Good Bless You Crazy Raccoon.

More goodness from my favorite author.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter six. lockheartedness. [new 4/11] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 6/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter six. lockheartedness.

pearl and the monster get to know one another. a little bit. see below for warnings & notes.

I just wanted to learn how to fly.  The words lurch in his memory; in his heart and his stomach. If she were gonna be around longer — if he had more time with her— He’s never tried to teach anyone anything and he can’t imagine he’s good at it. Or maybe that’s not quite true; he’d tried to teach A95 and L06 some stuff when they’d been in the cages together, back when he’d been as hopeful and stupid as pearl herself. They hadn’t had an easy time grasping what he was trying to help them learn, though, and since — since them — he’s never really tried. Not beyond explaining to Tullk and the Ravager captain about some of the repairs and modifications he’d made to the Eclector. But Tullk and the Captain had gotten it, hadn’t they? Maybe he could teach her to fly, after all, if they had a little more time— Because if there’s one thing he can understand, it’s wanting to get off the ground and into the beautiful and forever. Wanting to feel untethered from gravity, unstitched from the soil. Loose and free of pain, able to go anywhere a person had the money and heart to go. The first time he’d felt the yoke cradled in his palms, he’d known what it was to finally have his life in his own hands— No, he reminds himself firmly. For her own sake and safety — and for his sanity — she has to go. As soon as possible. 

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

sometimes you just have to have a chapter to get you from point A to point B. it's so hard to make these chapters GOOD so i'm sorry if it sucks and i hope you enjoyed it at least a lil. more angst to come in chapter seven, some comfort to balance the hurt in chapter eight, and a few anime-style "beach" episodes before we get moving into more plot-heavy chapters. thanks for being part of this with me. the support has been deeply, deeply appreciated. ♡

WARNINGS for chapter six: leftover regret. descriptions of child abuse/grooming (specifically gaslighting, blaming, and pet/animal death).

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

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

Love this!

I’m gonna write the fuck outta this scene you’ve imagined if you aren’t careful. 🦝 🧔

tbh rocket in the 2021 video game looks like a cute lil man with his beard i wanna braid it

looooook

i have so many thoughts about this lil guy and his goatee. i already started writing about it in my LENGTHY fuckin list of eidos-rocket headcanons that i'm trying to post in july (i'm so close to being done watching the game but then i feel like i gotta go find all his lines somewhere tbh because i can't just rewatch it 4+ times like i have with the movies). but honestly, this guy is the most vain rocket, i'm pretty sure. his fur is SO fluffy and sleek. and that little beard is so well-manicured and maintained and flowy. he's got lil beads in it. what a cutie.

(i may have said this before but like, he for sure stole beard-oil from some spartoi dickhead at some point, just for laughs? but then got addicted to how nice it made his fur feel. eventually he had to find a knowhere vendor who could reproduce it for him on the cheap)

like all rockets, i'm sure he hates being touched without consent, though it probably looks something like "hey, get your krutackin' mitts off the fur!" ...but once he trusts you? he's for sure gonna let you groom him. he loves the way it feels when you comb through his fur delicately, dividing and weaving together the surprisingly-silky strands. sometimes he'll even let you choose the beads, as long as they match his overall aesthetic.

(depending on your relationship, this could definitely become a steamy situation. i imagine you sprawled across him in his hammock, braiding his beard while he lays on his back with a hand tucked under his head and the other tracing your shoulderblade with a light, prickling claw. for sure there's been at least once that you were helping him with it in the common room - fully-clothed and actually innocent for once, with him sitting on the couch and you on your knees in front of him. pete walked in, saw you, turned bright red, and backed out of the room like he'd just seen something that would scar him for life. look there's an undeniable intimacy to it)

OMFG… I have to huff them all irrespective of any dour consequences and likely very personal harm!

rocket smells nice. (headcanon whatever)

in my head, all the rockets i write for (and the ones i don't) have a scent. if you wanna make me real happy lmk your own rocket-smells-like headcanons or give me another rocket to dream up fragrances for. i'm happy to give any rocket (canonical or not) a bouquet

