree is a flora colossus that grew so large and vast it Gran ended its physical form and become the bridge between realms. A myth rather than a literal history.

Exactly how rare are Groots? They're common enough that Thor took the language as an elective but the Collector said he never thought he'd get to meet one???

[raccoonfallsharder]

I just found out Rockets VA can sing (really good actually) do you have any headcanons based on that?

mmmmm. sorry for the delay, i got distracted by rocket prompt week and also by thinking about rocket crooning in your ear.

he’s always humming, you know? (this is not a headcanon — it’s in the movies.) he’s often humming while he works. and that scene on berhert? where he’s sort of purring along with the music while plotting severe injury to the incoming ravagers? i…

sorry. focusing.

im sure the first few times you hear him mumbling lyrics under his breath, you damn near need to excuse yourself. you know you can’t call attention to it — in a best-case scenario, he'll stop singing entirely. you say nothing, and your silence is rewarded: rocket's mumbling a tune — so low your toes curl in your boots — almost whenever the two of you are working quietly on some project or another. most of the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. the rest of the time, he thinks you can’t hear him.

once, while the entire crew was dicking around in the common room and rocket started humming under his breath, pete had commented on it. you'd shot him a murderous look but it had been too late: rocket’s ears had gone flat and his tail had tucked between his ankles and his eyes had swiveled around the room. he'd been shifting and snapping out harsh words so frantically that you were sure he was scarlet under his fur. you’d had to go a miserable dozen cycles before you’d stumbled across him lilting low to himself again in the engine room one night.

fuckin pete. you still haven’t forgiven that guy.

but things get easier — at least between you and rocket — after that. there's a day when rocket looks up and realizes that you can hear him — maybe you're swaying slightly to the sound of his voice, or lightly tapping the soft pads of your fingertips like raindrops on your knee. he stumbles to a fumbling halt. you don’t say anything, though: you just pass him an encouraging half-smile before returning to whatever you were doing. you’ll hang out with him regardless of whether you get to lull yourself to the sound of his deep, pretty voice or not, you figure.

it happens again — and then again. and eventually, rocket stops stopping. he sees you walk into the otherwise-empty common area while he’s clanging away on some new cannon, or you slide into the seat next to him while he’s piloting the bowie alone — and he tosses you a little smirk and keeps going, keeps humming those bars or rumbling those words up over his ribs and out the corners of his mouth.

you’re not the first person he’s sung to, of course.

there’s a reason groot loves music. when he was just a sprout, rocket would carefully place groot's small pot right next to where he lay his own head, and he’d croon a lullaby from star-lord’s library of songs. this was how the little flora colossus first learned to fall asleep — and how he woke up — every rotation for the first dozen cycles of his life. even when groot got a little bigger and could leave his pot and run around chasing orloni, he’d still drift off sprawled on rocket’s shoulder or across the top of his head: dozing to the sound of his father clinking away on aero-rigs while humming some melody or another.

even before that — i think rocket probably sung to groot the elder, too, at least once or twice. maybe the first time rocket had seen the big guy lose his limbs, before he'd learned that they would grow back. rocket had promised tibius lark that he’d look out for the flora colossus, and now here's groot — mutilated and in pain. rocket had tried to soothe the groaning, moaning groot to sleep, wracked by guilt before eventually realizing the big idiot was just a giant frickin’ crybaby with limbs that would essentially regenerate.

still, rocket hadn’t minded singing to his friend too much after that.

maybe even earlier, too. maybe there had been a time, after explaining music to his cagemates but before telling them about flying machines. maybe he’d hummed for batch 89 too.

they would’ve thought his childish voice was the most comforting, lovely thing they’d ever heard, i think. sometimes, as you might guess, the members of batch 89 would have nightmares or be in too much pain to close their eyes and rest, and when those nights happened, rocket would have hummed them back to sleep, all low and slow and sweet.

floor would have begged for songs every chance she got. teefs would have marveled at how beautiful rocket had sounded, and lylla — lylla would have told him, very solemnly, that he had a gift.

rocket doesn't think about that very often — tries not to think about those days at all, if he's being honest — but eventually, as you know, his past comes out. it's long after he’s gotten comfortable with you, of course — and raised his son, and saved half the universe, and purchased the skull of a god, and freed himself from the high evolutionary for the last time, and become a captain, but now—

now, he remembers lylla's words.

the star children descend from the arête and different households try to take them in, but it only takes one or two failed sleep-shifts across all of knowhere before it becomes apparent that none of the kids can rest. the children have nightmares — of course they do — and they’re used to sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder with each other in cages, on hard floors. they're used to whispering stories and comforts to each other, listening gratefully to the quiet words of their siblings, small hands gripping small hands in the darkness.

it takes a while to figure out, but eventually arrangements are made — at least until the kids can adjust. spaces are shifted so the children can nest together, and it helps — mostly. drax tries telling stories. cosmo recommends warm milk. howard suggests a quarter-shot of ginsky for each kid (you promptly put the kibosh on that one). nebula comes one night to tell the kids in great detail how she’ll destroy anyone who dares to harm them. you’re so happy mantis went on her journey to find herself but sometimes, when you see how exhausted and hollow-eyed the kids are in the morning, you just wish she were back so she could help them sleep.

and then suddenly it's a few cycles later, and you realize you haven’t heard any more concerns about the kids’ night terrors. you look around and realize they’re bright-eyed again, cheeks glowing, chattering at breakfast. curious as to what ended up working — if it was the indigarran lavender satchets sent by one of kraglin’s ex-wives or it it was the broker boring them with the droning details of the histories of various artifacts he’d once had in his shop on Xandar — you come visiting one night on tip-toe, just to check in.

rocket’s there — curled up on an old armchair someone had brought in for the neverending parade of storytellers and caregivers. his voice rolls over the sleepy children, and their eyelashes droop while he lingers on some notes and skips up and down others. the sound of it curls around them — and you. his voice nestles into the shadows, practically plucking up the edges of the blankets and tucking the kids in all on its own.

you watch as, handful after handful, they drift: eased deeply into dreaming by the power and protection of the captain’s voice, all on its own.

[kayas-kosmos]

Solarpunk Colossus.

When the ancient ones awaken to help out humanity with their climate problem.

This was a piece I've been wanting to do for ages and @stimpunks helped me make this a reality! So thank you so much for this commission! All of my neurospicy friends should definitely check out Stimpunks and give them a follow!

I just wanted an excuse to blend Solarpunk with fantasy art really.

The idea is that an environmental research facility was unwittingly built upon the back of a sleeping earth colossus due to the unique flora and fauna of the area, only for the colossus to suddenly awaken. The behemoth made an agreement with the scientists that they may stay on its back, but only on the condition that they treat the isolated ecosystem with respect and that their research will help heal nature and bring about a world where humans and nature live in harmony again.

