Happy Pride!❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷🖤🩶🤍🤎

Peter’s here asking the important questions.

Peter: Guys, I've been thinking.

Mantis: Uh-oh.

Rocket: Oh shit.

Drax: Really?

Groot: I am Groot?

Nebula: Truly a groundbreaking moment in history.

Peter: Man, fuck you guys. I've got a very important question.

Rocket: Hold on.

Rocket: [Pulls a bomb out of his pocket.]

Rocket: Okay, now I'm ready.

Peter: If a huge dick can be referred to as a "third leg"...

Nebula: Great start. Just... impeccable start.

Peter: ...Does that make a strap-on, a "peg leg"?

Rocket: [Detonates bomb]

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

Did one of the few things that brings me joy lately: raccoon x fem!alien humanoid bumping uglies art 🎨 ✨️ ♥️

You have been warned

Don't think James Gunn truly understands how much he changed my brain chemistry with his silly little movie about found family and second chances so of course my brain chooses the most wholesome way to express my love for Rocket lmao

The systemic elimination of the Native American population did not end with Trail of Tears or the "Wild West." Post Colonialism is still Colonialism, and until one group of people stops devaluing other cultures as less than. I am haunted by the story my great uncle told me that he experienced as a child. He was a small boy during the Great Depression in Northern Georgia. One day he went into his barn and found an ancient, wizened man. He asked the man what he was doing in his families barn. The man told him that this was the spot he was born in, and this is the spot he was going to die in as well. My Great-Uncle went and got his father, and the old man's tale unraveled. The man's family and tribe were removed- forcibly and cruelly by the US government when gold was discovered in North Georgia. The man told them of his hardships and how he had searched for this place. My Great-Grandfather, invited him into the house to eat and stay, but the man wanted to stay in the barn. The family brought him food, and offered him company. He accepted the food, but wanted to be left alone. He died a few days later. Evil actions that took place 100, 200, 500 years before still resonate in the bones of an entire people. The fact that Georgia's Capital building is covered in gold makes me sick- disgusts me. I remember my school books glossing over the Trail of Tears and focusing on the Gold Rush. Some proud state history.

“Kill the Indian, save the Man.”

Native parents from around the world held their very young children’s hands as they walked them to boarding schools and residential schools. Some Native parents were forced to completely sign away their guardianship to principals of these “schools”, or face jail time. Others were visited by policemen, who forcibly seized their children from them. A few were undermined by “Indian Agents” on reservations, who withheld their rations on ration days. Some children never saw their parents again.

Boarding schools were built to “assimilate” the Native population into a white society, targeting their children. It had been assumed that conversion to Christianity and assimilation was “for the best interests” of Native and Indigenous people in Australia, the US, and Canada. The Native children were not allowed to practice skills relevant and appreciated to their cultures, such as carving. They were disallowed to speak in their native tongues, and were often physically, sexually, and psychologically tormented for doing so.

A five year old Native boy is raised by his family to know his hair as an extension of his soul, and that people only cut their hair if they experienced a loss of a loved one, a loss of a relationship, or a loss of oneself. As a stranger cuts off the little boy’s hair in order to better assimilate the child into the sex-based roles of a white male, the Native child is left quietly wondering who it is that has died, where his family went, and why the other children are being beaten for speaking to one another.

Only a small portion of each day was spent learning academically at these “schools”. Most of the day the children were exploited for their labor. How the labor was divided was based upon the Native child’s sex. Native girls were expected to do the domestic labor that was expected of white girls and women, such as cooking and cleaning, and Native boys were expected to perform manual labor, such as farm work, blacksmithing, and shoemaking.  The children would reach a point where they would be “phased out” of these boarding schools for a summer or year at a time and forced to perform labor for private white and wealthy families who did not want these jobs and duties themselves.

Many boarding schools and residential homes had an overwhelming death rate from Tuberculosis, which swept through these schools and homes. Tuberculosis kills it’s victim within ten days. Native children were forced to play and sleep alongside other Native children who had contracted tuberculosis so that they, too, would die. Boarding schools suffered a 50% or higher death rate because of this, effectively reducing the Native population in an attempt to eradicate them.

Maisie Shaw, age 14, was kicked down a flight of stairs by Alfred Caldwell, the principal of the residential school she was forced to stay in and killed.