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

"canon" rockets ~

eidos-rocket ~ i'm not technically writing for this guy (yet??) but i headcanon he smells like cedar & black pepper (he stole beard oil from some spartoi douche one time but it made his fur so healthy and glossy that he hasn't stopped using it), spiced caramel rum from mantlo's, iron, engine fuel, and gunpowder. burnt everbloom 'cause you know this guy smokes (i imagine it smells gingery).

universe-killer rocket ~ i don't write for this guy yet either, but i think about him way too often. burnt metal and high-iron-content meteorites. something like menthol ~ it activates your cold receptors, like you're breathing in the breeze right off a glacier. star anise & fennel. you'll be tempted to take a deep whiff of his fur but even if he decides not to kill you, you're probably still risking a lungful of toxic vibranium laser dust.

general mcu rocket ~ some kind of evergreen and foresty smell, petrichor maybe; something metallic like iron or copper, and something burnt and smoky. in the earlier years, he always smelled like some kind of cheap alcohol; in later years, a leatherlike smell from his armored-fiber uniform. i don't think this guy reads a lot of paper-books, but he definitely smells like 'em. (i use this as a template for a lot of "my" rockets)

general comics rocket (especially ewing) ~ angargal's limited batch of course (i suspect it smells like a combo of spiced bourbon and rich dark-caramel rum, once the overpowering scent of pure fuckin' alcohol has evaporated out). black-black-black coffee. dark chocolate. amber. vetiver. that burnt, gingery everbloom again.

skottie young's rocket ~ sweet almonds (see cicatrix-rocket's marzipan smell) and banana (from some kind of cousin to nitroglycerin). whatever he's using for jet fuel these days, which doubtless has a hefty dose of benzenes (sweet-smelling and actually intoxicating ~ though since we're talking about a sentient anthropomorphic raccoon i'm gonna go ahead and say the intergalactic space-faring community has figured out how to make 'em non-carcinogenic). you will get some sort of low-grade contact high if you huff his fur like you know you want to. probably also smells like some kind of alien hops, too (maybe acanti blubber ale if he's gotten any good contraband lately, though i imagine that smells like burnt tire).

"my" rockets ~

space pilot & sweatshirt girl ✩°｡⋆ rocket - campfires, strong coffee, and evergreen. amber and smoke. rich dark hot chocolate and yummy bourbon, when he's with you.

blackmail material ✩˚₊‧ ♡ rocket ~ sandalwood, oak, gunpowder. the undertones of some sort of alien citrus-fruit you've seen him eating (something between a plum and an orange), and what you think at first are mulling spices but later you realize it's just where your own Xandaran body oil has rubbed off onto his fur.

window across the galaxy *:･ﾟ✧ rocket ~ blue spruce, fallen leaves, oakmoss, ozone (or maybe that's just electricity). iron and copper, engine fuel.

florescence❀ rocket ~ campfires, wet stone, the peppery-resinous scent of the kind of machine grease he prefers (his own concoction). a faint hit of vanilla-mint-honeysuckle from groot's flowers, and the clove-like spices from your cider.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ rocket ~ juniper, blackberry, and something like leather. a sharp and smoky scent, like laser-carved wood. on some occasions, a hint of yaro-root wine (which is basically a peachy hard cider, with a dangerously subtle alcohol flavor).

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket ~ blue spruce, burnt wood, and a strong, rich, buttery-sweet marzipan from the broken-down components of his C4-adjacent explosives. petrichor, labdanum and camphor, and faint whiffs of engine fuel.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist banners & dividers by @thecutestgrotto & @saradika-graphics ♡

This is goddamn beautiful, and I’m just loving every bit of interaction between these two darlings. Also, Rocket should fuck around with every part of Natasha’s car. 🚗

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part three. illinois. wisconsin. minnesota.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est june 4] | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 3/6 | word count: 1680.

night falls on the outskirts of chicago. wanda and rocket reflect on the horrors of the universe.

During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR

references dialogue from All-New Guardians of the Galaxy Issue #4 - 6/21/2017

At Rocket’s urging, they’d stopped in a weird little convenience-and-fuel shop that the witch had called a rest stop, and he’d sneaked in behind some other humies and poked through the variety of chargers, converters, headphones, and other piecemeal tech that the rest stop had available for travelers to buy.

