Commencing With The Heavy Breathing And Foaming At The Mouth.

do you ever feel victimized by fanfic authors when you make them fanart and then they give YOU compliments and you try to give THEM compliments and its a vicious cycle??? ♥♥ ft. @nicolareed

Agree 100%

anyone who says they would rather be an avenger than a guardian is a fool. the guardians go on constant outer space adventures with a talking tree set to 70’s dad music. plus they all love and would literally die for each other. what do the avengers do? assemble for five minutes then get into a walmart parking lot fight and never see each other again. fuck you.

Yep. Run, girls, run!

Rocket: [After another one of Quill’s flirting attempts] Hear that? It's the sound of girls all over the galaxy running and rushing, just desperate to… lock their doors.

Happy Pride!❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷🖤🩶🤍🤎

Happy pride month GOTG tumblr!!! 🏳️‍🌈🦝

I love being a lesbian, it’s one of the greatest gifts this world has given me :)❤️

I drew a pride Rocket for you all today to celebrate!!😄❤️

Enjoy!

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?”

Would you like, raccoon pics (rhetorical question i will now bombard you with them)

:)

howdy! thank you for your submission :3

such beautiful works of art… raccoons are truly THE creatures of all time

Rocket Secretly Likes Being Petted II

The next time Nebula found Rocket; he was on one of the couches in the Milano Commons--sitting on Peter Quill's lap as the human petted him with gentle hands.

"Is... is he...?" Nebula asked.

"Yeah," Quill answered. "He... he's sorta here, but... not?"

Nebula nodded, having talked to Rocket before about the timer-code that took 'him' semi-offline so he could experience what it was like to be petted - or experience gentle touch altogether - without the baggage of his memories and thoughts getting in the way.

With eyes closed, and body leaning back into the human's chest, the little raccoon was purring wildly - so hard that his body was vibrating - as Peter went over his headfur, scratched him behind the ears, and then moved to stroke and scratch under his chin!

Nebula tried to approach quietly so as not to disturb them--but Rocket heard her anyway and to her shock, his eyes opened and he issued a sort of noise from his throat, some sort of trilling raccoon-call, as if to beckon her over. Deep within the hardened core of Nebula, a small, unaltered Luphomoid Girl-spirit started banging around, jumping up and down.

"Aww..." the Luphomoid Cyborg murmured. No sooner had she sat down on the couch next to Peter, then Rocket was slowly moving back and forth between them, wanting pets from both. Nebula giggled and then she and Quill did so, laughing as Rocket nuzzle-nuzzle-nuzzled and lick-licked his friends.

"Damn... we could so use him to run the Milano--I mean, listen to the sound of that engine he's got!" Quill said a while later, making poor Nebula quietly laugh so hard she nearly choked! "I didn't know raccoons could purr like that!"

Rocket was on Peter's lap again when it happened. Gradually, his purrs faded--only so he could open his mouth and yawn hugely. Then, the little raccoon blinked, closed his eyes, inhaled a slow, deep, breath through his nose and finally exhaled slowly through his mouth. "Rocket? Hey, buddy, you back with us?"

When Rocket nodded, Quill continued, "Can you say something, so we know you're with us, pal?"

Now the raccoon's eyes went misty. "Almost don't wanna," he replied, his words soft and quiet. "Don't wanna make it weird or ruin it. Jus'..." his breath hitched in a sob, "jus' let me have this, Quill, jus'..." As Peter slowly wrapped his arms about Rocket - as the awful and demeaning thoughts and memories started to creep in, telling him he was a man, that this was degrading - poor Rocket suppressed a snarl and ruthlessly crushed it all down, inhaling Quill's scent...

... not realizing that - by allowing the base raccoon to surface - the timer had allowed Rocket to do something he should have, long ago. Imprint-on-Parent. Base-raccoon-Rocket and Cybernetic-AI-Rocket connected and reached an understanding: Peter Quill was now new PARENT/SIRE/ADMIN.

... and then Rocket blinked, and slowly turned to look at Peter Quill in awe, with tear-filled eyes. Peter Quill, his new Father. Peter Quill, the most wonderful person in the world.

Spiders! Also he’s become a house pet!

florescence❀ (a meetgroot*) [new 4/27]

Chapter 4/6 Year Three: Flowering ✩ florescence❀ masterlist | main masterlist

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 4/6 chapters | word count: pending.

rocket brings you a present.