The research facility itself is constructed from entirely sustainable materials and is a blend of iron-age and modern architecture. The scientists must stick to strict limestone paths so not to erode any of the earthy areas. Some locations cannot be accessed by foot and are therefore drone-only. The entire facility is powered by those airborne turbines (I probably added more than there needed to be but they look pretty haha).

Here's some concept art for the colossus. I made him a lot less grumpy in the final piece. He has six legs on account of him being extremely front-heavy and he has little tiptoeing ungulate feet. I also worked a lot of fossil motifs into his design, plus I imagine the wooden structures that make his antlers are so ancient that they have started to petrify. I want this creature to feel truly ancient. His face is also inspired by "the green man" a little bit.

The scientists have nicknamed this colossus "The Wean" (Wee one) on account of him living off the coast of Scotland.

Oh and before anyone asks... yes, this was at least a little bit inspired by "Shadow of the Colossus." I'm not going to hide my influences ^^'

If you want to see more Solarpunk or fantasy art from me, please consider donating a Ko-Fi! Even a small amount really helps, especially with how difficult things are for artists right now.

[marvel-hcs]

MCU headcanon:

Flora Colossus (Groot’s species) don’t ever stop growing due to their regenerative capabilities. The oldest members were said grow to thousands of meters tall. It’s why Yggdrasil is referred to as the world tree, as in some Asguardian legends, it’s said it was once a flora colossus that grew so old and so impossibly large that it transcended its physical being and became the nebula that connects the realms together. It’s partly why Groot’s language is taught as an elective, as it’s believed to be a sacred language.

.

[ohfugecannada]

Does Groot breathe in oxygen and breathe out Carbon Dioxide or the other way around like plants do?

[encrucijada]

been meaning to send u this ask for a while but if you want to could you please ramble about zaccai and ismene from your #guard dog relationship tag 🎤 👀 you posted a snippet of writing of them and i’ve had worms in my brain ever since i don’t even know what specifically i want to hear about but i just need to Know About Them (<- girl who is being normal about it)

*pulls up my powerpoint* i'm glad you asked

zaccai and ismene aka guard dog are the god/worshipper dynamic @teddywriting and i decided to create one day because i pointed out we didn't have any, quote, "guard dog dynamics". you know those posts where it's like the dynamic between the guard dog character and the object of their affection who is often incapable from stopping said guard dog from killing whatever they deem dangerous to the object of their affection. yeah those.

their story has been baptised as let sleepers lie. it's high fantasy. it's post-apocalyptic. it's the result of shadow of the colossus being my favourite game and also tears of the kingdom coming out, teddy and i just kinda went insane over botw/totk zelink. here's the summary i wrote for it!

Sword of the Gods, Zaccai, has only one purpose instilled in him: give his life for that of the godling the Old Ones left behind after ending the world. In the wake of a land trying to learn how to live again is Ismene, all that remains of divine blood, and what she is meant to do for the people is unclear. They are alone with all the gods left for them being a temple, a ruined land, and each other.

now what does that even mean.

in this world there used to be gigantic gods people call the "old ones" now, as their language has been lost and no one remembers what they were called. they are what happens if you put the nature gods from princess mononoke (like the wolf chief moro), the colossi of sotc, won shi tong from atla, heavenly warriors from nausicaä of the valley of the wind, and dormin again from sotc in a blender. the main feature of gods in this world is their golden coloured blood, their "old blood", which is burning to the touch—basically what if fire was a liquid. these old ones had their temples built around them and once built the temples were just big enough for them, meaning they could move about inside but could never leave. why exactly they ended the world is inconclusive, but ismene suspects it's because they’d gotten fed up of the situation they were in. godhood is just a gilded cage etc etc.

ground zero of the cataclysm is virtually a wasteland, covered in silver flora. this plant life includes the silver grass and silver trees, which existed before the end of the world and were kind of like a gift the gods gave to the humans as every single part of the flora could be utilised or eaten (ismene and zaccai subsist on the silver trees, basically). they live in the temple from the summary, which was built for ismene but has the dimensions of an old temple... meaning it's way too big for just two (2) people. the cataclysm basically rotted the land and so only the silver flora can grow without being affected. think... nausicaä of the valley of the wind's toxic jungle.

ismene was born from a human woman. what are the details of her conception? no idea. maybe it's a virgen maría situation. she's called "the godling", the olympian to the old one's titans. she looks like a human person, except for the fact she's got golden eyelashes, golden freckles, her eyes shine at certain angles, oh and her blood is also golden... and she's burning to the touch. touching ismene's bare skin is like sticking your hand in an open flame. her tears are also golden! but they're more sparkly. she's has severe agoraphobia and social anxiety from being raised in the temple. the feelings of the old ones sorta translated into her and they were used to being trapped, so she was basically born as a caged animal. she's also very good at sitting still for hours and is bad at human physiological tells, like hunger.

zaccai was originally a troublemaker boy named aleister living in a town like a week's travel away from where the temple is now. he lived with his aunt maeve who runs the inn at the town. he offered himself as a volunteer to be the sword of the gods and they proceeded to basically... make him anew. don't you love it when characters are weapons. all that's required of him is to be good with the sword and to love ismene so much he would die for her, just an average healthy relationship. he likes plants, he doesn't remember aleister's past concretely but he has positive associations to plants so he latched onto them... so he's a gardener. he does most of the things around the temple as ismene is basically a living statue, she's an object of worship and that's it. he cooks, when they travel he manages the camping site, etc.

they're autism4autism 🫶

tidbits about the made-up religion

ismene wears a veil. think a wedding veil but richly laced, ismene makes them herself as it is something for her to do with her long hours of free time. regular people aren't supposed to see her, this simulates how old ones were generally hard to look at as they were... uncanny. but also because members of the highest hierarchy in the old religion wore veils. generally only takes it off around zaccai. she likes wearing it around strangers because it gives her the illusion of privacy

springs and pools! prayer and other rituals are done in the water. there's a pool room in the temple ismene sits in for hours at a time praying. only high priestesses and prophets are allowed into the water without permission, and also zaccai. they can be manmade or natural, natural are preferred.

imagery of the gods is allowed, the springs usually have statues rising from the water to mark them as sacred. the temple has stained glass windows but those are of the "eyes of the old ones". these are inspired by the talismans from the last guardian. they're basically like what crosses are for christians or the triforce are for hylians, they're the Religion Symbol. faithful will have them in their homes, etc. not two are the same.

others besides ismene wear veils too like i said, high priestesses and prophets. though their veils are less... busy?? you can better see the person's face.

