Seriously, Wtf World.

Just perfectly painful and lovely in all the best ways. Achingly vulnerable Rocket is my jam. Read and comment on every chapter of this gorgeous story.

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twenty-eight. la momophobia. [NEW 3/19] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 27/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. cicatrix masterlist & notes | navigation chapter twenty-eight. momophobia. ✩ see warnings and art below. | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

bathtime confessions.

“Close your eyes,” he rasps, and she does. He leans over the lip of the tub and presses the warm, damp fabric to her forehead, carefully avoiding the wounds that Drax has already cleaned and dressed — dabbing cautiously at the shallow scratches that he hadn’t. Pearl doesn’t flinch or hiss or even gasp: just lets herself go soft and easy under his touch, so absolutely trusting that it wrenches his heart all over again. He gently mops the smears of blood left behind, and the creases and tear-tracks in the dust on her cheeks, all crisp and crystallized with salt. “Rocket—"

“Just—“ he interrupts, and the word is thick and heavy in his mouth. “Just shut up and lemme do this, okay?” But there’s no venom in his voice, no razor-sharp slice. He almost doesn’t even recognize it as his own. He cleans every soft plane and hollow in her face: tracing each bone and curve, drawing constellations in her freckles with the cloth. Adrestia. Auxesia. Penthus. Arete. Astraea. Dicé. His right hand follows his left: memorizing her hairline, lingering mournfully at the edges of her minor cuts and scrapes. Archiving each little wound into his sensory memory, like a prayer or a punishment. As his palms grow wet, the feeling of her intensifies under his hands. By the time he’s washing the dust off her eyelids, he swears he can identify each and every soft eyelash feathering under his thumb. He cleans the hollows behind the hinge of her jaw, the soft vulnerability under her chin. When he moves down the throat he’d almost crushed that first night on the Arete, his eyes burn. You’re not a monster, she’d whispered up to him that night, with her ribs bruising between the brutal grip of his knees. You never have been.

read more on ao3 | cicatrix masterlist & notes see warnings and art below. this chapter is full of angst so double-check the warnings please!

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: 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). regret, self-recrimination, and self-loathing.

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

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

Dark, dangerous, and heartbreaking. This chapter might unlock new kinks and destroy you emotionally. Beautifully written, this chapter will haunt your dreams.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ chapter two. ambedo. [new 3/4] ❤︎❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 2/25 | wip | word count: pending.

the monster makes his intentions known. wyndham’s bride proposes an addendum. DARK chapter. see below for warnings & notes.

No matter how she twists and stretches on the floor, she can’t get her hands on the once-raccoon digging his knee into her spine. Anything that might have reached him is batted away easily. Thunder groans, and her captor chuckles behind her. The sound is dark and broken like gravel, and far more dangerous than the storm outside. His claws let go of her ruined chignon for just a second and she scrambles to her knees, still twisted and trapped in silk like a net-tangled butterfly.  He snickers, and his fingers clamp like a vice on her ankle, bruising and prickling even through the diaphanous layers of fabric. He jerks her toward him with such force that she sprawls again, the air slamming out of her lungs as the momentum sends her skidding her back to him and beneath him, dress sliding on the polished wood floor as he hauls her under his wide-spread legs. There’s the renewed skitter of pearls across the floor, and before she can draw a breath, he flips her — easily — onto her back. Her lungs are slammed against the ground, airless all over again. Her ribs strain. “Nuh-uh, pretty pearl.” He laughs down at her, teeth and eyes all bright and sharp in the darkness.  “W-wait,” she tries again, but he’s already dropping to his knees and straddling her torso, knees squeezing in on her ribs so hard that she can feel them creak. He’s so warm, though — a furnace — and heat radiates from his thighs and groin where they press snugly against the underside of her breasts. The part of her that aches for warmth and for touch batters against her weary survival instincts, willing to put up with the pain and the threat of imminent death if it means lying beneath him for the next few minutes. Then she remembers that he needs to leave and she thrashes against him frantically, but it’s too late. His clawed fingers are circling her neck and they tighten, claws sinking in at her nape. His tail lashes behind him: a dark plume, painting the shadows. She flies her fingers to his wrists, trying to peel his grip away even as bright spots swim back into her eyes like little supernovas and moons. Her hips buck beneath him instinctively, wriggling, lips parted and bloody and begging for air. Tears burn in her eyes, streaming into now-loose curls at her temples, and she kicks and tugs helplessly as the hands that shouldn’t be this strong, but are. There’s another skeletal flare of lightning, and she can see him again: narrow, scorching red eyes, teeth bared and gleaming, all scars and wet fur. Metal flashes in the electric light. Horrifying, yes. Not in and of himself, of course — but what it all means. All the pieces that had come together the moment he’d entered the little halo of golden candlelight.  Herbert had kept her in the dark, but now she knows.  Now she knows. And her thudding, panicked heart is broken.

read chapter two. ambedo. on ao3 :･꧂

WARNINGS: arguably one of the darkest chapters. things will get better before the chapter’s end. dubcon (wyndham’s bride is very into it but there’s definitely an argument for coercion here), lots of non-affectionate degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), bad dom/sub dynamics, choking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, spanking, overstimulation. single, brief threat of mutilation. use of claws. continued references to non-sexual child abuse and grooming. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

sorry babes, this chapter is mostly a direct pull from the og oneshot. it's also almost twice as long as a normal chapter because i couldn't find a good place to cut it. but i hope you enjoy anyway?? enjoy seems like a weird word but yeah

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

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

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 ❤︎❤︎

This is adorable.

