Resources For Describing Emotion

Entanglement Chapter 16: You Turn Me On (I’m a Radio) coming out Friday. Hold onto your favorite stuffed animal or pet… it gets a little dark. Trigger warnings will be posted at the end like always.

Such amazing character development here.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip.✮part five. montana.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 5/7 | word count: 1975.

what makes a person a monster?

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

Wanda hadn’t felt much like talking since they’d left the bar. She can’t possibly describe the lurch in her lungs when she’d woken alone in the room, and found Rocket—

gone.

She peels it apart when they get in the car: silent, lost in her thoughts. Rocket doesn’t turn on his music right away, and when she casts a sideways glance at him, he looks vaguely uncomfortable: shifting in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looks like he wants to be taking something apart, inventing something new — anything to take his mind off whatever’s eating him inside. 

After the scene in the bar, when the bartender had poured Rocket’s drink so shakily that the mouth of the bottle had clanked against the glass tumbler, Wanda had sat beside her companion quietly. The bartender had wisely left the bottle behind, and then had gotten to work with the rest of the wide-eyed, ashen hotel staff to clean up the glass that had been broken in the altercation. She’d watched her furry colleague bemusedly as he sulked over his liquor, and had tried to tell herself that she had only been concerned because Rocket had been missing, and she’d known that someone walking around looking like a sentient raccoon could only get in trouble, no matter how well-intentioned and well-behaved he’d been attempting to be.

She had tried to tell herself it was just concern for a missing hero in a cruel world.

But her reaction had been too visceral to keep herself convinced. As she’d unfolded the truth of herself, wincing, she’d had to acknowledge that the way fear had suddenly ripped through her belly had been all too similar to the ache she’d felt when she’d lost Pietro: screaming hollowly at the root of her lungs, at the vagus nerve laced against her heart. A shrieking void in the center of a fiery cyclone. It had been an agony of terror: to think her new, small, sarcastic friend had been taken from her like everyone else.

When she’d seen him — safe, but on the verge of becoming a victim of his own temper — she’d wrapped her power around him as carefully as she knew how. And when she’d realized what was happening, her own temper had surged: some strange combination of fire and ice. 

She’s so tired of people being treated as less-than, of lives being overlooked. 

Especially the lives she loves. 

Rocket still doesn’t speak. They make their way through a number of national forests before he even hesitantly reaches out to fuss with the music again. She says nothing as something mellow spills from the speakers, but she can feel her shoulders ease. It takes another hour before his feet are kicking again, and he’s humming something low and husking along with the lyrics. 

“Uh, hey,” he says at last, his voice rasping as the sun begins to cast a melting-gold crust over the edge of the trees ahead of them, light hitting the western crest of the world and sprawling upward in sprays of topaz and rose and aquamarine. “Thanks for — I dunno. Sorry for fucking up at the last place. And thanks for, uh, stepping in.” He shifts next to her, one shoulder hitching uncomfortably. She watches from her periphery as his lip curls in a clenched-jaw grimace, like he’s tasted something sour. 

She weighs that quietly. 

“I was as angry as you were, once I understood what was happening,” she admits.

The wince lingering in the corner of his mouth and eyelids softens. “Saw that,” he acknowledges after a long minute, spooled with the crooning tones of whomever’s singing from the zune now. “Don’t know — I think only Nebs has ever, uh. Stuck up for me like that.” His voice sounds parched and cracked and starved, like he’s not certain what he’s trying to say. Like maybe the words feel disloyal, somehow, to his absent friends. Something answering cracks open in her ribs. She knows he loved the rest of the Guardians — Pete, he’d mentioned, referring to the owner of the zune. Gamora, whom Wanda has gathered had been sacrificed to Thanos’ goals, just like Vis. But it hurts her to think that Rocket’s little adopted family wouldn’t have been just as offended on his behalf as she had been. Or maybe they would have been, and he just doesn’t realize it. Either way, it hurts. It hurts to think that he believes no-one would have been moved to intercede, to demand respect on his behalf, or to offer comfort.

Pietro would have devastated anyone whom he’d perceived as treating her as inferior. And in his own gentle, wise way, Vis would have fought for her as well. 

At least he has Nebula, now, she thinks, and a space inside her loosens. She hasn’t spoken with the awkward blue cyborg — not anymore than she’s spoken to anyone else on the team, preferring to stay off to the side, needing to observe. But knowing that Rocket feels like “Nebs” would step in for him allows some of the tension in her neck and shoulders to ease.