the old ones are genderless! but they can be worshiped in male and female capacities for specific means. they are also amoral! they don't work by our code of ethics, they have no code of eithics. they're gods.

after making ismene the old ones went to sleep. where? unclear. underneath the earth is how i've been thinking it, but they could have also jumped into the stars like the giants from hilda or retreated into the ocean. the point is they're asleep, kind of like lovecraft gods, and that's why the book is called let sleepers lie.

the proper way to address ismene is "your grace", zaccai uses "my grace". you call old ones "your majesty". it's fine to also call ismene "godling" or "the godling", older characters have also used "little goddess".

teddy and i had done a few rp threads but we've kinda rebooted and started from scratch, using the previous threads as a loose outline. here's what's happened so far:

ismene and zaccai have been living together for at least two years. ismene thought zaccai was a god like her, the minor god to her primary god. except oops, when they had sex he bled and his blood... was red. not a god. this is know as the Red Blood Incident.

this created a bit of a rift between them they are trying so, so hard to mend. they are all each other has. but they weren’t socialised enough as puppies.

they leave the temple for the first time in those 2(ish) years. they make it to the mountains where they find a commune of faithful who say they live with and worship an old one. among these faithful is a girl around ismene's age named amaryllis (she's important).

ismene and zaccai are brought to the old one... who happens to just be a regular woman. turns out that when you destroy the world and leave it to its own devices so you can raise your new god creates some religious anarchy and people are opportunistic.

ismene is horrified at the sight of this false goddess who has been lying to these people, taking their goods and love and time. ismene orders zaccai to cut off her tongue. so he does! the girl amaryllis helps him hold the false goddess down.

it starts to rain and so our duo is invited to stay at the commune. they find out telling people everything they believed in was a lie, thus shaking their way of life, makes things complicated. zaccai and ismene hang out with the faithful. meeting caspian, who'd been promised by the fraud he could one day have his dead children back. amaryllis tells them the fraud had promised her she'd be reunited with her lost sisters (and also that she'd be a prophet). they meet naida, who had found purpose with the fraud and is pissed now. silas, a painter who came here after his mother died. vesta, the cook who teaches zaccai food just doesn't have to be silver tree byproducts.

silas asks if he can paint ismene so they can have a reference to make a statue out of her. silas doesn't see a goddess. silas sees a hot girl he thinks he can charm but she's too autistic and demisexual to know what flirting is. (he tries to lift her veil to look at her face and zaccai almost kills him lol).

they visit the fraud who is being cared for by a man named rupert, who happens to be a doctor. ismene learns her name is rosa and she did this because, why not, if she could make a place for herself at the top of the food chain why not take it. she gave people purpse. zaccai meanwhile is getting his arm treated by rupert because ismene burned him to prove she was the real deal, rupert implies he knows zaccai. they don't discuss further.

smaller details

"knowledge or faith" is the philosphy of the task ismene (and zaccai by proxy) have set upon themselves. they need to find the knowledge of the old religion the old ones did not explain. they need faith for the new goddess

"do you wish my skin was like hers?" not being able to touch is Killing them. ismene and zaccai share a bed because it's safest (and also because they were literally made and built codependent). meeting amaryllis did no good to ismene's self-esteem. that's a girl who can touch the man you love without hurting him

ismene just burned zaccai on his shoulder blade for stepping into the pool without her say-so. act of incredible violence carried with the intimacy of a lover or whatever

"maybe i am not a god you pray to."

totally unrelated: the amount of times teddy and i have said "weird possessive sex would fix them" is unreal

THERE IS WAY MORE BUT I AM GONNA LEAVE IT THERE AHHHH THANK YOU CRÉME ILY 💖

[majorpepperidge]

Obviously not a 1:1 of the Marvel Rivals design but inspired by it, and will...prrrrobably just draw Groot like this from now on, with tweaks here and there.

[spindlekick]

THE Map of Dead Wood‼️🗺️

Took longer to finish bc I got busy w/ my new job, but she's finally here babeyy!!! It's not entirely to scale, but it's close enough to get the point across

Territory descriptions under the cut!

NOKOBY'S PEAK 👁️

A small community of obsessive magic Casters living on the cliffside of an arctic tundra. Everyone there is some kind of Summoner, Psychic, or esoteric magician. Captured Holy Beings power their towers; protecting them from the hellspawn that leak out from The Veilstain - or they would, if any of the creatures could survive the climb and freezing temperatures. The Casters here sacrifice everything for their practice, even their names and faces. While a little absent-minded and more than a little cult-like, the denizens of Nokoby's Peak are relatively harmless, considering themselves Seers rather than Soldiers.

ARUNDALE 🏞️

A relatively new and thriving coastal laketown. Most locals are farmers & fishermen, but they have a growing Caster population thanks to their reputation - Being the only territory (besides Nokoby's Peak) that hasn't been touched by The Veilstain, many send their family members here for safety + magical education. While more accepting of newcomers than Isolene, they still uphold the rule that those with 'Supernatural Ailments' must hide their deformities when in public & have reliable control over their curses. If a student/newcomer breaks these rules or harms anyone during their stay, they are exiled and forbidden from returning. Most locals believe the Lake protects them from the spread of the Stain, but those familiar with it's power know it's only a matter of time.

ISOLENE 🏔️

A society of mostly Humans living in the caves, caverns, & vast underground tunnels of the mountains. Their city is a labyrinth, with twisting passageways and hidden doors. Originally dug out and built during The Colossus War, the city was founded on fear and paranoia. Criteria for entry quickly became stricter and harder to achieve as the city expanded; slowly, it closed itself off from the surface entirely. The labyrinth passageways are booby-trapped & enchanted to confuse anyone that comes snooping around. Only Rockborn (those born & raised in Isolene) know where their city is & how to get there - naturally, nobody is allowed to leave, on the off chance they might reveal the tightly kept secret. Recent leakage of the Veilstain has only made these paranoid reclusives even more hostile to strangers.

RADER'S MILL 🌀

A poisoned stretch of woodland where the Rader family resides. They're the only people who live here, presumably because no one else wants to live so close to the Stain. Because of this, they're fairly isolated from the other communities. It's a day and a half's journey to Arundale alone, though Bambi is the only member of her family allowed to stay overnight - as long as she follows the rules.

Thanks to their proximity to the Veilstain, strange new species of Flora and Fauna thrive in their neck of the woods, though not all are edible and many are dangerously hostile.

THE BOUNDS 🌟

A grassland prairie separated by a giant chasm - impossible to cross without magic. Home to mostly werebeasts, though the divide has separated many families (the chasm wasn't always there). The only other way to get across is to go around through The Veilstain. It's a dangerous journey that can take up to three days, but having a Guide raises one's chances. The encroaching Stain has chased some from their forested homes to the praries, increasing hostility over territory & resources. Parents pay Guides to help their children pass through The Veilstain so they can learn magic in Arundale; hoping they'll use what they've learned to restore their homes & scrub out the Stain. Some feel it's only a matter of time before it spreads and pushes them all further towards the shoreline.