He’d emptied his pockets once they’d gotten back on the road and Wanda had looked at him with a crease between her brows. 

“How did you buy all that?” she’d asked, lips pursed. She always has big eyes, but they’d seemed even bigger then, and he hadn’t been able to quite clock what her expression had meant.  

So he’d just snorted. “Do I look like I carry Terran cash?”

Again, something in the corner of her mouth had flickered.

He’d been able to spend most of Indiana peeling apart wires and twisting them into one, breaking apart plastic hulls, and snapping together pieces of metal. 

“Natasha’s going to kill you,” Wanda tells him when he pries off the plastic facade protecting the wiring for all the fancy controls on Nat’s dashboard.

He shrugs. “Not if she can’t catch me.”

The witch makes that little puff of sound again. “Just — don’t mess with anything but the sound system,” she tells him. “I’m not making this drive without climate control and blinkers.”

He snorts, then points to a little heating coil the size of an old Kree Imperial coin. “What about that? Can I fuck with that?”

She glances over. “The cigarette lighter? Sure.”

It barely takes him any time to hook up the zune, and it’s crooning through Nat’s speakers by the time they hit the outskirts of Chicago. The sun’s long dropped behind the horizon by then, and he tells her they should hole up for the night.

“Danvers ain’t in that much of a rush,” he tells her. “We can take a break. Get some sleep.”

The witch doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about sharing a room with him, which is nice, because most of the time he feels like he’s gotta be on his guard with these baldbodies. He’s fairly certain at least half of the Avengers ain’t got any frickin’ respect for him or Nebs, and it’s frankly demoralizing.

But here he is, sharing a room with the witch. He’s never been one for regular sleep, and he’s got this thing with nightmares he doesn’t really want to inflict on Wanda. So he stays up most of the night, propped dozily against the headboard and fucking around on a datapad. The witch, for her part, pretends to watch some show on the two-dimensional Terran holovid-projector — primitive — then turns it off and pretends to sleep.

Pretends.

He tilts his head down at his datapad and wonders whether or not he should tell her that he can hear her heartbeat. It hasn’t dropped down to a relaxed, drowsy rate yet — in fact, sometimes he can hear it picking up, just for a minute. He wrestles with himself for a good fifteen minutes before he sighs and gets up, crossing the room to lean against the wall with the window. The witch is facing it, and he knows she can sense him, even though her eyes are closed. He leans back against the wall-mounted climate control unit, crossing his arms across his chest and his legs at the ankle while he waits for Wanda give up her silly charade.

It only takes about twenty seconds of him staring at her with one brow raised before she opens her eyes. They’re glowing as blood-crimson as his in this light — but where Rocket knows that his are made of reflective eyeshine, throwing back the flat light from the cracked bathroom door, hers are lit from the inside: whirling firestorms that would light up like furious beacons on even the most lightless of planets. 

He tries to curl the corner of his mouth in a way that says he’s unimpressed, but it’s a lie, and he’s never been good at lying.

“F’you’re not gonna sleep…”

She sighs and sits up, then rises, moving toward him so quickly that he startles: arms unfolding to defend himself, ears flickering flat. But she just comes and pulls the heavy curtains back, staring out into the distance. The glow of the city sits on the horizon, pinned with gemstone-lights. She leans forward, elbows propper on the window sill and hands on her chin.

“I don’t sleep much,” she says quietly.

He hesitates, then leaps nimbly onto the armchair on her other side, so he can peer out the window too.

“Yeah, well, you’re in good company,” he concedes after a moment. “Not sure how anybody does, to be honest.”

She snorts delicately at that, and he startles again. It’s the first time he’s seen that much life out of her — not counting her barely-banked outrage when he’d first called her boyfriend a robot, or the deadly-looking glow in her eyes a few moments ago.

“They think you can look away from the horrors of the universe,” she says emotionlessly, then shrugs. “I suppose—”

“No,” he interrupts flatly. “You can’t.”

