Me Too. Me Too.

Ahhhhhh! Groot!

hailbound. .⋆☁︎:･꧂

[anticipated 5/24]

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 10/25+ | wip | wordcount: pending.

pearl adopts a stray. rocket falls for a sovereign. warnings below.

When they’d parted ways, he’d tucked a comm in the pocket of her leggings — warm fingers tugging at her pants in a way that had made her skin sing — and had told her to use it if she ran into any trouble, and not to talk to strangers, as if she were a child. She’d glowered at that — glowered, an expression she’s sure hasn’t made in years — and it had startled her to feel it.  Rocket had only grinned tauntingly, but then followed the smirk with an, “I’m frickin’ serious, doll,” before loping away in the other direction.  And now here she is, with two soft stretchy pairs of shorts rolled up and gripped in one fist and a bottle of morningtea palmed in the other, pausing at every painted cupboard door inlaid in the quartz-streaked rockface walling the city streets. She’d noticed the cupboards the other day, and she had been curious, but all that curiosity had been forgotten in the blissful chaos of the clothes and the food and the hair.  Now that she has a chance to study them, she marvels. The few cupboards that are open this early in the morning reveal small stadiums of fifty or sixty clear-glass and tin-smithed cups, each cradling a votive as blue as a pale spring sky on Terra. Anywhere between five and ten candles are lit in any given cupboard, and little tin plaques are anchored into the rock walls beneath the cupboards, etched with the tactile written language of Cyxlore as well as Kree, Shi’ar, and Skrull translations.  SHRINE OF THE SYBILA NIX ORA Pearl tilts her head, shuffling through the glossary in her head, trying to find the name — but she comes up empty. Herbert hadn’t cared much for planets like this one: no real political or cultural merit, he’d usually sniff dismissively. She tries to interpret the little shrine, and a shadow moves across the space, making the delicate flames seem brighter. “I am Groot.”

from chapter eleven. hailbound. ✩ 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: still just rocket's anxiety.

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

I love this! It’s so intricate and detailed with all of the story. Favorite part was “engine shit.”

rocket & pearl’s bunk in cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ working on an illustration of one of my favorite scenes from chapter thirteen. heartspur.

did i say “fuck perspective”? yes i did but i tried to make up for it by including rocket's laser cannon, railgun, twin barrel blaster, stolen nova cannon (obscured by the bunk-straps), gatling blaster (i tend to call it a rotary autocannon or autoblaster since, like, "gatling" wouldn't really exist in intergalactic parlance?), parts of the hadron enforcer, and another gun i've seen him with but whose name i couldn't identify. and, of course, the modded quadblaster he's working on for pearl. i did not include katie and vicki or the collapsible blaster-rifle, but assume they're in there somewhere. maybe over on the other bunk-turned-workbench.

i sketched the layout of the runabout (below) for my own reference while writing (i clearly know nothing about how spaceships work but hey, this one’s been modified by a sentient raccoon so we can all suspend some disbelief).

let’s assume the hull is a lot thicker and there’s a lower-lower level still (probably accessible from the engine room) that contains some additional shit connecting the engine, fuselage, artillery, etc. honestly this is just so i have a general idea of the environment while writing.

This is frightening and perfect. I love their expressions. Glorious! I am so blessed with your art.

Entanglement

“How? How do you know that? There was no time to read it-”

“Listen to me, none of that matters anymore. All that matters is you getting out of here.” Petra told Rocket, putting her hand on his shoulders. There was a loud thump on the cargo bay door, and both of them turned to check the monitoring cameras. Frack pounded at the door while Knot’s mouth opened in a wordless hiss.

Rocket drew in a breath of pain as Petra gripped his shoulders with punishing strength. “You have two choices. One, finish prepping the ship, and get out of here as soon as the locking mechanism is off, or, two, I knock you the fuck out. What’s it going to be?”

One of Petra’s hands was burning him with cold, and she shook him roughly. “Which is it Rocket? You don’t tell me right away, then I’ll choose for you.” There were strange harmonics snarling in Petra’s voice, her eyes were glowing uranium lanterns. He wanted to scream in terror at her expression, but he knew that if he started he’d never stop.

——Chapter 10 by @hibatasblog

not gonna lie, this reminds of some a story I once read about Peter. When his mind extended the span of galaxies under Ego’s influences. Pushing him mentally beyond the factors of human perspectives til the case of the root of his humanity is called back. His mother. But the side effects linger on as the scope of his consciousness is suddenly reduced back to the size of glass where it once had been an ocean.