 Other small skeletons of Native children have been found in church basements, which served as residential homes and boarding schools.

Other children were forced into prostitution rings.

Over fifty thousand children in Canada’s First Nations residential schools were beaten, raped, suffered from electrocutions and electroshock therapy, were forcibly sterilized, often medically experimented on, starved, and murdered. 

It wasn’t until 1978 in the US that Native parents won the rights to deny sending their children to boarding schools. This wasn’t that long ago. In 1978, my mother was 21 years old. 

In Australia, the residential homes lasted until 1984.

In Canada, the last residential home was closed in 1996. 

This was not what I was expecting to be blessed with on my day off. Now I NEED a cold shower and a cigarette… lord help me. Raccoonfallsharder… you may have sparked an Engagement Jack/Petra/Rocket headcannon response to this… it got my crazy brain working overtime.

some questionable headcanons.

navigation | headcanons & imagines

just thinking too much about how (and why) rocket doms & subs in all (well, most??) of his different incarnations. of course there’s lots of crossover because at his core, rocket is always rocket, but sort of… reskinned by the experiences in his different worlds.

i spent way too long thinking about this while traveling over the weekend. NSFW (mdni) with gn reader below the cut my loves. just some ramblings/musings that are subject to change according to my mood.

mcu rocket

DOMS YOU: by doing whatever it takes to make you beg for him — to force you to convince him that you want him, that you need him. he’s a master of edging, and he wants desperately to leave marks on you as proof that he was there. it’s not a dealbreaker if you aren’t into spanking or biting or spanking or clamping or spanking or bruising, but he’d love to give you just a little bit of pain if you’re into it. also likes to degrade you a little too, but has a hard time bringing himself to be really mean when he likes you oh-so-much. oh — and the top-drop is real with this one, so make sure to provide good aftercare for your dom.

SUBS FOR YOU: the amount of trust it will take for this rocket to explicitly sub for you is immense (though it’s pretty clear early on that even if he likes to degrade you a little bit, you’re the one with all the power in the bedroom). he doesn’t like to be restrained by anything but his own willpower, which is admittedly flimsy. but for you, he’ll try: clenching his fists into the sheets of his bunk, gripping onto shelves and hatch-frames and anything else he can brace himself against to try to keep from touching you when you tell him to keep his hands to himself. he might even let you blindfold him, though he’s honest enough to admit that he can use his other senses to get a pretty clear idea of where you’re at and what you’re about to do. the truth is, this rocket really does want nothing more than to make you feel good — and if that means letting you take control, he’ll figure out a way to do it. after the first time — when you’ve given him so many orgasms he thinks he might’ve actually died and gone to a better afterlife than he deserves — he’s more willing to explore whatever options you want, just as long as you keep murmuring those sweet little reassurances that you’ll take care of him.

eidos rocket

DOMS YOU: most rockets have something of a gunplay-kink, but this guy takes it to the next level. he loves to both toss you around and boss you around, and lavish you with all sorts condescending praise — particularly when stretching you out on a cannon. plus, ever since that night you let him get you high on everbloom, he can’t stop thinking about how sweet and silly and eager-to-please you’d been while intoxicated. he won’t do anything without your explicit consent, but he can envision a whole galaxy of fun if you let him do that again.

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket generally avoids situations where he’s vulnerable, so at first it seems like you’re unlikely to ever get the upper hand. secretly, he also worries about having flashbacks to the labs when restrained, or the sensory deprivation chambers when, well, sensory-deprived, so traditional bondage is a no-go. i don’t think he minds you taking the lead, though — just be prepared for him to be bit of a pillow princess when roles are reversed. that said, the truth is that between the cold contempt of the kree scientists, lylla’s sacrifice for his life, and tella’s betrayal, this rocket — while vain as hell in regards to his pretty fur and stunning physique — does worry that there’s something intrinsically inadequate about himself as a person. shower him with enough authentic praise, and he’ll do just about anything to keep it (and you) coming.

cartoon rocket

DOMS YOU: this rocket absolutely sees himself as a dom and is also absolutely not one. underneath it all, some part of him believes that he’s still the unloved runt of his family and the weird one on halfworld — and no matter how amazingly brilliant and capable he’s become, that perception of himself never fully goes away. except for when he’s with you, that is. look, he tries to boss you around a bit. but when you give him that sweet, indulgent little smile and massage the base of his ears, he’ll do whatever he can to please you. the closest this rocket gets to “calling the shots” is when he leaves fine red scratch marks somewhere visible on your skin — loving the way it looks like he’s claimed you (even if part of him would much rather be claimed).

