Baby Groot: [drops A Plate] 

Rocket: [Referring to Blackjack] He’s selling us out!!!

[Rocket starts strangling Blackjack but is pulled off by Lylla]

Lylla: Rocket Stop!!! There has to be a reasonable explanation! At least give him a chance.

Blackjack: Thank you Lylla… I’m selling out.

[Lylla starts strangling Blackjack and Rocket crosses his arms and smiles smugly]

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.”

This needs to be tucked in every Rocket fans bedside table as a naughty guilty pleasure. It’s also so beautifully written.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter four. anthrodynia. [new 3/19] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 4/25 | wip | word count: pending.

the monster regrets. see below for warnings & notes.

There are two berth-style bunks but he’s always been on his own, and so one has been covered in tools and machines and mines, all in various stages of being constructed or dismantled. She clutches her hands in at her collarbone — just as well, the Monster thinks, because she probably shouldn’t touch any of this shit unless she wants to possibly lose her cute little fingers at best, or blow a hole in the side of the runabout at worst — but he’s startled when she sways over his makeshift workbench, peering down with something like fascination painted on her pretty face. “You made all these?” she asks. Fuck — she sounds so nice like that, voice all drenched with awe and admiration.  He abruptly realizes that he’s still gonna have to figure out the bunk situation. “Shit,” he hisses, and she jumps.  “S-sorry—“ “What—? Not you, pearl.” He sighs. He’s not gonna get any sleep tonight anyway — too focused on getting as far away from HalfWorld as possible, on figuring out where to drop the first careful misdirection, figuring out where to drop her — and would it be so wrong to just have her sleep in his bunk tonight? His dick twitches in response and he seethes. “Lay down,” he orders in a growl.  She hesitates only for a second, then skirts him and lowers herself carefully to the berth, leaning awkwardly as she balances on her unbruised side.

read chapter four on ao3 :･꧂

WARNINGS: aftercare. references to chapter two’s violence. regret. sexual fantasies and general horniness. references to food restriction/dieting.

i appreciate every one of you who has stuck around for this. i'm working hard on this (i have about ten chapters drafted and i'm watching this fic become longer and longer because we will eventually get to "real" plot with like. reuniting with old friends and shit.) there's a little bit of a fix-it fantasy in here for me beyond just comforting & fucking the raccoon. anyway if you stick around i hope you won't be disappointed.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. masterlist, notes, & moodboard .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

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

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

And I am emotionally wrecked… these babies got me in the feels.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter seven. starlorn. [new 4/22] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 7/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter seven. starlorn.

pearl pleads her case. see below for warnings & notes.

He expects a soft little laugh. He thinks, even a few hours ago, he would’ve gotten one. Instead, she leans forward, her fingers curling over her  bare toes, her knees pinned between her chest and the starpane. And her eyes — her eyes are suddenly big and glossy and wet, gemstone-tears suddenly balanced on her lower lashes. It feels like someone’s broken through all his ribs, gripping his heart in a vibranium fist. “Don’t make me stay on Cyxlore,” she says softly. “I won’t try to make you take me if you — if you really don’t want to. But I’d rather be here. With you.” A soft inhale. “Please.” His stomach drops out. You ready to beg yet? he suddenly remembers asking her on the rain-slick floor of her Arete cage. Well. Here she is, begging, and he’ll be an ass if he ignores it. And an ass if he accepts it.  The line of her nose and cheeks gleam with starlight. The blanket around her shoulders shifts down, pinned between her back and the cold metal wall, and the soft curves of her breasts press against her thighs. The Monster can see the shape of them, rounded and squished at her sides through the sleeveless armholes and under the edge of his too-small Sneepers shirt.  She’s so far away, and he can see her dying all over again. Lylla on the floor of the Arete; Madame Lavenza in the rainy courtyard of HalfWorld. Haunting and haunted, cold as ghosts and skeleton-bones and lifeless stars, as distant and unreachable as the edge of the universe.  Come back to me, pretty pearl.  He swallows. 

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 seven: self-injury (biting), continued references to grooming and confinement. rocket’s explicit running commentary and the faintest whisper of d/s vibes. brief mention of bondage.

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

Ahem-

[During a mission]

Nebula: Quill, what are you wearing?

Quill: Gardening gloves for the heist.

Rocket: You couldn't wear any other pair or gloves?

Quill: Real men wear floral while trespassing

What should have happened in the Infinity movies. Scarlet Witch and Rocket friendship for the win.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part two. pennsylvania. ohio. indiana.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 28] | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 2/6 | word count: 806.

rocket appreciates the turnpikes. the heroes discuss music, memories, and state-of-the-art tech.