I don't care as long as you read, people. Reading off a shampoo bottle is still reading!

My mother says that fanfiction doesn’t count as reading because “it isn’t nearly as good as the stuff that’s published. You’re not going to find something online that will win a Booker Prize.” Please reblog if you count fan fiction as reading, or if the fanfiction you’ve read is equally as good as published novels. I want to see the figures.

[Peter boards the Ravager ship and notices Yondu glaring at him]

Peter: What did I do?

Yondu: You don’t even say “hi” to your captain?

Peter: Hi. What did I do?

This is such a rocket mood!

Artist:

https://x.com/TRACHEAITTY/status/1885937928884380143

Ya’ll. I hate people touching my hair, but I would let Rocket play with it, brush it, style it, and run his fingers through it 4-Evah. 4-EVAH.

✩࿐࿔ brush your fuckin' hair. [new 4/21]

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | take what you need queue fanfiction masterlist | navigation

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | anthology one-shot | word count: 1,649. read ✩࿐࿔ brush your fuckin' hair on ao3 excerpt & warnings below the cut.

the captain is an expert on fur, and he can tell you’re not brushing yours. it’s important to take care of your hair — keeping it free of dust and debris, tangles and shedding strands. even finger-combing it is better than nothing! and who knows? maybe if you can start brushing a little more regularly, the captain will even help you out on occasion. 

for nonnie! ♡♡♡ i really wanted to write this one with eidos-rocket, but i wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the 2021 game. however, please know i was channeling a lot of my eidos-rocket headcanons (like him being VERY VAIN about his fur) while writing this. a few warnings: one very brief, not-explicit off-color joke of a suggestive nature from reader, some assumptions about hair length and texture based on the wording of your ask, and physical affection/hair combing. i hope you enjoy this little story and that it maybe gives you some encouragement to take a little more care of your hair.

“You ain’t brushed your hair again.” The words make you stiffen in alarm. You’d been standing at the tiny counter of your kitchenette, opening two milky fizzes — one for yourself, and one for the Captain — and pouring a carton of zargnuts into a bowl when he’d decided to interrupt you with what sounds an awful lot like an accusation. You whirl around to face Rocket, one hand automatically flying to the back of your head — finger-combing the strands and checking for snarls. “Whaaat?” you manage to ask with a little laugh that you hope sounds incredulous, but probably sounds cornered instead. Your eyes skitter from Rocket to the book shelf, the ceiling, the holoscreen — to anything in your cozy studio apartment that isn’t him. The air is velvety and blue right now — just a few shadowed shades past Knowhere’s artificial sunset. There are only a few sources of light against the darkness: one dim plasma orb glows on the narrow coffee table, and there’s a handful of tiny twinkle-lights dotting your kitchenette shelves. Outside the window, a net of stringed lights shimmer against the newly-gathering night. The Captain isn’t deterred by your frantic lack of eye contact or your sputtered semi-denial, though. He’s twisted in his seat on the couch, peering over the back of the cushions with his head at a ridiculous angle. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try to lie. I can see right through you, kid.” Your fingers fuss at the back of your skull and you wince. Your somersaulting belly decides to tie itself in a neat knot of dread instead. “Does it — look bad?”

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡ ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | take what you need queue

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. ♡ view the take what you need queue to see upcoming installations & the current backlog. SOFT HIATUS: feel free to request things but i am going to take a brief break from twyn after chapter 29 posts next month. i got a few requests here on tumblr for other things i'd like to take a crack at!

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 )

take care of your fuckin injury (wc: 2,102)

cook some goddamn food. (wc: 2,707)

clean your frickin room. (wc: 2,465)

stop hittin shit. (wc: 1,862)

do your frickin homework. (wc: 2,121 )

chill the fuck out. (wc: 1,499)

i'm damn proud a' you, kid. (wc: 1,639)

fuck heartache. (wc: 1,781)

stop frickin' apologizing. (wc: 1,207)

brush your fucking hair. (wc: 1,649)

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

teacup and teal line dividers by @/saradika-graphics | support banner by @/saradika-graphics | raccoon divider by @/thecutestgrotto. total wordcount: 43,690.

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.