She’s silent, and he doesn’t say anything either. They stare out toward the city for longer than Rocket knows — and to be honest, he’s only partly paying attention: sunk moodily into the horrors that plague his own mind. When he shakes himself – fur rippling from nose to tailtip — he’s reminded that he’s not alone. The witch looks as distant as he probably had. He’d been wondering — ever since the Snap — why she’d seemed so separate from her fellow Avengers, but he figures he gets it now. They’re an annoyingly optimistic bunch and she — she’s got her own horrors, too. 

She sighs, and stretches: hands gripping the sill, back arched like a cat. “Well,” she reasons. “If neither of us are sleeping, maybe we should get on the road?”

They stop at a roadside diner with outdoor seating and even though the sun is only blushing up the eastward horizon, Wanda insists on eating outside. She’s not trying to get in a situation where someone tells them that Rocket can’t be in a restaurant. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with his fury at the — well, the injustice of it. 

Because he’s not an animal. She’s still not sure exactly what he is, but he’s not an animal. She thinks again of his voice in the darkness beside her in the still-dark hours of the morning:

No, you can’t.

All of the Avengers do it, to some extent or another. Look past some of the horrors. She supposes it’s how they survive.

But she can’t.

She hasn’t been able to look away since she’d been trapped under that bed with Pietro, staring at the Stark Industries missile. She’s been waiting for death ever since. Now, under a rose-and-lavender sky with Rocket, she suddenly realizes that this is why it had been so easy to believe in Ultron’s promises.

Ultron hadn’t been able to look away, either. 

She supposes now that killing people is perhaps the wrong way to deal with it, but she still understands the broken heart at the core of the whole aching dilemma.

She’d started to take her eyes off it, once — the Stark Industries missile and everything else that came after. She’d started to lose sight of all that misery in the softness of Vis’ eyes, and now — now there’s nothing to distract her.

She just wants to look in his eyes again, instead of at — everything else.

But here’s Rocket, and he — she thinks maybe he understands. Strange, that she would find someone else so like her. It apparently took billions of lightyears’ worth of travel and some sort of — of alien mutation or something, but here he is.

They take breaks in Rochester and Sioux Falls, and listen to almost every song on the zune, including repeats from yesterday. Rocket picks up earpods and batteries and a dozen other small devices at every rest stop they pause at, and she doesn’t ask how he gets a hold of them. He tears them apart beside her, legs still swinging in the seat, and she imagines stopping somewhere and picking up a child’s carseat for him. There’s a curl in the corner of her mouth before she recognizes the feeling of it, and it startles her — to know that she’s still capable of smiling.

Rocket reconfigures the little devices into strange combinations that she’s sure are somehow purposeful, seemingly none-the-wiser in regards to her errant, probably-insulting thought and her first smile in years. The quiet between them feels oddly companionable. 

“Rocket,” she says, sometime between stops. “What is this mission Carol gave you, anyway? I need to know how I’m supposed to help you.”

He shrugs, focused on the now-unidentifiable piece of tech in his hands. It moves so fast — flashing metal and chipped plastic, little bundles of wires. “Gettin’ me there’s good enough, sweetheart,” he mutters, then flinches at the same time she shoots him a startled, sideways stare. “Sorry,” he mumbles, grimacing. 

She puts her eyes back on the pavement, the broken white lines sliding quickly beneath and beyond them. “That’s fine,” she says quietly, and he offers a half-shrug.

“Know Nat hates when I call her that,”  he admits, still focused on whatever he’s making. Another quick glance tells her his ears are flattened, though. “Try not to.” She can feel him hesitate before he flashes a sharp grin into her periphery. “Prob’ly can’t just keep calling you witch, though.”

She snorts before she can stop herself: a broken half of a chuckle, rusty and unused. “Why not?” she asks, and he snickers under his breath as the trees go by and the zune repeats another song through his makeshift adapter.

“I think calling her sweetheart is going to be the least of your concerns once she sees how you’ve messed with her car,” Wanda adds, and when he cackles, it pulls something answering out of her lungs: cherry-blossom-bright and unfamiliar, and real. The laugh feels strange in her mouth, absent so long she’d forgotten the petalled shape of it.

Both of them abruptly fall quiet, the sounds of Joan Jett curling through the speakers.

“Did you just—?” Rocket asks, the words crackling off at the end, and Wanda’s hands tighten on the wheel.