IRASTRIDA 🌋

A scarred land crowded with volcanic gysers and dead, calcified trees. With ash clogged skies and volcanic fumes choking the air, only a scattering of Damned even manage to live here. Not much is known about Irastrida other than even the Vielstain can't or won't touch it. Nobody knows why certain people choose to pilgrimage there, it's a land that appears to hate any and all forms of Life. Nothing that enters leaves unchanged.

THE VEILSTAIN 🏚️

A decayed and sinister woodland forest of blackened trees and the crumbled remains of a long fallen city. The Great Elk was killed here; The Blood of the Beast soaked the ground and rotted it from within - ripping a hole in The Veil separating the living from the dead. While horrific and fatal to most, it is a necromancer's paradise (if they can stay alive long enough to make use of it's secrets)

The Great Elk's corpse is the source of the Stain - it devours and corrupts all that it touches, creating new creatures of death and devastation. Nobody knows why it continues to spread so long after the demon's death; most believe it's enacting revenge on its master's behalf...or searching for something. Whatever it is, The Great Elk must never find it.

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ clean your frickin room. [new 1/29]

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | masterlist | navigation

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 2,465. read ✩࿐࿔ clean your frickin room on ao3

clean your frickin' room, babe. not because of some silly moral argument about cleanliness or because you feel ashamed of not cleaning it, but because you'll feel better when you do. and if you're overwhelmed or don't have time, just pick one thing: one dresser-top to clear off, one basket of laundry to put away, one bag of stuff to get rid of. we don't need to do it all at once. for nonnie-love ♡

thank you for your patience, darling. i hope you don't even need this anymore, but if you do, i hope it helps, even just the slightest bit. you're not alone, either. i feel like sometimes trying to keep a space clean can snowball out of control and become so overwhelming that it's hard to look at. it's NOTHING to be embarrassed about, and you don't have to tackle it all at once.

It’s not the kick on the door that breaks your concentration, or the Captain striding into your apartment like he owns the damn place. Which, you suppose, he kind of does. The Guardians are basically everyone’s landlords, in a weird way. Still, it’s not Rocket’s sudden and characteristically-rude invasion of your apartment that startles you — it’s his words. “You need to clean your room or something.” The pearly light of Knowhere’s manufactured morning spills in through your open window, warm and pale gold: painting over the recent neglect of your tiny home in a way that almost allows you to forget the clutter underneath. You’d almost turned Groot down when he’d asked to come over, for exactly this reason: it makes you grimace every time you think of how full the corners of your apartment have become, or the snarls of debris that have taken up residency against the floorboards. Still, you hadn’t expected him to just come out and say it. You blink up at the Captain. “I — excuse me, what?” Groot yelps as the cars on the holoscreen collide, and you wince. “Sorry, Groot.” “I am Groot,” the flora colossus pouts, tossing his controller on your coffee table and collapsing dramatically on the oversized couch that somehow manages to fit both of you. Still, you have to duck to avoid getting hit with a branch-like arm. Rocket opens up your cold-box and rifles around inside till he finds one of the egg-and-orloni yaro breakfast wraps you keep stocked just for him, and he tosses it into your flash-oven and sets the dials accordingly. “I said, you gotta clean your room or somethin’.” Your brow furrows in confusion, but you offer him a lopsided, quizzical grin as the flash-over pings softly, and he pulls out the hot breakfast wrap. “Uh, okay, mom.”

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

[CURRENTLY BACKLOGGED TILL MID-MARCH] feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 )

take care of your fuckin injury (wc: 2,102)

cook some goddamn food. (wc: 2,707)

clean your frickin room. (wc: 2,465)

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

teacup and teal line dividers by @/saradika-graphics | support banner by @/saradika-graphics | raccoon divider by @/thecutestgrotto. total wordcount: 31,941.

[shylyobscene]

If Only for Tonight Chapter 1

Chapter summary: Tonight could very well be one of your last nights alive, and you turn to Rocket for comfort. Things take a turn for the intimate when you reveal that you haven’t slept with anyone before.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: No smut (yet) but things do get spicier toward the end, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Discussions of death/mortality, Dirty talk

Ao3 | Masterlist | If Only for Tonight Index

It’s quiet on the Benatar tonight.

Or, more accurately, It’s been quiet on the Benatar for a while now. In another time, there was a level of collective chaos ever-present on the ship; never a dull moment—always a jaunty tune playing over the speakers, or the shuffling of cards while your crew-mates bicker, or the creak of wood as the resident flora colossus lumbers his way around.

Nowadays, the only thing breaking the quietude is the low chatter between you, Rocket, and Nebula as you all plot the next path into the cosmos.

Still, the silence tonight feels different. It’s all-encompassing—calm, somber—like the lull preceding a storm or the retreat of a wave before it comes crashing into the shore. The only thing you can hear is the low hum of the engines working steadily underfoot, the thud of your boots on the metal floors, and now, of course, the bottle of Asgardian ale you’d tucked into your pack, clinking gently against the rest of your belongings.

Nebula has probably retired for the night. The smart idea would be for you to do the same, but your feet continue to carry you forward.

To your credit, you do try to get some rest at first—if spending what feels like hours staring at the ceiling, fidgeting in your sheets counts as rest. You end up slipping out of bed to look out a porthole, coming up with constellations in a bid to relax. Stargazing turns into pacing up and down the corridor. And that turns into grabbing the best bottle of liquor you have and heading toward the only other person you know will be awake at this time of night.

The comm from the avengers replays in your mind in a dizzying loop all the while.

Time travel , you remember hearing.

One in Fourteen-million, six-hundred and five. Those are our odds.

In a few rotations, everything is going to change—for better or for worse.

You pull your pack more tightly around yourself once you reach the cockpit. Your gaze is pulled to the viewport where the rest of the galaxy awaits, blooming pink and purple and blue, speckled with stars. Rocket sits in front of it all, slouched in the pilot’s chair and tapping a silent melody into the steering wheel with a single claw.

He’s staring blankly into the distance, brows pulled together and eyes dark as he thinks. You frown.

There’s a constant air of melancholy to Rocket that he only ever lets seep into his expression when he thinks no one is looking. You doubt he’d tell you what’s bothering him even if you asked on a good day, and tonight he looks even wearier than usual. You hesitate, suddenly feeling like you’re intruding.

…Maybe it’s best not to bother him.

You begin to turn around, but his low voice comes rumbling through the room to stop you. “Can’t sleep either?”