For Petra it’s similar in my eyes. The celestial traits giving her mind’s eye a perspective beyond the ‘smaller frames’, this being Rocket. As long as he’s okay, the means are justified. soooooo….amazing chapter!!!! the picture scared the crap out of my friend so I’m calling it a win.

I’m dying right now. Dying of anticipation. Pray for me y’all.

momophobia.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 3/19] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 27/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation ART: pearl’s character design | pearl & rocket’s bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle | adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @/starriidreams | sexy, evocative waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @/hibatasblog ♡ | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

bathtime confessions. warnings below.

“Sweetheart.” Pearl shifts on the copilot’s seat, nuzzling toward the sound of his voice, and Rocket lets his knuckles kiss her cheek again. He sweeps back a handful of hair, and plucks the cold compress from where it had nestled in her matted curls while she’d slept. Everything in him stretches for her, down to a cellular level. 

“Hmm?” she murmurs, soft as kitten-fur. He closes his eyes, and inhales: waterlily, clean canals, bone-dust and salt and blood. The scent of her, even tangled up with so much pain and fear, grounds him. At least she’s  still here, not left on HalfWorld or Cyxlore, not— not a broken, abandoned corpse on Knowhere.  His gut twists and his tongue suddenly feels thick and swollen, his whole mouth slick and sour. The space behind his eyes tightens and prickles.  “C’mon, doll,” he murmurs. “Lemme get you—“ Lemme get you somewhere safe and soft. “Lemme get you into bed.” She sits up slowly. The f’saki underneath her seat stirs. Her ponytail had been lopsided from the first moment he’d seen her in that stolen bootlace — tilted as drunkenly askew as she had been — but half her hair has loosened, falling in ragged tangled loops and knotted ringlets next to her face. He tries to keep his hands to himself now — she can’t possibly be interested in him touching her again; at the very least he should probably try groveling first — but he can’t keep himself from carefully cupping her chin in his fingers and tilting her face this way and that. There’s the cut on her puffed lip and the graze on her swollen cheekbone, the bloody divot above her brow that Drax had pulled closed with a steri-strip. It all reminds him too much of the cuts he’d left behind on her body that first night — the brutal, repeated thud of her head against the floor — and his throat throbs when he tries to swallow.  But she just looks at him with sleep-blurred moonsilver eyes, all soft and unfocused and timid. I just need to think, and I can’t with you looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.  Something slides right between his ribs, so piercing and sharp that his shoulders hunch convulsively and he curves inward, almost staggering under the arrow of it. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. The words bounce gently around the glass bubble of the cockpit, hushed between the shadows and stars.  His eyes gloss over. “Yeah, sweetheart. Come to bed with me?”

from chapter twenty-eight. momophobia. ✩ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂ navigation | fiction 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: infinite angst (& comfort). woundcare. discussion of animal surgery, and medical & (i would argue) psychological torture. lots of non-smutty naked/partially-clothed intimacy and the occasional dirty thought (because rocket).

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

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

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.

Mantis: Do you have a self-care routine?

Quill: “Keep going bitch” said to myself in different accents.

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ

COMPLETED 2/6 ❤︎

18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | COMPLETE | word count: 235,940.

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

find the masterlist here.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, hoisting himself lightly onto the bed beside her. He rolls onto his side, half-curling to face her. The back of one knuckle traces a silken path over her freckles, grazing back another tangled wayward strand of high-gloss hair that has already found its way back over her face. She shifts, and huffs a little breath. Thick eyelashes shuffle against each other like dark feathers. “Sugardrop,” he urges, throat hoarse. “Can you wake up for me? I gotta tell you something.” The two of them are curled into each other. The ventilation system clicks on and the glass chimes made from Groot’s flowers clink against each other softly, and the plasma orbs are still set to quarter-light so she can see him a little. Everything for him is painted in shades of old, aged gold, but he imagines that for her there are layers of purple-velvet shadows crumpled in the corners of the room, tugging at the two of them drowsily. “Tell me anything, baby,” she says, her voice a sleepy murmur. “I need you awake for it,” he says, and she’s immediately leaning back, scrubbing at her eyes, trying to give him her full attention. She’s still so fuckin’ rough with herself, almost pulling out eyelashes with the force of her knuckles, so he grabs her hands with his slender fingers and leans forward, pressing his mouth first to one eye and then the other. That wakes her up. “What is it?” she asks, brow furrowed in worry.