“You — you got a lot of power,” Rocket says tentatively. “As much as Danvers, maybe.”

She feels herself go watchful and wary again. The silence is heavy in the little car, even smothering the faint music trailing from the speakers. 

“Or more,” she admits at last, quietly.

He acknowledges her addition with a mild grunt and a nod.

“Ya know, the Guardians of the Galaxy numbers are lookin’ pretty slim these days,” he says musingly. “F’you ever wanna get off this planet. Could find a spot for you, prob’ly.” He slants her a taunting grin. “Pretty sure we’re more fun than the Avengers. Less stuffy and judgy, too.”

She can’t help the delicate snort that scrapes up the back of her throat, edged with laughter. And here she’d been worried that he was scared of her. Instead, twice in two days, now, he’s made her laugh.

Regular laughter seems like such a distant memory. It is a distant memory, and a frail one. She’d had it before the Stark industries mortar shell, and then again in her time with Vis — but certainly not since. 

Other than that first time she’d seen him bickering with Nebula on the compound lawn.

“Not that every part of this planet sucks,” Rocket admits grudgingly from beside her. The last flickers of sun-gold ricochet off the distant line of tree and mountain, settling into a rosy-lavender and hydrangea-blue. “This section’s kinda nice, if you’re into that sort of thing. Reminds me of specifical parts a’ Berhert or Foresteria.”

She considers the Montana terrain. “Are you into that sort of thing?”

He smirks. “Not enough places to get into trouble for me,” he says with a sideways toss of his head. “No gambling. Or booze.” He pauses to waggle his brows at her, so exaggerated that she can see the gesture even in her periphery. “Or tail.”

This time, when she laughs, it hasn’t crawled up her spine: it’s as bright as it had been the other day, so merry in the air that it’s utterly foreign to her ears.

“You are ridiculous,” she tells him, but he only gifts her a shit-eating grin.

“What about you?” he asks. “You ever think about runnin’ away from Terra? Come hang out with the cool kids in the stars?”

She snorts again and glances sideways at him in the melting velvet shadows. How does the space inside Natasha’s car, with its ruined dashboard and sound system, feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been in the past five years? How does it feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been at all, unless it was with Vis?

“Not exactly,” she says quietly.

“Not exactly?”

She hesitates and chews the inside of her lip at the corner of her mouth. 

“I think about making a place for myself,” she admits after a handful of quiet breaths. The song on the zune blurs into something new. “A place where… where things are the way they’re supposed to be.”

The quiet expands. Doubles.

“Whaddaya mean?” her companion asks at last. There’s tension in his voice, but it’s surprisingly quiet. As soft as she imagines his fur.

She hesitates. “I could — I think I could do it. Make a place — like in the old TV shows. Somewhere perfect, where people can be happy. Where I can be happy.”

The silence drawls through the music, and she can feel Rocket’s anxiety. She’d been silly to think he might be scared of her before, because now she can feel it — crackling and tense. But… it’s also careful. Testing. Cautious. She knows if she’d said something like this to any one of the Avengers, they’d probably try to lock her up immediately. They don’t understand her magic, and they don’t understand her. And they certainly don’t understand her pain. 

After all, they’ve always been able to look away.

And while she can tell that Rocket doesn’t like what she’s shared — the dangerous little truth she’s laid out between their armrests — somehow, she doesn’t feel judged.

“I get that,” he says at last, his voice grudging and slow. “Wanting that. Me myself, I never had the — I never had the power to sort of…  reshape the galaxy into what I wanted.” He pauses, and she can feel him gathering his thoughts in the dusk like the fireflies that used to litter the Sokovian summer grasses. When he speaks again, his voice has grown as dark as the world outside their car: grim and solemn and hard. “But I definitely been one a’ the poor morons who got caught up in someone else’s idea of perfect, and I can promise — you try to tie other people up like that, and you’re only gonna become somebody’s nightmare.”

She takes her eyes off the road, even though she shouldn’t — not here, in the dusk and the trees and the mountains. Her eyes find his in the shadows: glowing red to glowing red. She flicks her gaze over him: the broad shoulders that should be sloped inward, the opposable thumbs where there should only be dexterous fingers, the hard-packed muscle where she would expect a soft layer of fat. She’d decided that maybe he was an alien — and perhaps that’s true — but now she realizes there’s more to it than just that. 

Someone’s shaped him into this.

Who was your nightmare? she thinks, and remembers Ultron again. Trying to reshape the world. It’s not the first time in the last five years that her fantasies of recreating a small slice of the world have given her pause — but it is the first time that the uneasiness has outweighed the solace. 