You pause, and look over your shoulder at him. He’s still looking forward, eyes locked onto the endless vista of stars before him. The only indication he knows you’re there is the slight tilt of his head in your direction, and the faintest twitch of his ear.

“How’d you know I was here?” you ask, leaning against the doorway.

“Well, you ain’t exactly subtle. ”

“What? …I thought I was being pretty sneaky.”

“You’re a lot of things, but you’re sure as hell not sneaky,” he says, finally twisting in his chair to look at you. He raises a brow when he spots you, still standing at the top of the flight deck. “Well? You gonna just stand there?”

He’s asking you to keep him company—in his own, brusque way.

You smile and climb down the stairs, settling yourself into the seat beside him and dropping your pack onto the floor.

“What’s our ETA for Terra?” you inquire, looking over the star map and trying to make sense of the coordinates and predictive data charts he has pulled up on a separate screen. The mess of information is incomprehensible to you. How Rocket does it is a mystery.

“Another rotation or so. Maybe two, but prob’ly less than that. Shouldn’t be long now,” he responds.

You nod, mouth suddenly feeling dry. It’ll be soon, then. “…Do you really think it’ll work? The avengers didn’t sound too sure over the comms.”

Rocket lets out an airy, noncommittal noise. “Eh. It’s better than nothing, I guess.” He half shrugs before continuing. “But whatever—we’ve done the whole ‘saving the world’ thing twice already with just concepts of a plan before, anyway. What’s a third?”

You balk at him, then immediately try to mold your expression into something neutral.

All of you almost died those times. Some of you did die.

You must not do a very good job of keeping the mildly horrified look off of your face, because he glances at you apologetically before continuing.

“‘Hey. It’ll be fine. You got nothing to worry about—matter o’ fact, you got the galaxy’s best and brightest, sittin’ right here.” He grins, gesturing toward himself with an easy, practiced confidence. “Stark and the others aren’t playin’ around either. We’ve got a hell of a team. At the very least, we’ll be able to give it a good fight.”

It’s almost a convincing speech, if it weren’t for the tension in the set of his shoulders and the flick of his tail giving him away. You know he’s just trying to reassure you. If anything, he probably knows that you know, but he keeps up the facade anyway.

He turns away and smoothly operates the ship with one hand; all calculated swagger, carefully crafted to never really give away how much he actually cares.

You struggle to contain a smile. Rocket’s always so sweet , despite himself.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks.

“Nope! Just lost in thought,” you chirp. You can’t keep the pleased note out of your voice when you respond.

Rocket shoots you an exasperated look, but graciously decides not to tell you that he thinks you’re full of shit.

He focuses his attention back onto the viewport, but not before rolling his shoulders. He stretches out the knots in his back with a soft grunt as he repositions in his seat. You eye him suspiciously and find yourself wondering when he last slept.

“How long have you been sitting here?” you question, crossing your arms.

He shrugs. “A few hours. Why? You come here to lecture me again?” 

“Depends. Will you listen this time?”

Rocket teasingly clicks his tongue.

“You do always drive a hard bargain, but I think we both know the answer to that question.”

You roll your eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever. May as well keep you company either way.” You toss him a sly grin. “I know you get lonely without me.”

Rocket gives you a deadpan stare, mouth straightened into a humorless line.

“Uh huh,” he says dryly, but doesn’t say anything else to refute your statement. “Just wanna make sure we’re on the right track. Got a couple o’ loose ends I still need to tie, making sure we’re properly equipped and all that. We got some long days ahead of us.” You pout at him, and he softens. “…I’ll get to bed soon though. Promise,” he says at last.

You hum in acknowledgment, mollified by his answer.

It’s always been hard to pull him away from the cockpit even in the best of times, but it had proved near impossible in the early days of the snap, when the loss was still fresh. With half of the guardians dead, Rocket was dragged into the spotlight as stand-in captain—the responsibility took its toll on him, and he had made sure to take his frustrations out on everyone around him. He was so irritating at the time, quick to be rude and stubbornly refusing to sleep, even on nights when you could tell that his body was beginning to give out on him. Not that you fared much better. You and Rocket had argued a lot back then, until reality set in and the two of you realized that the other was one of the few people left who also understood what it meant to be forced to live on while your friends did not; still fighting, despite feeling undeserving of survival. 

The snap brought you two closer, in the end; Sole survivors, finding comfort in one another among tragedy. 

You let yourself get lost in thought, thinking of the last five years and how far the two of you have come. How close you are to potentially getting everyone back. About how it only takes one mistake, and everyone you care about is gone for good.

One in Fourteen-million, six-hundred and five. Those are our odds.

Rocket snaps you out of your reverie when he speaks, loudly. “ Hey. Were you even listening?”

“Sorry, what?” you respond dumbly.

“Was trying to fill you in on the plan.” Rocket sighs. He takes a moment to maneuver the ship through a patch of asteroids. Once it clears, he punches another set of coordinates into the flight controls then engages the autopilot. He turns his entire chair to face you, then folds his hands together on his lap. “Alright, come on. What’s wrong?”

“Huh? I didn’t even say anything.”

“Don’t have to. I can tell you’re jittery from here and your nerves are makin’ me nervous. You got all them gears turning in that head of yours.” He narrows his eyes. “Ain’t like you.”

You blink slowly at him, then chuckle at his concern. “It isn’t like me to think?”

“It ain’t like you to look so worried ,” he responds. Then, he taps a claw lightly to his chin, as if in thought. “Although, now that you mention it…”

You swat him lightly on the shoulder. Rocket cackles.

“ Easy , sweetheart. Don’t forget, I’m de facto Captain ‘til Quill gets back—that’s technically insubordinication.”

You snort and sit primly, crossing your legs. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Rocket’s eyes drop for a moment to watch as you swing one leg over the other, before his gaze flicks back up to your face. Then, he tilts his head and simply studies you. You freeze under the weight of his attention.

Nothing in his expression gives away what he’s thinking.

There’s an intensity in the way he’s considering you that leaves you squirming in your seat. More embarrassingly, a little bit of heat builds in your stomach and threatens to sink lower , but that’s neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.

After a moment, Rocket snickers and leans back, turning his chair to face the viewport once more—but not before throwing you a sideways glance that’d seem almost predatory if you didn’t know him any better.

“… Right,” is all he says before returning his attention to the stars. He only gives you a moment of reprieve before he speaks again. “Seriously though. You holdin’ up okay?”

The two of you watch as the galaxy passes by the Benatar in a sea of color, and you take it all in.

Rocket had said you would get to Terra in a rotation.

The past 5 years of fear and pain and suffering, all coming to a head in one, final stand-off.

One in Fourteen-million, six-hundred and five.

