A Fight, A Flight, And A Feather Soft Comforting.

THIS IS IMPORTANT

So freakin’ sweet!

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day seven home ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 661.

Home had been a shining city on the far horizon for most of Rocket’s formative years: distant and gleaming under an impossible blossom-blue dome. Unreachable. Untouchable. He’d left any hope of it behind, a dozen cannon-shots or more before he’d ever even stepped foot off the Arête. No. Rocket had gone straight from the cages and right into his escape pod, out into a sky that had suddenly seemed much less beautiful and much more forever. 

And so home had always been a far-away thing, a thing he could never go back to, a thing that — like love, like peace, like a restful night’s sleep or body that didn’t hurt — Rocket could simply never have. A thing that hadn’t been meant for him. Like the screws slowly grinding away at his bones or the muscle contractures he’s always fighting in his hips and chest, home had just become another old ache that he’d grown to barely notice, except when he’s on a planet where the weather is bad. 

And then, one shift — when it was just you and him — he’d been trying to work the knots out of his shoulders. You’d reached out with dancing fingers and a query on your lips — a gentle little sound of offering — and he’d gone as still as a moon pinned between two gravity wells. Your fingers had felt light as little birds, perched on his shoulders weightlessly, and you’d guided them into a rolling series of rotations. Then you’d tugged him between your knees, and kneaded every small stone you’d found lodged under his skin and fur. 

When he’d finally gone as molten and buttery as a beeswax candle on a warm day, you’d murmured another little question. He’d blinked at you blankly — completely disconnected from anything but the feel of his body, pliant for the first time in possibly his entire life — so you’d pulled him onto your lap and continued your little ministry of touch until he’d fully curled up, his tail a wreath of feathery brushes around you both. His back had pressed itself into your hands as you’d worked your thumbs into the base of his spine: freeing the tension from his hips, beckoning it out of muscle and bone, letting it dissipate into the air between your fingertips. Your hands had been so warm that even all the metal plates and bolts deep inside had suddenly felt like a part of him — had suddenly matched his own body temperature — every piece slotting together inside him with a rightness he’d never known before. The air in his lungs had turned into little pearls and gemstones, spilling up into his throat like jeweled gravel. He’d made a noise — some kind of rumble — and it had startled him until your hands had soothed over him again and you’d whispered something that had sounded like you’re just purring. 

He’d never say any of this in front of the others, never let them know about this: about how soft he is for this, for the warm quiet circle of space in your arms and on your thighs. He’d never climb into your lap like this if they could see it; never make a nest out of your body-heat and burrow into the loose thick folds of your sweatshirt. He  only does it on the shifts when everyone else is asleep, or planetside, or away. 

It’s not that he’s ashamed. It’s just — this is something special and precious and small, and if he looks at it too closely or acknowledges it exists, he may never have it back. But for now — for these moments that he can only measure in the soft wash of his breath or the thrum of his pulse in his wrists, the steady sound of your heartbeat holding him together like gravity — for now, it’s touchable, and attainable, and real — 

Moreso than any shining city on the far horizon, glimmering against the sweep of a blossom-blue ocean and a forever sky.

i did it! i brought my wordcount down! this was just a fun little exercise in writing whatever weird shit came to my mind so sorry if it makes no sense but i figured i'd indulge my inclination toward purple prose (get rekt literary critics). anyway this was fun and i am very much in favor of many future rocket raccoon prompts & prompt weeks, and thank you for creating this and bringing it to my attention, @frostedwitch ♡♡♡

i will be putting out a masterlist for this set of prompts sometime next week probably. i really hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing! ♡

day six. bite ✷ rocket raccoon prompt week list

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

This comic I’ve recently discovered is so, so Rocket and Jack coded.

Or have him fuck the shit out of me… I’m not picky.

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 ❤︎‬❤︎‬

Oh my god! That drawing is everything! She’s so beautiful and suggestive. Rocket is probably completely and happily at her mercy here.

Me: they deserve the best. To be happy. To have love and peace!

also me, writing them:

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

Last Tag Line

RULE: Show the last lines you just wrote, and tag how many people you'd like! Thank you to mcsquared789

Warning Spoilers for Chapter 13 of Entanglement: The Prettiest Star

“What’s this? I’ve never seen this tape before,” Petra asked as she opened the blank box and pulled out the tape. There was no inscription on the label, only a small drawing of a cartoon rocket flying across an oversized five-pointed star. Petra ran her thumb across the little sketch on the label. “I get that the rocket is you, but what about the star?” she queried, teeth nibbling on her lower lip

“Well, you’re my Lady Star, ain’t you?” The epithet didn’t sound silly the way he said it, with a little bit of a possessive growl in the way he shaped the ‘r’ at the end.

Petra felt a wobbly smile grow on her lips and she had an overwhelming urge to press the cassette against her chest or against her lips. “Yeah,” she whispered, trying to keep her feelings from rising up and escaping out of her, bubbling up and out into the painted wonderland of the sky. “I’m definitely your Lady Star; however, I still think the nickname is a bit lame. Star-Lord would be so much cooler.”

“I told ya before, Pet. There’s no way in hell I’m ever calling you Star-Lord,” Rocket laughed as he pulled a curl in good fun.

“Aw, come on. Give it a try,” she giggled back as she popped the cassette into the Walkman and adjusted her headphones. “C'est moi, le grand Star-Lord, le hors-la-loi légendaire, seigneur des étoiles.*”

“Legendary outlaw? Lord of the stars? Baby-girl, you gotta earn that sort of title. It doesn’t just land in your lap. Also, isn’t that the wrong gender and everything?” Rocket teased as he took out his data pad to study.

“I dunno. It’s just that Star-Lord sounds so much cooler than ‘Lady Star.’ No one's gonna take Lady Star seriously,” Petra fretted

“No one should ever take you too seriously, ya goof. I brought you out here on a date, so listen to some pretty music and look at the stars. You gonna play that mixtape I made you or not?”

“Y- yeah,” she nodded and pressed play and the music bloomed to life in their ears.

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

#rocketraccoon #peterquill #petraquill #Entanglement