Then she thinks of the labs. Of Hydra, yes — and the other one. The one she still isn’t sure if she remembered or dreamed up.

Rocket clears his throat, as if he knows she’s wondering what happened to make him the way he is. 

“Take that asshole Thanos,” he mutters at last, and there’s a darkness to his tone that matches her own midnight vortex of thoughts when it comes to the Mad Titan. “So frickin’ committed to what he thought would make the universe better, that he killed half of it and broke everybody else.” Her companion scowls and mutters something in a language she doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter, because his words have already opened up a pit in her belly: pinching and frightened.

“I wouldn’t be killing anyone,” she says, and she’s surprised by the stubbornness in her voice. It makes her flinch, and that cramp in her belly tightens apprehensively — but she goes on anyway. Trying to convince herself, she realizes, even as she speaks. “I’d give them perfect lives. I’d make them be happy.”

He lifts his head and even though her eyes are back on the road, she feels his heavy, quiet, steady stare. 

“Can’t make anybody be anything, witch.” He clears his throat, and his eyes release her. “Not without making yourself a frickin’  monster.”

sometimes i fuck around with comics-canon and throw it into my mcu fanfics so uh be ready for that with the next chapter. we're gettin weird

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Ahhhhhh!!!! What’s gonna happen? I’m dying!

starlorn .⋆☁︎:･꧂

[anticipated 4/22]

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 6/25+ | wip | wordcount: pending.

pearl pleads her case. warnings below.

It had been obvious, even to those morons — someone had made massive changes to the system. Had improved it — made it better than ever. A couple idiots tried to claim credit but Tullk and the Captain had looked at them with dubious sneers on their faces, eyes half-squinted in disbelief. A few hours later, when the Captain had been alone in his quarters — that’s when the Monster had taken the risk.  Had talked to him. Now the monster sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. No use lamenting that particular tragedy. The summary of it is that he’d been searching for the same thing with Lylla, he knows. He’d escaped the Eclector and spent years in and out of prisons, making and losing money, hating the universe more and more. Until, blinded by his own greed — wanting someone, anyone to accept him, someone to be his, someone he could belong to — he’d had the idea to stalk Wyndham. To extort him. To demand a companion of his very own. The Monster had been reckless in his want for a friend, a partner, an ally — thinking he needed it, thinking he could have it — as if everything he was didn’t fly in the face of the natural order of things. As if there could be anything in this universe suited for him, when he himself had never been suited for anything but an incinerator. And his selfishness had resulted in another innocent lifeform being tortured and murdered. He can’t keep the pearl. He can’t take care of her out here, not the way she needs. Not the way she deserves. How could he be trusted to? He’d brutalized her when she was vulnerable, trapped in her gilded cage — gotten her all tied up in her pretty skirts and smashed her lovely face into the ground, like some kind of goddamn villain. He’s a selfish bastard but there’s a reason he stays solo these days.  Tying someone to himself is a guarantee that, at best, they’ll be miserable. Or worse:  they’ll be dead.  No, he tells himself sleepily, leaning back in his chair. The best thing he can do is drop her somewhere safe. Somewhere nice, and comfortable, and welcoming. Somewhere that’s suited to her, far better than he is. But — he should’ve cleaned her injuries tonight, he thinks hazily as his eyelids weigh themselves down over his blurring stare. The tangle of cables and buttons and switches on the ceiling slowly shadow away with every blink. He should’ve rebandaged her. He should’ve made sure she’d eaten; he should’ve— He jolts awake. It’s still the middle of the sleep shift, but he’s awake now, and he’s hungry. Maybe a snack, and he can dick around with the leftovers of the dismantled Hadron Enforcer, see if he can fashion anything smaller but equally devastating and destructive from the remnants— Except Wyndham’s pearl is gone.

from chapter seven. starlorn. ✩ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: self-injury (biting), continued references to grooming and confinement. rocket’s explicit running commentary and the faintest whisper of d/s vibes. brief mention of bondage.

