Them,,,,

I 100% believe that Rocket would look at gun and dirty magazines with the same level of excitement.

Stop discriminating on skin color/race/gender/religion/sexuality/gender identification/anything people. We are all just human beings. Our differences only make us more interesting!

He’s Sikh, not a terrorist. Poor Sikh comunity always bears the brunt of ISIS terrorist because they wear a simple turban..  Wake up and accept cultural differences, not every foreigner is out to hurt you.

Rocket and Lylla go swimming (in an different multiverse...)

by FlyttOfFancy

My boy…. Noooooo

In stasis🌌

It was fucking great. A+++

just for the record ･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie is possibly the filthiest, smuttiest, most plotless thing i've ever written. far too many orgasms to be bodily possible. no storyline whatsoever. the emotional depth of a tabletop fountain. please don't expect anything but gratuitous ridiculousness omg sorry

also trying to capture reader's vibe in this oneshot has been absolute hellllll

I think I died while reading this.

LAST LINE TAG

RULE: Show the last lines you just wrote, and tag how many people you'd like!

im so flattered @mcsquared789 ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)*.ﾟ thank you for tagging me!

CONTAINS SPOILERS for future chapters of cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

“And then what?” he asks once he’s got his voice grappled into something reasonable and taunting again, as he sinks back into her. She’s so slick he can hear it — the sounds of his body and hers fill the air, just under her little pleading moans. “You gonna turn in the Luphomoid for her bounty? Use the funds to buy yourself something soft and pretty?” He can already tell she’s shaking her head, even as her hands find a spot to curl into his fur and tug desperately. “Rocket—please—” “Nuh-uh,” he scolds, and pinches at the pretty little jewel between her folds. He revels in the way her fingers slide deep into his fur and pull: little electric shocks zinging over his nerve endings, radiating from the places where she’s got her grip knotted and tugging on him. Beg me, you sweet, needy little slut. “You tell me the whole plan, kitten.” “Dunno,” she gasps. “Just wanted time to think — but — she’s like us—”

if you're not too busy and you wanna: @hibatasblog ♡ @lilfoxay ♡ @caesarhamato22 ♡ @elegant-fleuret ♡ @nyxivy ♡ @mrwolfhare ♡ @thirteens-lucky-tardis ♡ @whitedragoncoranth ♡ @thejudgyboiao3 ♡ @menacinglemon ♡ @aliasrocket ♡ anyone else who wants to!

i know some of you haven't updated recently but hell, if you're still writing and you see this, i'd love to know what you're working on. ♡♡♡

To all my rainbow 🌈 pals. Be gay and do crimes.

Happy pride month to my favs ever

I died from feeling so many feelings.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter eight. keep. [new 5/3] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 8/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter eight. keep.

the monster dreams. pearl makes a den. see below for warnings & notes.

“You said that Arete meant excellence.” She makes another small noise, shifting in her half of the blankets. He hesitates, then tugs at the soft quilts around himself. He should probably throw them off. Act like nothing’s wrong — tell her to get her ass into bed. He could keep himself busy — distract himself with tinkering. His brain is still skittering in his head like a little animal in an electrified cage, but he thinks maybe he can rig up a nonfiring practice-cannon for her, get her set up for some target practice as soon as they get moonside. “Arete is the personification of excellence, yes. She’s the idea of someone… fully realizing the height of their potential. Or — uhm. A thing that perfectly fulfills its intended function.” He doesn’t know why that hurts. His thoughts are still rattling in his skull: ricocheting, rippling with echoes of his memories. Maybe it’s the part where he knows that people and objects are interchangeable for Wyndham. Maybe it’s the ghost of everyone who’s ever called him a thing. Maybe it’s just that he knows he’s infinite lightyears away from any definition of excellence — scrabbly and horrifying and sewn-together and scarred, hiding under his own goddamn flight control console next to a gorgeous fuckin’ girl he’d just mauled a few rotations ago. The Monster manages a pathetic little attempt at a snort. “Well, guess he fucked that up with me.”

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

okay, we're reaching the next phase. an agreement has more-or-less been established. hang on with me till chapter eleven or so and we'll start moving into real plot i promise??? (okay don't hold me to that)

WARNINGS for chapter eight: references to canonical medical trauma. as usual, rocket’s a degenerate.