One in Fourteen- fucking -million, six-hundred and five. It’s not fucking fair.

Your vision blurs as tears begin to spill forth. You try to wipe them away before Rocket can see, but you know you’re too late because he looks stricken with panic . He fumbles to reassure you, but you cut him off before he can start.

“If I die, do you promise to take care of my plants for me?” you ask.

Rocket’s ears pin down to the sides of his head. He looks heartbroken then furious in quick succession. Like it’s ridiculous that you’d even suggest such a thing.

“You’ll take care of your own damn plants when I bring you and everyone else back alive ,” he snaps. “Besides, you still owe me several drinks for all the times I’ve saved your ass. You’re not allowed to die ‘til I’ve cashed out. Got it?”

You blink. He’s so sweet .

“It’s a date then,” you giggle, though your voice still comes out a little wet. He softens a little at the sound of your tittering laughter, responding with his own half-hearted chuckle. You sniffle and wipe your eyes against your forearm.

Once the humor dies from your throat, however, the stubborn tears continue to fall. This time you let them drop, leaving tracks on your face and soaking into your shirt.

“…I’m scared,” you say, letting the words ring hollow into the air.

Rocket swallows. “Yeah?” he says, voice a little rough.

“All those possible realities…and only one where we win.” You try your best to stifle your tears, taking measured breaths, but every inhale and exhale comes out shaky and you find yourself gulping for air between sobs instead. Your ears are ringing and your heart is pounding and you finally just let the tears run , letting all of the feelings you’d been bottling up inside you explode outward.

Agony rips through you as you’re faced with your abysmal odds: your friends might be dead for good, and in a few nights, you and the last few people you have left could be dead too.

Rocket lets you cry until you shake. He whispers quiet apologies and reassurances to you between your gasps. You don’t stop sobbing until you feel like you can’t anymore.

Once your breathing begins to even out, you softly speak again. “This is bigger than all of us—I don’t know what to do. I miss everyone so much. And I—I’m terrified, ” you confess, voice cracking.

“I know,” he says gently.

“I don’t want to die.”

“...I know.”

You wipe the last few tears off of your face, exhausted. Rocket looks somber.

“Tell me the truth,” you ask. “Do you think we’ll survive?”

“You want the honest answer?”

“Please.”

Rocket’s tail flicks against his leg, and he exhales slowly, looking at his palms. “…I don’t know. Probably not.”

Silence rings in the Benatar’s cockpit.

Despite everything, you smile at Rocket’s candid response.

It’s both relieving and frightening to hear it said aloud. Acknowledging the likelihood of death lifts a little bit of the weight from your shoulders, but at the same time it makes it feel more tangible than ever. Still, this is your reality. You have to make peace with the fact that you could lose everything— but what other choice do you have?

No running away, no turning back—no way out but through.

“So this is it, huh? The end run,” you say.

Rocket doesn’t disagree with you. He simply nods.

“Are you prepared for that?” he asks gently. He nearly reaches up to start tapping anxiously at the wheel again, before catching himself and setting his hands down. You can see them twitch in his lap—aching to move. “You don’t gotta get involved, you know. There’s a lot of risk that comes with getting mixed up in all of this; no one would blame you if you’re not feeling up to it.” His eyes flick back to the star map, calculating distances and jump points in his mind within mere seconds. “…Could maybe arrange for a drop off with Kraglin or something on the way. Wouldn’t be too much of a detour.”

You clench your fists, and the corners of your mouth turn downward as you angle yourself to face him. “I’m already involved. I’m not gonna sit back while everyone else risks their lives—has been risking their lives,” you assert. “I want my family back. Whatever it takes. You’re not gonna convince me otherwise.”

Rocket holds your gaze for a moment, before smiling approvingly. There’s something fond in the way he looks at you that makes your heart skip a beat.

“If you wanna send yourself to hell and back with me and the rest of ‘em, I doubt there’s anything I can say that’ll stop you anyway.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Somethin’ about not taking orders from me, if I remember right.”

His comment makes a surprised laugh bubble out of you. You’re glad you came up to the flight deck tonight.

Rocket shifts in your peripheral vision and your eyes are drawn to him. He looks exhausted, and you feel a little guilty about dumping your emotions onto him so suddenly.

“What about you?” you ask. “You’re not afraid of dying?”

He stops for a moment and thinks about your question, pensive.

“Gotta die sometime. The next few nights seem as good a time as any.” Rocket shrugs, drumming his fingers against his chair’s armrest. “You and the others…you’re all the family I got. ‘s worth the peril.” He looks at you and nods, tenacity glittering in his copper eyes. “We’ll get them back. All of ‘em.”

…All of them, huh?

You’re suddenly reminded of the lives that were lost forever, and your eyes drift downward. You stare at the slats in the vibranium floor, as if you might find all the answers nestled between the cracks.

“Not everybody. Gamora, and…” you trail off. There are too many names to list, and not enough time.

“Not everybody,” he agrees. “But we’ll get back who we can. Or we die trying.”

“We get back who can or die trying,” you echo, resolute.

The two of you give each other unsteady, subdued smiles.

Terra awaits. 

Rocket’s gaze burns vermilion as he looks at you; he pauses, and seems to deliberate over something. His eyes flicker down to the hand you have resting on your armrest. After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and gives you a couple of awkward pats on the shoulder.

You jump a little at the contact. He’s got a skittish look on his face, hand hovering over you, prepared to pull it away as if he’s worried you might bite. You soften, pull his hand from your shoulder to rest in your palm, then squeeze.

Rocket stiffens at first, ears pricked up and twitching, before slowly relaxing.

“You know, there’s no one else I’d rather walk face-first into death with, Captain, ” you tell him, not letting the wetness in your eyes dampen the brightness of your smile. You take a breath in, and the next words fall shakily from your mouth. “I’m glad I met you. And I’m glad to be here with you.”

Rocket holds your hand tightly.

“I‘m glad you’re here with me too.”

For a moment the two of you watch the stars together while he strokes comforting circles into your skin with the pad of his thumb.

When he pulls his hand away, you immediately miss his warmth.

You sink back into your chair, kicking your legs out and accidentally nudging the pack you’d tucked underneath you. The bottle of liquor inside rolls lightly with the movement. You turn to Rocket, grinning brightly as you pull your bag into your lap and start rifling through it. When he leans forward to try to get a peek at its contents, you twist away and hide it from his view. He looks at you distrustfully.

“Well, speaking of owing you drinks,” you start, hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “If the next few nights turn out to be our last ones alive anyway, may as well bust out the good booze.”

Rocket perks up in his seat and cackles. He raises his hand toward you, palm up. “Now you’re speakin’ my language, princess.”