“Yes,” she says quietly, although the startle is still in her voice. “I did.”

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After getting over the initial shock and heartbreak of this tweet and this reply, it hit me that (and I don't know if this is a cultural thing here in the middle east or an Islamic one)

A child has to be named even if they're stillborn.

For a child to not be named, that means there's no one left to name them. They were killed along with their entire family.

I hoped I was wrong, but I checked the list of victims of Israeli attacks and found this:

Israel has ended 47 Palestinian bloodlines over the course of this genocide (or perhaps more), so you might think that this little detail isn't that important, but I don't think we should get used to cruelty of this proportion, no matter how consistently Israel commits it.

The number of victims isn't just a number. These are people with full lives and hopes and dreams.

It's enough of a disaster that these families were wiped out, but in murdering them, Israel didn't just deprive them of their lives, hopes, and dreams. It deprived them of even the dignity to name their children.

It continues to deprive the remaining Palestinians of their most basic human rights.

What did the Palestinians do to not deserve food or water or electricity?

What did their *newborns* do to not deserve lives or at the very least names?!

This is the most harrowing form of terrorism I can think of. The genocidal Israeli occupation is the most despicable terrorist organization the world has had the displeasure of knowing.

The whole world should be deeply ashamed that it's not only allowing such heinous war crimes to be committed, but in a lot of ways, it's enabling them.

I don't know how anyone can be neutral about this.

Stand with Palestine, stand against the occupation. Against genocide.

ربنا يتقبل الأطفال دول و أمهاتهم و عائلاتهم اللي الاحتلال قتلهم معاهم شهداء، و ينتقم من إسرائيل و أي حد بيمكّنهم أشد انتقام في الدنيا قبل الآخرة.

I adore these head cannons! What a delightful little deviant this version of Rocket is. Love that he canonically fucks.

eidos-rocket headcanons

nonnie asked: Do you have any head canons for Eidos Rocket with an S/O?

sweet chickadee, do i ever. sfw & nsfw headcanons for eidos-rocket behind the cut. my headcanons are too long tho so thursday i will post the lil minific that i wrote you. gn reader & it's just a tiny bit spicy (i'll link it here once it's posted). i hope you enjoy! ♡♡

also please bear with me if there are any major inconsistencies with game canon. unlike the movies, i couldn't really rewatch a million times, nor is it quite as easy to do research to fill in the gaps as it is with the movies.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

sfw headcanons

eidos-rocket dates a LOT. he's a big fan of the idea that two (or more) people can enjoy themselves and each other without any strings attached. unfortunately for you (and himself), the only people he's ever felt (or allowed himself to feel) committed to were lylla and tella, and to be honest, he's got a lot of hang-ups about both of 'em. one sacrificed herself so he could be free of the kree and he still feels like he owes her; the other stole the ship he hacked for her and left him to the wolves. if he's had any scrap of personal affection or optimism for biologicals left after rak-mar, it had evaporated then, and had only been resurrected by groot.

nevertheless, he'll get along with you as well as he could be expected to get along with any new person in his life. maybe you're a newbie on the guardians team, or maybe you're a stranger he picks up at a contraxian bar. hell, maybe you're a dancer at that place he likes so much on knowhere. he'll put up with you the same way he puts up with mantis: a little baffled at what he perceives as your weirdness, and surprisingly receptive to whatever endearments you accidentally levy against him. but whether your presence in his life begins with a sexual proposition, a date, or a job on the milano, once he starts developing more intense feelings for you, he'll shut down. even having a crush will feel like a betrayal of the otter who gave her life for him to escape the kree. he'll spend way too much time hating himself and trying to push you away - usually by blaming you for petty slights that he knows he's either made up or exaggerated. of course, every time he does, he'll feel like scut about it. he'll have a powerful urge to grovel, but he won't let himself - at least not till he finally believes that he's got enough love to give you while still cherishing his memories of lylla. luckily for him, he's got you to help him get there.