SUBS FOR YOU: did you see the episode with ja kyee lrurt? sure, it’ll take a whole lot of trust-building to get there, but once he’s fallen for you, this rocket will worship the ground you walk on. he’ll trip over his own tail trying to make you happy, both in and out of bed. step on him, spit in his mouth, and call him a good boy, and he’ll be thankful.

universe-killer rocket

DOMS YOU: WARNING. DANGER. if this rocket decides to let you live in the first place, he’ll be wanting to keep you collared around the clock. imagine everything the other rockets do to dom you, but dial the intensity up to thirteen and make it at least six shades darker. loves to see you crawl.

SUBS FOR YOU: oh honey. you’re in the wrong place. at best — once he softens up to you — you’ll get a part-time service dom. maybe. it’s not even that he doesn’t want to submit to you (though he doesn’t). it’s mostly that he wouldn’t remember how if he tried.

marvel rivals rocket

DOMS YOU: i’m still getting to know this rocket but it’s clear he likes variety, based on his dramatically-different looks. i suspect he’s got a major size-kink to go along with that tendency, too. it doesn’t matter that he’s smaller than you in stature: this rocket has at least fifteen different prosthetic cocks and about ten of them are too big for you to take without substantial prep. don’t worry, though: while rocket is not patient in most things, he makes exceptions for this. he loves sinking into you nice and slow while you’re all teared up and dripping, grinning maniacally against your damp skin and purring, “easy, sweetheart; biiiiiig stretch”

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket’s got super-soldier trauma too, but i think he’s also way better at being part of a team — which means he’s willing to take one for it, too. submitting to you is the equivalent of a trust-fall, and once you’ve had his back in battle, he’s willing to at least give it a shot. give him a playful flick to his earring and a smirk to let him know you’re in the mood to boss him around, and he’ll let you as long as it leads to multiple orgasms for both of you. as mentioned, he’s also a big fan of shaking things up, so feel free to try out all your new ideas, just as long as you’re communicating beforehand.

ewing/rosenberg/et al rocket

DOMS YOU: this rocket spent some time with a pretty little thing from the aceta system and learned all about traditional krylorian ropeplay. he loves tying you up with all sorts of deviously-positioned knots that tease your poor, delicious body every time you take a breath. then he just sits and drinks his angargal’s (neat) and watches you with a predatory grin and a few casual — if absolutely filthy — “compliments.” is it even edging if he’s not actually doing anything? he’s innocent, your honor! except that he might jerk off on you, just so he lasts longer when he finally gets inside you (plus there’s something about see you you helpless and dripping — with his fluids and yours — that makes him dangerously feral). he’s also a big fan of directing you on how to touch yourself — especially if he can make you edge or overstim your own body. it feels like the ultimate control to him.

SUBS FOR YOU: this rocket loves cuddles, physical affection, and quality time — though he’ll never admit it. it’s on account of him being the loneliest flarkin’ guy in the universe, of course. he hadn’t remembered his past for circs — just a big ol’ hollow void in his history that he’d filled with persistent dread, raw nerves, and more cons and grifts than even he can recall. had his heart broke once or twice, and generally perceives himself as too much of a d’ast grizmod to be worthy of another person’s genuine love. and then he’d gotten his memories back… only to find out he’d been an authentic dumb-ass hero in a past life, before his former enemy had married his girl. it had really sent the message home: that nobody’s just gonna give him nice things. well. nobody until you. so cuddle this rocket up tight in your arms, and treat him oh-so-lovingly — spend late nights with him in the cockpit and listen to his stories — then stroke his tail while you ask him so sweetly to jack himself off. he’ll find himself doing whatever you say before he even realizes it. or — if you want to give him a real treat — make him promise not to move while you cockwarm him for an hour or two. make sure he knows that there will be no orgasms for cranky gunsmiths who can’t stay still. he’ll stare at you like you’re absurd for suggesting it — why the flark would he agree to something like that? — but after two minutes of you holding him snuggled tight inside you, he’ll start getting teary-eyed from the sheer emotional intimacy of it all.

skottie young rocket

DOMS YOU: by tying you up and overstimming you — again and again and again and again — with his tail and a dozen new toys he made himself. today. look, he’s gotta try ‘em out somehow, and you’re both his lucky muse and his favorite lil test-subject. loves to make you cry — but only for fun reasons. would absolutely arrange for another sub to wreck you under his direction, but only if you told him you’d be into it. he’s one-thousand percent a showman of the highest caliber and he’s gotta make sure everything’s over the top so he doesn’t disappear without ever being loved, which means he also doesn’t mind a full-fledged audience.