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

The Great Reading...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I mean… I’m down to hear it, for sure. Your headcanons are my crack.

a brief eidos headcanon

the eidos collection | navigation fanfiction masterlist | collections masterlist

CONTEXT/WARNING: suggestive. mild recreation drug use, intox if you squint? this was noodling around in my brain & i’m trying to figure out if it’s something

like. eidos-rocket for sure smokes.

maybe world-tree-root, or a deep-space varietal of everbloom, or whatever. it takes you a while to figure out that’s why he always smells like campfire and ginger, mixed in with the pepper-cedar of the oil he uses for his fur and the almost-citrus scent of dark-matter engine-fuel

smokes and booze just fold themselves into the fabric of his life, so easily he barely notices. he’s not always got a cigarette clipped between his teeth — works with too many combustibles for that — but he likes to take the edge off when the situation allows.

and it’s not like smoking is his favorite thing. not even close. up till now, if a person had asked what he liked to do in his spare time, he’d say he prefers to blow shit up, work on the milano, and steal from snotty-rich skagheaps and scutbags.

but one random night between missions he manages to convince you to hang out with him at mantlo’s, and he realizes you’ve never smoked everbloom before. deviousness curls the corner of his mouth, and he finds himself flashing a fang before he can stifle the wickedness of his sharp grin. and by the time the night’s over, rocket’s realized he’s got a new favorite pastime after all:

shotgunning you in the dimly-lit backcorners of seedy knowhere bars

support banner by @/adornedwithlight | outer-space divider by @/enchanthings | moodboard by me! ♡

When a girl is stressed and overwrought, there’s nothing to be done but grind down good and hard on that raccoon dick. 🚀 🦝 🍆

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter fourteen. ghough. [new 6/21] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 14/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter fourteen. ghough. see pearl's character design here. see pearl & rocket's bunk here.

pearl teaches rocket and groot about abilisks. rocket helps her relieve some stress. see below for warnings & notes.

He thinks of her in that moment under the flight controls, when she’d looked at him with the pinkest frickin’ cheeks he’d ever seen. You’d have to make it worth my time, sweetheart, he’d leered at her, and she’d looked up at him with those big earnest eyes.  I would try. He hoods his gaze immediately. His mind is moving lightyears at a time, skipping through jump-points faster than a Nova starblaster, and his half-lowered lids hide as many of his thoughts as he can catch. He’d meant to tell her, hadn’t he? That he could be nice to her, help her — uh, broaden her horizons or whatever. Keep her warm on Fron, so to speak, just as long as she was interested. He’d damn-near ruined it yesterday — cutting her up with his words after she’d given him such a pretty show — but she’d taken him back into their little curtained bunk and then carved her tenderness into his muscles with her hands, keeping guard over him while he’d slept. And she looks — willing, now, anyway. Wanting. Despite the jackass he is. It won’t last — it can’t — but it’s all the more reason to not waste time, to taste as much of her as he can while she’s still interested. I ain’t gonna fuck you, pearl.  He tsks without meaning to, more at himself than anything else, but she responds by curling in on herself — shoulders suddenly hunching, fingers releasing his sleeve. “S-sorry,” she starts. “I—“ “I could help you,” he interrupts, taking a step back so he can lean against the workbench-bunk behind him. It sways on its straps but he just pushes it against the wall of the hold, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing her lazily. “All that stress.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with mock regret. “It’s my fault anyway, isn’t it? Should probably take responsibility for being such a dickhead.” Her moonsilver eyes are big and baffled. “I — what?” He tests his canine with his tongue, then manages a grin that he’s sure looks more casual than he’s feeling. Inside, his heart turns over and then sprints, thumping and pulsing against his metal sternum like it’s trying to climb right out of his chest and reach for her. “Orgasms, sweetheart. They’re good for you when you’re all tense like this.” He lets his grin grow a little sharper. “Could help you relax and get back to sleep.”

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i like this chapter. that is all. i really wanted to post a chapter every friday this summer but that seems unlikely to be in the cards with all of the time i've needed to spend travelling and supporting the fam. plus, i am trying to really focus in on ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall and ･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie to get them done this summer. so i may have to move to an every-other-week set-up in july/august. for those of you sticking with me, know i'm eternally grateful because this thing is gonna be obscenely long.

WARNINGS for this chapter: talk of genocide and wyndham’s other experiments. grinding, dirty talk, praise. mentions of gagging (with panties). slight degradation/use of the terms “slut”/“whore” (affectionate).

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

Stop crying, I trying to help ya’ !!