“I don’t let my debts go unpaid.” You grin and swirl the bottle with a wink, letting the liquor swish around inside as you pass it to him. Your fingers brush against his as he takes it from your hand.

When he reads the label on the bottle, his eyes widen and he lets out an impressed peal of laughter.

“Ha! Where the hell’d you get this?” he says, thumbing the cap.

“Swiped it on Asgard. Been saving it for something special.” You shrug. “Guess that’s tonight.”

“Attagirl,” he responds lowly. Pleasure ripples through you at his compliment. “Knew there was somethin’ I liked about you.”

He passes the drink over to you again. You tap the bottom of the bottle against the console then leverage the cap against the edge to pop it off. Rocket looks like he’s about to lecture you about scratching up his flight controls, but seems to think better of it.

Once the seal releases, the liquor bubbles up over the top and spills over the side. You catch the liquid with your thumb and unthinkingly pop it into your mouth, licking down your palm to catch the excess. You taste notes of a nutty, caramel flavor—it’s delicious.

When you turn toward Rocket to pass the bottle to him again, he whips his head around like he was caught looking at something he wasn’t meant to see. You tilt your head in confusion.

He clears his throat before taking the ale from you, pointedly looking everywhere but you. “What, you didn’t pack any cups in there?”

“Nope. We’re drinking straight from the bottle, like champions. Unless you wanted to hike up to the kitchen and get us some cups?” you ask, not bothering to offer to get them yourself.

He quirks a brow. “Nice try.” He considers the bottle for a moment, before raising it up in a half-hearted toast, grinning sardonically. “To us then.”

He lifts the bottle and takes a hearty swig, then hands it to you.

“To us!” You take a drink and let the sweet, malted flavor of the ale coat your tongue. The alcohol buzzes pleasant and warm in your stomach.

The two of you pass the drink back and forth, sharing little stories about your lives and reminiscing over your favorite memories. More than once, he has you keeled over in laughter. He looks so smug every time, chest puffed up as he lays the jokes on thick. The two of you talk about Peter, and Drax, and Mantis, and Groot, and Gamora, and all the ways they made your lives a little brighter. Afterward, the two of you talk about all the ways you’ll celebrate once you’ve pieced your little found family back together; as if anything otherwise were never an option in the first place.

Once the bottle runs dry to the last drop, Rocket turns it over in his hands, peering inside.

“A lot lighter than I was expecting. You still owe me another half-drink,” he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. The ale was delicious, but admittedly not very strong. You mourn the empty bottle but resolve to enjoy the pleasant buzz you’re left with.

“My bad. Wasn’t trying to get you plastered on the way to messing with the time-space continuum.”

Rocket stretches languidly in his seat, tail curling over his leg.

“When we get back, I’m gonna spend at least a cycle on Contraxia. Would love to drain all those douchebags’ pockets dry to make the victory settle in even sweeter.”

“Yeah? When we get back, you’re gonna buy me the third installment of that fantasy novel I’ve been reading. The one I didn’t get because that stupid datapad collector on Xandar was ripping me off. Shouldn’t be a problem since you’ll be swimming in units by then, right?”

Rocket raises a brow at you dubiously. “Real precious that you think I’d spend any of my hard-earned units on that flowery crap you like so much.”

“You wouldn’t? Not even if I asked really nicely?”

A deep, rumbling chuckle ripples out of him.

“Cute.” As an afterthought, he adds, “You could maybe convince me to steal it for you.”

“How sweet.” You run your finger along the rim of the empty glass, wishing you had stolen a second bottle. You slouch a little further into your seat as the buzz begins to wear off. “Do you have anything you regret not doing? Like, really regret. In case we really don’t make it out.”

Rocket stops and considers your words. His face twists into something forlorn and you suddenly regret sullying the mood with such a grim question. He sighs, and his expression settles into something more contemplative. For a moment, he just stares off into the sky again, looking haunted.

You can never tell what it is that seems to weigh so heavily on him. You hope one day he’ll let you—or anyone , really—help ease that burden. It seems that tonight isn’t the night though, because he just shakes off the lost look in his eyes and runs a hand against the cool surface of the flight console.

“…I used to dream about takin’ everyone I ever cared about on the biggest frickin’ ship I could find, and flying us into the sky. Forever.” The stars reflect in his eyes, glimmering against his irises and projecting an entire galaxy of their own against a sunset-orange backdrop. He exhales slowly through his nose and pulls his hand back into his lap, settling into his seat. “Got everything I need right here. Just a matter of getting a few of my adopted idiots back,” he says quietly. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “So no, if I die in the next couple of nights, I don’t think I’ll regret anything.”

And it’s true. You don’t think Rocket’s ever looked more at home—or more lovely, if you’re honest with yourself—than he does behind the wheel of a ship, lit only by the cool glow of the flight controls and doused in starlight. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“What about you, sweetheart? Any big regrets you carryin’ around?”

You almost tell him no, but the word dies in your throat before you can speak it aloud. He must be able to sense your trepidation, because his brows furrow and he tilts his head in concern. You want to reach out and smooth over the creases on his face with your thumb.

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

I should tell him, you think. Before it’s too late.

You rack your brain for something to say. Anything. A way to express what he means to you; something that encompasses the magnitude of how you feel about him.

“My biggest regret is—I guess it’s, um—that I’m probably gonna die a virgin,” is what comes tumbling out of your mouth instead, with all the grace of a newborn foal.

You flush and resist the urge to bury your face in your hands, stubbornly holding eye contact as if facing him head-on makes it any less humiliating.

Rocket stiffens in his seat and blinks at you, brows raised high and mouth slightly agape. He lets out a nervous chuckle, and you only serve to turn redder. He stops laughing when he notices your features screwing up in sheer mortification.

Rocket’s ears droop, eyes wide.

“Wait. You’re bein’ serious.”

Forget Thanos—you want to die , right here, right now. You half hope that maybe you can blame it on the booze, or that Rocket will take pity on you and forget you ever opened your big mouth, but your last drink was a while ago and Rocket’s never been known to be particularly merciful.

“So, you’ve never…?” he asks, stunned.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “…No,” you squeak.

Rocket looks horrified then incredulous in quick succession. He takes you in, dragging his eyes over you in a way that looks more confused than anything. When his eyes meet yours again, he seems to remember himself and schools his expression into something more impassive.

“Ah. Well. I s’pose that makes sense,” he says with a cough. “You’re stuck on this ship and we were hardly ever planetside even before the snap. Not exactly spoiled for choice out here.”

You say nothing, keeping your eyes locked on him, searching.

“…Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asks.

Rocket seems to interpret your silence as embarrassment, and he’s not entirely wrong either. He tries for awkward reassurance instead.