remember how protective eidos-rocket is of groot? now that he trusts you and realizes how much he wants you in his life, he's starting to feel the same way toward you. well, not exactly the same way, obviously - but though it's taken him a while to come around on it, he now realizes you're just as sweet as his big best friend, and just as in-need of someone to look out for you and make sure you're not taken advantage of by all the scut n' chogs out here. you think it's just impatience at first - when he starts towing you around knowhere with your wrist clamped in his hand - but it's more about wanting to make sure he can keep track of you, and plant himself safely in front of you if any weirdos show up.

like his counterparts, eidos-rocket doesn't sleep much. if he stops thinking for long enough to rest, his mind immediately rotates wartime memories and flashbacks from the kree labs. he'll spiral out, thinking of the brain-numbingly repetitive tasks he'd been forced to do, growing more and more panicked rather than actually resting. plus, something about sleep makes his subconscious call up memories of the sensory deprivation tanks. sure, they weren't as painful or agonizing as his other memories of conditioning, torture, experimentation, and battle, but they're what he most often has nightmares of: being nothing, floating in nothing. the epitome of alone-ness. which is why he's such a sap for being touched. the first time you'd reached out instinctively to ruffle the too-soft-looking fur at the base of his thickly-velveted ears, he'd swatted at you with both hands like you were a goddamn bug. flarkin' infantilizing, he'd growled. but at some point, you'd done it again (on accidental impulse, of course; all things considered, you're probably the least invasive person he knows, so he should really cut you some slack). it had still given him a bit of panic, but no-one had been around, so he'd settled for glaring at you. fortunately for you both, it hadn't been too long before he'd admitted to himselfthat he wants you to touch him all the time.

now that eidos-rocket trusts you enough, he’s particularly partial to you grooming him. the feel of your fingers stroking through the ruff along his cheeks, running through the surprisingly-silky texture of his little beard? he loves when you braid it for him. it feels so good that he can’t help but close his eyes and tilt up his face, like a cat getting chin-scratches. if he’s in a good mood, he’ll even let you pick the beads. that’s a gesture of true intimacy, by the way. you think he’d trust just anyone to honor his aesthetic?

since we're talking about his goatee and his aesthetic, let's admit that eidos-rocket is by far the most vain of all his current incarnations. the manicured neatness of that little beard and its embellishments? the obscene fluffiness of his tail? this guy uses a high-quality oil to keep his fur and skin in good condition. it started when he stole some fancy beard-oil from some spartoi jerk for scut n' giggles, but then he'd learned the luxury was actually pretty nice. he'd eventually found a knowhere vendor he can buy some good stuff from, and for pretty cheap. he gets it custom-made, and it's mostly scentless, with undertones of something like black pepper and cedar.

speaking of fur: bury your nose in eidos-rocket's fluffy neck-scruff and you'll find that in addition to the faint cedar-and-pepper scent, he smells like iron, engine fuel, and something reminiscent of gunpowder. and maybe some kind of booze he probably didn't pay for at mantlo's - like a spicy, caramelly kind of rum. plus, he for sure smokes, so he probably smells at least a little like burnt everbloom, which gives him an additional sort of smoky, gingery scent.

nsfw headcanons

let me be real clear that rocket in almost all universes and timelines will fuck (barring certain kinds of trauma i'm not into adding to his life-story). mcu-rocket knows better than anyone that bodies aren't a good indicator of a person's worth. comics-rocket is canonically attracted to people of all shapes and sizes and numbers of tentacles or whatever. similarly, eidos-rocket seems way more interested in whether or not a particular partner or partners are going to make him feel good (and his own ability to make them feel good) than whether or not they have a certain kind of genitalia, how many limbs they've got, or their percentage of body-fat.

we mentioned how much eidos-rocket struggles with the memories of the deprivation tanks, and how much he craves your touch as a result. the truth is that having you wrapped around him for the whole sleep-cycle makes it a lot harder for his subconscious to convince him that he's still stuck in sensory-deprivation. even if he does start to drift into one of those dreams, it takes less than a second on waking to remember that he can still feel, and what he feels is you, all around him. maybe he'll press his ear to your chest: even though he can already hear your heartbeat without trying, he wants it so loud that he can taste it. sometimes, that's enough. other times, he'll wake you by pulling you fully on top of himself, needing the heat and weight of you, feeling your pulse against his mouth. if he's a certain kind of desperate, you'll wake up with his tongue or his dick inside you - as long as you've said you're okay with it, of course. i don't think eidos-rocket considers himself into somno, per se - this is far more about an urgent need for the comfort of feeling you more than kink, necessarily.