I am going to die… of fun! Holy Shit… so this is basically my schedule for the year. You will find me reading all of this as soon as it comes out. Cannot wait!

future projects.

back to the main masterlist

below you can find the stuff i am working on, in order of (hopeful) release date. i have a lot of simultaneous projects so these will be coming out slowly over the coming months. thank you for bearing with me ♡♡ you are shinier than a lilac bush full of fireflies and more precious than pocket-sized pegasuses.

i am hoping to be done with current works on the following timeline: windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ ~ june/july 2024 florescence ❀ ~ august/september 2024 cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂~ october 2024

may-june 2024

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. angst, comfort, & fluff | rocket & wanda | multipart headcanon | word count: 1,370. for @hibatasblog 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

june-july 2024

warm compress ☾.༊·˚⋆⭒ fluff | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: pending. you've taken care of rocket when he's been hurt in the past. when he comes to visit you and finds you tired, in pain, and less-than-receptive to company, he decides to return the favor. can be read platonically or romantically. excerpt behind the cut.

WARNINGS: reader is experiencing abdominal pain attributed to hormonal/ovulation cycle. reader cries at one point.

･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshot | word count: TBD. rocket laments building the bowie with such thin walls between bunks. ie, you haven’t been able to get off in a while, and your neighbor knows it. [preview]

july-august 2024

᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.⋆｡✶˖ evasive maneuvers ⌖˖✶｡⋆ expansion: practice (day 9) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | ?? | word count: pending. providing more context and, uh, follow-up. title may change.

untitled Domestic Scenes in Space Travel finale. 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | length pending | word count: pending. The Nineteenth & Twentieth Visits. Series Finale. based on Guardians of the Galaxy (2019).

love is blind: andromeda 18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 5 parts | word count: pending. rocket has broken out of twenty-three prisons. this one will be no different. slow burn + probable smut with feelings. mcu/comic medley (kinda au?)

september 2024

⭑.⋆๋࣭✪ hot local dads in your spaceport ✪⋆๋࣭ ⭑ undecided rating | no use of y/n | undecided reader | ?? | word count: pending. born of this statement i made ages ago and think about daily: daydreaming about quitting my job and running away to outer space. i’d live in a city in a giant floating skull and i’d run a street-food stall for the neighborhood. i’d teach the local sentient tree how to play stardew valley, and just fucken recklessly hit on his hot dad every chance i got

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ sunshine ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ expansion: sunshine (day 15) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | ?? | word count: pending. after what was intended to be a one night stand, rocket & sunshine reader navigate the awkward aftermath of being new crewmates. oops.

october 2024

★♫｡°𝄞☕︎✎▤ other duties as assigned▤✎☕︎ 𝄞°｡♫★ 18+ only | rocket x f!oc | ?? | word count: pending. natasha romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the milano. First she demands that the remaining two guardians of the galaxy be reachable via a primitive terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails. thank fuck she's hired a new assistant. mcu-based, slight au, begins five months post-snap; rocket x oc email romance/LDR (lol); slow burn + probable smut with feelings.

The duo becomes a trio…

heartspur.⋆☁︎:･꧂

[anticipated 6/7]

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 12/25+ | wip | wordcount: pending. see pearl's character design.

rocket and pearl get in a fight. rocket shares a secret. warnings below.

“I am Groot.” Rocket turns toward the sound instinctively and she watches his neck crane back, ember-eyes flying wide. Groot smiles down at him softly from behind her. “I am Groot.” “Got it,” her survivor says shortly. “I’m Rocket. Now. I hear you got a frickin’ bounty on your head—” “I am Groot,” the Taluhnisan says. “Yeah,” Rocket snaps. “I got that—” “Sorry,” pearl intervenes, flushing. “I should have explained. He’s — it’s Taluhnisan. The language. You just don’t understand it — yet. But you will,” she adds hurriedly, and she can feel a hopeful, rueful little smile blooming in the corner of her mouth. “You will,” she repeats. “I think you’ll pick it up so quickly—” “So he can only say one frickin’ thing?!” “No — sorry,” she apologizes again, “I’m not explaining well. He’s saying a lot right now, and he understands everything, but Taluhnisans have very inflexible larynxes. So his apparent vocabulary is, uhm — limited? To, well, I and am and Groot. In exactly that order.” “I am Groot,” the Taluhnisan says unhelpfully. Rocket sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Okay, morons. Who’s holding the bounty?” “I am Groot.” “Uhm—” A noisy groan bubbles up in his lungs. “I’ll just look it up, I guess,” he snarls, and lifts his datapad to scan the Taluhnisan.  Whatever he sees on the screen is apparently less-than-ideal, because he spits out a curse that only reads in her translator as some kind of facial parasite — then repeats it a number of times.

from chapter thirteen. heartspur. ✩ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: canon-typical violence against animals.

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