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

“What’s this place?”

Wanda glances over at Rocket from behind the steering wheel. He looks like a child: sitting on three hardbound textbooks the Hulk had dug out of somewhere, legs swinging casually over the edge of the chair. He’d spent the first two hours fussing with his seatbelt, muttering about how Terran transport vehicles are deathtraps before either satisfying or resigning himself. 

The car is currently gliding through a twisting crevasse, cut deep into old mountains. Outside, the spring thaw is melting snow into little waterfalls that cascade off the manufactured cliffsides, carefully funneled away from the road. A sign warning of rockslides floats past. The trees are budding and there are little pink and yellow sprays of wildflowers peeking through the patches of grass.

“The Pennsylvania Turnpike?” Wanda offers uncertainly. 

“Huh.” The Captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy — down from six but up to three — swings his feet again. She can see his face reflected in the passenger window. His ruby-flecked, bourbon-brown eyes glow, wide and thoughtful. “It’s kinda pretty.”

Wanda blinks at the road ahead.

“You like music?” Rocket asks, feet still swinging.

She cants another sideways glance down in his direction. “I do.”

“What kind?”

She lets out a huff of air — almost a laugh. It feels strange. It’s been a while. About five years, actually. “Sokovian rock,” she tells him archly. “Some metal.” She raises a brow at him. “You know Sokovian music?”

Of course, she already knows the answer. 

Still, he’s looking at her with nothing but open intrigue. “No,” he says frankly, and his eyes are hungry. “You got some?”

It’s not quite the response she’d expected. She tries to remember the last time anyone other than Vis had asked about — home. Had wanted to share her memories, know her life.Had wanted to hear the music she’d grown up with, and listen to it together. 

Only Pietro, she thinks.

“No,” she says quietly. “I haven’t got anything.”

Rocket’s not sure how this planet goes from lush mountain forest into the flat nothingness of the Ohio Turnpike, but it does. As far as he’s concerned, this only confirms that every good thing on Terra has to be followed by a bad one. 

And also, what the fuck is a turnpike? It doesn’t register in his damn translator. 

Still, Cleveland’s not terrible when they stop for food — there’s some little cafe where they can eat outside, though Rocket’s surprised the witch doesn’t want to go in; it’s still kinda cold out for a baldbody, afterall. But it’s a good break in the monotony — especially before they start driving through an even more boring region that Wanda tells him is Indiana. 

Thank fuck he’s got something to tinker with now, though.

He’d chewed on her response to his question about Sokovian music for a while. It had sounded like a sentiment that had lived in his own head for years — I ain’t got nothin’ — and he hadn’t even realized the sound of it had faded until he’d stood at the edge of a dead star and pretended to be some kind of captain.

I could lose a lot. Me, personally — I could lose a lot. 

Then he’d asked Wanda if she’d had a zune.

The witch had blinked. “I — no. Nobody has zunes anymore.”

He’d scoffed. “I do.” He’d pulled Pete’s zune from his pocket and wagged it at her. “State-of-the-art music-portation and listening device,” he’d taunted, and something in the corner of her mouth had flickered.

“Most people use their smartphones nowadays,” she’d said — and her voice had been sort of mild instead of flat, which he’d counted as a win. “They’re a little newer,” she’d added apologetically. “Better tech.”

He’d dipped his head and stared at the zune. For some reason, the words had felt like a bruise in his heart, and he’d scrubbed his knuckles against his metal breastbone. “Better, how?”

She’d glanced at him again and shrugged one shoulder. “Faster. Sleeker. They hold more data, and they can access the Internet. Make calls, send texts. All sorts of things.” She’d shrugged again.

He’d dug his knuckles in hard  to his sternum, trying to relieve — or maybe counterbalance — some of the pressure there, and he’d stared down at the zune. “This was Pete’s.” The words had come out before he’d been able to drag them back. He’d never intended to say them in the first place.

The witch hadn’t said anything, and he’d slid his tongue over the front of his teeth, then had cast a sideways look up at her, trying to keep his face nonchalant.

“Those smartphones ain’t got more than three hundred songs on ‘em though, right?”

Her eyes had flicked to him, then back to the road. “Oh, absolutely not,” she’d said, so confidently that he’d immediately felt smug. “Fewer, I think.”

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 28] | main masterlist

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]

Love these!

Rocket Raccoon and Groot sketches by Mike Maihack