but since we're talking about kink, let it be known that eidos-rocket is the most openly-filthy rocket. he's got no problem acting out in public, touching you, trying to embarrass you. ugh, i hate gettin' wet; wet fur is the krutackin' worst, he'll say loudly in front of the whole fam. then, without skipping a beat, his eyes will dart at you mischievously. well, maybe there're some exceptions...

there's also something of an exhibitionist in eidos-rocket, as long as he's the one pulling the strings. getting you aroused in public is a fun game and it makes him smug as hell, and he doesn't generally think about being self-conscious about sex after having spent so much time on knowhere and contraxia. but on the rare occasion that you turn the tables, and he gets flustered - self-conscious, flattered, turned-on, needy - he can't hide it anywhere near as well as the other rockets. mcu-rocket might scuff his feet, scrub at the back of his neck, and look away; comics-rocket barely reveals anything beyond a brief widening of his eyes and a flicker of tail and ears (unless he's a skottie young rocket, in which case, he has no shame whatsoever) but eidos-rocket will be trying (and failing) to hide his blush so obviously that the poor guy might as well not even have any fur. i mean, hell, did you notice the scene where quill was like, "you deserve a little praise"? poor guy was curled in on himself, hiding his face, suddenly couldn't have mouthed-off to save his life. speaking of praise...

eidos-rocket generally likes to be in charge in the bedroom, like all rockets - but if you want to see his mouth snap shut, his eyes get wide, and watch him unravel into something close to subby, all you have to do is offer up some sincere, specific compliment. yeah, i headcanon all rockets as having something of a praise-kink, but how that looks can vary wildly across the multiverse. for this guy? well, let's just say that if you play your cards right and tell him just how good and deserving he is, eidos-rocket will be salivating to give you whatever you krutackin' want.

other kinks? eidos-rocket will try almost anything twice, as long as he feels safe (admittedly, that's a high bar, though you've managed to surpass it in multiple ways). but we know he's mentioned how much he enjoys "the place with the dancers." you may or may not have easy access to a pole - but offer him a chair dance, and those clever hands of his will be clutching and flexing, eyes unblinking while they drink you up. clumsy? he doesn’t care. the very idea of you dancing for him turns him on as much as actually watching your beautiful body undulate, revealing a bit more of yourself to him with every breath. let it turn into a lapdance and he'll think this is a newer and more dangerous version of the Promise — and even if it is, he ain’t tryin’ to leave. he'll fight himself to keep his hands off of you, not wanting it to end even a half-second early. eventually, it'll become a competition between the two of you: him trying to keep you writhing on him for as long as possible, and you trying to get him to break and fuck you. by the time he finally cracks, you might regret riling him up so damn much.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist banners & dividers by @/thecutestgrotto & @/saradika-graphics

A thirsty raccoon just wants his girl to feel good.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twelve. ochisia. [new 6/1] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 12/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter twelve. ochisia. see pearl's character design here.

rocket decides to make sure pearl doesn't think she can replace him. see below for warnings & notes.

The Monster recoils — flinches so hard he’s pretty sure some of his joints crack. For a split-second, he forgets about being Rocket — forgets about being anything but 89P13, being vermin, being some cobbled-together thing. His claws clench and his teeth ache and everything inside his ribs condenses into a pinpoint-singularity, hollow and sucking, and his skin scrabbles over his bones with tiny nails. He presses his tail in against his inner calf and his ears lay flat. He tries to smooth out the crease in his brow and the fur that has risen on-end, to will himself to be disinterested.   “So,” he says, and he tries to make his voice sound casual but he knows he’s biting out each word letter-by-letter, snapping off the ends with his teeth. “You change your mind about hangin’ out with a monster?”

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

just a lil bit of almost-smut. a snack, really.

WARNINGS for this chapter: guided masturbation. mild exhibitionism/voyeurism. praise. light d/s vibes.

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

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

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

Why do I love this dynamic sooooooo much?

Also hyperventilating… in French.

Themed nights at Sister Margaret's.