“Listen sweetheart, being a virgin isn’t a problem in the first place. Don’t matter how many people you have or haven’t slept with. Anyone that actually cares about that is an asshole,” Rocket starts. He takes the steering wheel in hand again, despite the fact that the ship is still on autopilot, and taps almost frantically against it with his claw. “But look, if you’re really that concerned about it, you’ll find someone soon. Once all of this is all over.” He forces his hands to still…then gives up, and continues tapping. “Maybe some nice, Terran idiot who’ll treat you well,” he says, making a face reflexively.

“You think so?” you ask.

Rocket looks you over again—this time, his gaze travels over the contours of your body and the places where your clothing skims tightly against your curves. There’s a heat to it that makes your thighs clamp together, but the intensity of it proves transient. He quickly looks away, so fast that you question whether that wolfish look was even there in the first place or if you had just imagined it.

Rocket shrugs, suddenly looking damn near bored. He puts his hands behind his head, stretches his legs out, and leans back in a manner that is almost painfully blasé.

“Well, I promise it’s not ‘cause you’re ugly,” he says blithely. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Always so charming,” you respond, sarcasm dripping from your voice in droves.

“Oh, I know .”

You huff in irritation and sit up in an attempt to kick at his leg half-heartedly. He cackles, dodging you without even looking .

“You know I'm kidding.” Rocket sits up straight and clears his throat, features softening. “…Anyone’d be real lucky. You know that.”

“I don’t want just anyone,” you sulk. The next words fall from your mouth before you can think any better of them. “…It could be you, you know.”

Rocket jolts and looks like he’s about to fall out of his seat. “I— What?”

“You said I should find someone nice. Someone that treats me well. That anyone would be lucky,” you respond, trying to keep your tone casual despite the fact that you feel like you might pass out. “Could be you.”

Rocket—mechanical and electrical genius, weapons and artillery expert, two-time savior of the galaxy—looks at you dumbfounded , like his brain has just skipped out on him. You think you might genuinely melt into a puddle onto the floor, but it’s too late to back out now.

He laughs anxiously. Starts fiddling with the flight controls again even though he’s still not actually flying the ship.

“First of all, I ain’t nice. Probably wouldn’t even treat you all that well. Second of all—are you fuckin’ with me? It ain’t funny , by the way,” he says darkly.

“Do you not want to?”

Rocket winces. “Never said that.”

“Okay? So...If I want to, and you want to, then why not?”

Rocket presses down on the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t think you really understand what you’re askin’ me for right now.”

You scoff at him, irritated. “I do understand.”

Rocket swivels in his seat, and looks like he’s this close to tossing you out the airlock. You have no idea what his problem is.

“Look, you’re clearly stressed out and it’s got you pent up and sayin’ shit that’s crazy. If this were anyone else I’d be hangin’ it over their head ‘til the end of time, but I like you, so I’ll do you a favor and forget you said any of that if you drop it, ” he snarls.

“But Rocket —“

“ No . I said to drop—“

“Why are you treating me like I’m a kid? Is it so unbelievable that I’d want this?” you snap. Rocket looks bewildered, frazzled. You carry on with your plea even as your breath falls heavily out of your lungs. “I know what I want. I want to—I want you to—” You stumble over your words, embarrassed. “…I want you. ”

Rocket’s eyes harden.

“…is that right?” he sneers.

You nod. You refuse to let him intimidate you.

“I know what I want,” you say, a challenge in your voice. “Do you? ”

You look him in the eye, head held high and projecting a level of confidence that’s a lot braver than you actually feel.

“You’re awful mouthy, doll. I’d be careful if I were you,” he responds lowly. He finally takes his hands off of the steering wheel, and turns his entire chair to face you directly. “You’re sittin’ here, talkin’ ‘bout how you’re so sure you’re ready, but you can’t even say it out loud. ”

You could cry in frustration. Why is he always so stubborn?

“I just told you that I—“

“No, you told me that you wanted me to—to—” he says, mocking your stutter. “To what? If you’re so sure about what you want from me, then say it.”

Rocket holds your gaze steadily, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, waiting. He looks calm. Relaxed. In control.

Oh. Oh.

“I…I want you to touch me,” you say meekly.

“Hm. That’s a start,” he drawls. “But that’s not what you asked me to do.” He gets up and makes his way toward your seat. “What you’re asking me to do is fuck you. So if you’re so sure about what you want, then say it out loud, princess. Tell me you want me to fuck you. ”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter quietly.

“Louder.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, louder this time. You can hardly hear yourself over the pounding of your own heart as he approaches.

Rocket clicks his tongue. He steps up onto your seat, one foot settling between your legs, forcing you to spread them wide in order to accommodate him.

“Don’t believe you.” He leans forward and looks down at you, bracing one hand against the back of your chair. He’s so close—you can almost feel the heat of him as he draws nearer to you but doesn’t quite touch you. “Again.”

“Rocket— please— I don’t— please, fuck me.“

A low growl bubbles up from his throat as he reaches down and grabs a fistful of your hair, angling your head toward him and swooping down to capture your lips in his. He lets your hair tangle up in his claws and tilts your head further to press you even harder against him—but his touch is still gentle. Soft. You can tell that, despite all that talk about not being nice and not treating you well, he plans to take care of you. Your heart swells with affection for him, moving your lips against his.

You moan when he takes the fat of your lip into his mouth and sucks, letting his teeth graze threateningly against the delicate skin. Your lip falls out of his mouth with a pop and you gasp—he takes the opportunity to lick into you, like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste.

This close, the scent of him is dizzying, like forest rain and pine trees, underlined with sharp, acrid motor oil. He kisses you deeper and deeper, pausing to let you gasp for air only to dive in for more just seconds later. Just when you hope dazedly, dreamily , that it might never end, he pulls away.

He’s still got his hand clenched against the back of your chair, the fabric rippling under the denting force of his claws. He sighs contentedly, nuzzling his nose into the angle of your jaw. His gaze drops down to your mouth and the hand that was in your hair comes down as he brushes the pad of his thumb against your lip, wet and swollen and battered against his rough kisses.

“…You still sure about this?” he asks. His thumb moves to stroke against your cheek. You tilt your head into his touch, closing your eyes.

“I want this more than anything.”

“Ha. Okay.” He chuckles disbelievingly, pressing an almost chaste kiss to your forehead. He places another one at the top of your cheekbone, where your tear-tracks have dried. His kisses sink lower, to the base of your jaw and then into the sensitive skin on your neck. “You can back out any time you want, you know.”

His free hand strokes along your shoulder as he works. “I know. I trust you, Rocket.”

“Alright sweetheart. Let’s solve your little problem then,” he says, and swoops in for the kill.

—

Ao3 | Masterlist | If Only for Tonight Index