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

A question about fornication is asked. Confusion is the result.

sometimes a draft of a future chapter is going so well and i want to share it (especially when it’s something i usually struggle with like actual plot lol) but it would be like, major spoilers.

in unrelated news, chapters 19 and 20 of cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂ are coming out so well. but holy shit this fic is gonna be long

here be spoilers.⋆☁︎:･꧂

(totally unedited & probably with many major typos)

Rocket stares. He can taste his tooth enamel, flaking as his molars grind together. “What,” he asks slowly, “do you mean by give you a ride?”

Drax shrugs. “After I win our competition,” he says reasonably, “I—“

“You ain’t winning anything,” Rocket snaps. The Destroyer looks at him with something like pity.

“I will kill the most abilisks,” Drax explains patiently. “Then I will gut the Daughter of Thanos like the enormous moon-scaled fish that used to roam the Forgotten Lakes of Kylos. But then,” he gestures with something like helplessness, “I will need transportation.”

“You… don’t have a ship?” pearl asks carefully.

“I am Groot?” Groot chimes in.

“Yeah,” Rocket interjects, picking up on Groot’s general question. “How did you even get here?”

“I coerced the captain of a merchant vessel,” the Kylosian says simply.

Rocket throws up his hands. “Then what makes you think I’d frickin’ want you on mine?”

Drax blinks. “We’re friends now,” he points out. “We almost shared a meal together. Your Terran pet—“ He points at pearl and Rocket’s brain is back to short-circuiting. “—warned me about the miserable tastelessness of Sovereign food. I complimented your impressive strength, and have spent casual time in your party’s company.” His brow furrows, like he’s surprised he’s gotta explain all this.

“We ain’t friends,” Rocket says darkly, and the words are almost shrill. “I’m barely friends with them,” he adds, jabbing a thumb at pearl and a forefinger in Groot’s direction.

Drax’s eyes widen, and he looks wounded and betrayed. “But we slept together,” the Destroyer whispers.

Rocket sputters.

“I am Groot,” Groot concedes, and Rocket turns on the Taluhnisan.

“We did not sleep together,” he snaps at the Big Guy. “For fuck’s sake — you three slept together.”

“I am Groot,” Groot reasons, and pearl chokes. The statement’s too complex for Rocket to catch, though, and he turns to pearl, who looks half-panicked herself.

“What’d he say?” Rocket asks dangerously.

“He said, uhm.” Her moonsilver eyes flick to Groot, and Drax, and then back to him, wide and alarmed. She’s pale except for two high spots of color in her cheeks. “He asked if the transitive property applies to mammal sleeping habits.”

“I am Groot,” Groot adds.

“He says, if I slept with them, and you slept with me—“

“I am Groot—“

“Enough!” Rocket bellows. “What is wrong with you people?”

True Ravager stories.

Peter Quill is the type of guy to randomly drop little pieces of Ravager lore on the Guardians and then continue on like nothing happened, like when your dad reveals hes wanted in five countries type shit and Guardians always get whiplash like… shit. I forgot hes a ravager. Like-

Rocket: hey you ever been to Trivida? Looks nice Peter: oh yeah i've been. Really pretty place. One time a few guys thought itd be funny to stick me in a burlap sack, so cliche right? And they threw me out of the ship. It took Yondu seven days to find me…………….. Also i never saw those guys again. Huh. Anyway its a nice planet. Cool people.  Rocket:....... Im sorry what the fu- ~ Gamora: hey Peter, theres this creature thing that uh, wants to talk to you? Peter: oh! Achilles hey! Achilles, a giant flesh eating tentacle monster: Petey! Tell your old man I said hi why don't you! You never visit me anymore! Peter, who has Yondu saved as ‘kidnapper’ in his pager: oh yeah defo! He misses you too Gamora:...... what ~ Groot: I am Groot Peter: no no, sorry i cant Groot: i am Groot? Peter: yeah my legs magnetic because when i was like fourteen i wanted to steal this relic and then uh this older dude Macho didn't like that and he replaced my leg with a fire hydrant. Anyway want some nachos?  Groot:.... Holy shi-

Just peter dropping lore the Guardians have no idea what to do with