SUBS FOR YOU: if you’re looking for vulnerability with this rocket, you’re more likely to find it in unguarded moments of sexual intimacy that are remarkably vanilla. why? mostly just because it’s proof that he doesn’t always have to be the most outrageous thing in the galaxy to keep your attention. these are the moments when he’s heartwrenchingly soft, when he might explain to you how isolated he feels, how he’s searched high and low for “his own people” and has always been reminded that he’s the only thing like him in the universe; that he’s tried to fill the void with an endless parade of gender-variable space-princesses only to find that no-one ever made him feel less-alone — until you. but if you’re looking for submission… well. this rocket is the switchiest switch to ever switch. he has no issue subbing for someone with whom he expects to have fun, mostly because he doesn’t have to trust you to play sub for you. he’ll let you do pretty much whatever you want in the name of brat-taming, but the joke’s on you if you think he’s not capable of wresting back control the moment he wants it. for flark’s sake, he can get out of those electrocuffs in less than two seconds if he wants to — and he’ll never be done being a brat.

Look at this amazing gorgeousness! I’m in love with the collaged background and vivid warm colors!

A gift for @hibatasblog! An extensive vacation for our two favorite explorers. In my mind Rocket is hung up on all journey details when it’s his turn.

Love it!

my little gay halfworlders

Read this scorchingly hot, incredibly tender and beautiful chapter everyone. This author is the absolute best!

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twenty-nine. amoransia. [NEW 4/16] ❤︎‬❤︎‬

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 29/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation chapter twenty-nine. amoransia. ❤︎‬❤︎‬ see warnings and art below. | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

nebula gives rocket advice. pearl picks up where she left off.

It’s so strange and unexpected — that as many friends as pearl seems to pick up, she still hasn’t turned away from him yet. She still comes to their shared bed in the captain’s quarters at night, and purrs for him when he pets her, and cuddles on him and squeezes him tight while she’s sleeping. She still insists on wearing his old band shirts, stretched tight across her stiff little nipples — doing nothing to hide the bounce of her tits, and the sweet curved underside of them that he can see when she stands above him. She still lets him cover her in his scent, like she doesn’t care if the whole frickin’ galaxy knows she belongs to him.

Not that he’s fucked her since Knowhere. Since before Knowhere, actually. If a person didn’t count his absolutely mangled handling of her sweetly-offered blowjob, then he hasn’t fucked her in nearly a cycle at this point. It’s probably some kind of crime, to be honest: having pearl all snuggly and warm and willing in his bed, and to not gently coax her into parting her thighs for his apologetic tongue.  The worst part is, he knows it’s got her worried. He’s tried to reassure her: keeping her squeezed nice and tight against him, caring for all her bruises and cuts — holding her hand till she falls asleep, just like before. It’s just that there’s this twist in his belly when he thinks about her, all soft-mouthed and licking at his dick — then the way he’d treated her after. The things he’d said. The memory of the half-lemniscate scar on her ass. His own ragged ugliness, brutal and blaring next to the soft silk of her body and her warm generosity. Plus, the fact that the f’saki has taken up a semi-permanent residency on the bed doesn’t help much.

read more on ao3 | cicatrix masterlist & notes see warnings and art below. little bit of sentimentality & worldbuilding, and then a lotta bit of smut.

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.

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

WARNINGS for this chapter: d/s dynamics, safeword discussion, blindfold, subspace, fellatio, come-eating, edging, overstim. praise. mild degradation (use of slut/whore, affectionate). dirty talk. brief mention of pussy-spanking, face-fucking. aftercare. little bit of relationship anxiety/post-abuse concerns from pearl.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬ masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics | pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto | moodboard by me!

THIS IS IMPORTANT

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?”