“How was space, stranger?” you ask, and you shuffle Spiders Georg into one arm so you can extend the other — palm out. An invitation.  Claws exhales, and whatever foreign anxiety had bristled his fur leaves with his breath. His shoulders ease and he hesitates, then flicks his fingers quickly over your palm: not taking your hand, but skimming it. His touch just brushes over the faint creases in your palm like he’s kissing it with his fingertips, like it’s a map made of rivers and roads. Then he pulls his hand away.  He doesn’t answer your question. Not exactly. “Brought you some stuff,” he says instead, gesturing roughly with his chin over his shoulder. “You wanna take a look?” You smile, but Spiders Georg sees you tilt your head in confusion. “Presents?” you say lightly. “For me?” Claws snorts, and gestures you up the ramp.

read Year Three: Flowering on ao3 florescence❀ masterlist | main masterlist

uhhhh this chapter is told from the perspective of an orloni (i'm so sorry). it may be an unsalvageable mess but one time a reader told me they loved Spiders Georg and i blame them (you know who you are & this is for you). spoilers/warnings for a family fight and the start of a lil make-out session. next chapter will contain smut. fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”

rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.

it was the flowers that drew you in.

mcu-based, slight au, medium-burn, eventual smut circa Year Four? tentative allies to friends to lovers. the middle is angsty but there are only happy endings here. florescence❀ masterlist | main masterlist

So fuckin’ hyped for this.

nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ preview [est feb 29] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/?? | wip | word count: pending.

She sits with them and presses the heels of her hands deeper into her eyes, and she tries to imagine the scent of the flowers, the feel of the grass between her fingers and toes. She traces the letters and the tops of the stones, smooth and sharp-edged.  And then, on the back of one bare shoulder, she feels that burn again: hot, scalding. Before she can even look around, the escaped wisps of curls at the nape of her neck suddenly shift. Her head snaps up and she whirls on one hip, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “Who’s there?” Maybe no-one, she reasons — but if that’s the case, there’s also no-one to mock her for her fear. She knows she looks afraid: eyes big in her face, lips parted. She should hide it. She should. Instead, she holds her breath, and waits, but only the thunder answers in the dark. Then the light shifts on the floor, and she realizes the rain sounds different. She tears her eyes from the dark corners. The window is open. How? She’d traced every edge, looking for a crack or crevice, a lock, a lever — but now it’s open, swinging lightly on its hinges. Fear unfurls in her chest, and it’s so warm that she presses her icy fingers to her sternum automatically. “Who’s there?” she repeats, and her voice trembles. Thunder again, rumbling — but this time, when it fades, another sound remains behind: a chuckle, dark and low. Dark and low, and very, very close. Her head snaps toward the sound, and she catches the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. “Were you watching me earlier?” she asks, and that fear licks out from her sternum to the edges of her ribs, down to her shoulders and hips. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t—” It isn’t safe, she had been about to say — but then something grazes between her shoulderblades, like a paintbrush on her skin. Her head whips to follow it and she twists, eyes wide, lungs desperately trying to haul in air like stones up a mountainside. “You can’t — don’t touch me. It’s—” Dangerous. Another flick of the terrifyingly-soft thing again, on the back of her hand this time.  Something is moving around her in the dark. Something is stalking her. What to do? The door is locked. The closet is an open mouth of blackness in one wall, but she can’t barricade a sliding door. The open window had been a nice fantasy and she’s not ruling it out, but her curiosity is at war with her fear and she wants, more than anything, to make sure this creature or person gets out.  She knots her fist in the draping silk, gaze sifting through the shadows. Another flash of something her eyes can’t follow. She rises slowly to her feet, and reaches for the candle, and lifts it high. For a moment, there’s nothing. And then, in the dark shadows at the corner of the room, two perfect points of brilliant red gleam in the darkness: flat glowing coins, clouded with crimson. Twin blood-moons. Eyes.

chapter one [est 2/29] ✩

꧁･:☁︎ ⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

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. 

enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies, and tbh the enemy part is pretty short-lived.) while the beginning of this fic is dark (please check warnings for each chapter), we always get happy endings here. most chapters will contain super-smutty commentary at the very least. this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

much like Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ , this fic is pure wish-fulfillment. i'd like a sexy space raccoon to rail me and then let me be stupid-sweet to him.

WARNING for dubcon/hate-sex (at the beginning), mentions of childhood grooming & abuse (no CSA), and brief suicidal ideations. please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter.

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

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

Such amazing character development here.

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

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist prev | next [est june 18] | main masterlist

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

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist prev | next [est june 18] | main masterlist