final chapter~Chapter XXVII. The Most Beautiful Thing In My House. ❤︎ in which our heroes get what they deserve.

i'm a mess. i hope this offering to the fanfiction gods meets with your approval. now i need to go eat a gallon of ice cream and cry and throw up in my bathtub or something.

some explicit statements or references ✩ explicit scenes or fantasy sequences ❤︎‬ long, detailed, and graphic explicit content ❤︎‬❤︎

Art by my request by Mila Losenko

A painting by the amazing artist Ksenia Buridanova that is giving me Knot vibes from Chapter 16 of Entanglement. Don’t worry though, this fucker will be so, so sorry in the near and coming future. A peek at the next chapter under the picture.

Thalisk whispered something low and growling to Knoliadin before switching back to the standard Badoon that her translator could make sense of. “I advise caution, my prince. The girl has yet to learn proper respect, proper reverence,” he warned as he made his way across the room.

“I’m sure that with your careful tutelage, she will learn quickly, Thalisk. Your methods are, no doubt, impeccable.” Knoliadin replied, an understated elegance to his words that Petra had never before heard from him.

“I do not anticipate her being an apt pupil. Insouciance seems to be bred into her bones.” Thalisk answered.

“Odd,” Knoliadin answered with a frown in his voice, “I have found her to be a quick study. She has already passed the third level of Jalwek-Pazon in a short amount of time. Consider her heritage. Consider the sort of being she is.”

Even though terror was buzzing in her finger tips, the way the two men were talking about her like she wasn’t even there was starting to really annoy her. She didn’t like how he called her a ‘being’ as if she were something other. The sound of moving fabric and footsteps yanked her thoughts back into horror.

A gentle whisper of a touch brushed against Petra’s face. She strained wildly to get out of reach, to get away from Knoliadin, but could not escape. He dragged the back of his fingers across her cheek with a barely there caress. His touch was distressing, his skin seemed to buzz against hers as if little tingling fibers were connecting them where skin met skin. “I can feel the fear pounding in your neck like a trapped animal. Be calm. I will not harm you.” When he lifted his hand away, the fibrous strings stretched, pulled, and thinned, but did not separate completely. I made her skin itch and twitch, she wanted to scratch herself bloody with her nails.

Petra flinched hard enough that she experienced a bracing shock as he traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb. It made her slump in her bonds and groan again as pain danced up her nerves. “Shhhh,” Knoliadin crooned as his hand lingered on her shoulder.

When she recovered somewhat, she made a small noise of protest as he slid his claws into her hair. “Shall I remove the blindfold? I imagine it would comfort you to see where you are.” He said as he loosened the fastenings on the sides. A rustle of fabric and Petra was squinting her eyes even at the dim lights of the room.

She couldn’t see much. She knew if she turned her head too quickly she would feel burning electric torment, so she focused on what was directly below her feet. Gleaming metal, sleek and sterile duraplastic lined counters. Machines both familiar and strange loomed like ghosts in the shadowed room. There was an IV of fluids and nutrients hanging above her head, and she was laying restrained on a padded surgical table. A medical lab. She was in the ship’s medical bay. Wide bands cuffed her wrists, ankles, shoulders, waist, and hips. An uncomfortable pressure on her head made her suspect some sort of electrodes were placed there.

“There she is,” Knoliadin said, and Petra’s eyes flickered to her side to see him smiling down at her. He wore a dark eye patch over his ruined eye and a sleek red and golden brocade robe of Shiar wood dove silk. Before she could stop the sound, a whine spilled over her lips. “Shhhh,” he repeated, as he cupped her face, “So, you feel it too, our connection, our bond.” It was as if her cheek was threaded to his palm with squirming, writhing worms that consumed both of their flesh at once.

“You didn’t mean to create this connection, did you?” he asked, voice full of sympathy, compassion. He glided his clawed thumb under her eye to catch the first drops of moisture there.

“No,” she answered, eyes overflowing with tears.

“You did only mean to heal me? Nothing else?”

“Yes, only that.”

Rocket: Just leave me to do my dark bidding on the internet!

Quill: What are you bidding on?

Rocket: I’m bidding on a table.