My Heart. ❤️

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ

COMPLETED 2/6 ❤︎

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

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

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

find the masterlist here.

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

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

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

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

✷ You Were Meant for More ✷

How else is Rocket gonna build his fuck-you disks if he can’t keep his poor dick warm?

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter sixteen. craxis. [new 7/12] ❤︎❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 16/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter sixteen. craxis. ART: pearl's character design | pearl & rocket's bunk (1) and (2) |

PLEASE check out this art from chapter one. nemotia. by @frostedwitch ♡♡ it's so gorgeous i could die. i have died, actually. i am typing from beyond the grave

pearl considers the problem of sovereign. see below for warnings & notes.

“Don’t gotta fuck just because you missed me,” he reminds her, though he sounds almost reluctant to admit it. “Shouldn’ta made you sleep alone these past few rotations, but I — uh—“ his voice breaks off and he looks away, using his empty hand to rub the back of his neck. “Just wanted to get to Sovereign quick,” he decides to say at last, though his eyes flicker like he’s hiding a different thought, and again, she could almost think he’s blushing.  It doesn’t look like a happy or excited blush, though. Embarrassed, pearl would guess. Or sad.  “No,” she protests quickly, her hand darting back out to his fur. “I missed you, and I want to. Please, Rocket?” He turns his eyes back to her, and they’re suddenly liquid-dark, pupils blown out into the sunset-red. “You want my dick or my tongue, sweetheart?” It’s a lazy drawl. “M’not gonna make you beg again right now, but you’re gonna have to at least say it.”

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

there is more to this chapter than just smut, i swear it. (but mostly it's just 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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: smutty-smut while rocket wears his cute lil goggles. cockwarming. a light foray into subspace. dirty-talk. praise. mentions of gagging and one light spank. dirty-talk. use of “slut”/”whore” (affectionate). aftercare. so much dirty-talk.

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

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

Or have him fuck the shit out of me… I’m not picky.

✩˚₊‧♡ Blackmail Material ♡‧₊˚✩

masterlist [COMPLETE]

18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | complete | word count: 30,591.

a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings.

i am not writing off the possibility of an epilogue someday (a "one year later" scenario won't fully let go of my brain) but for now i feel like this story has been told and we can leave these two to enjoy their smutty little lives together.

Collects 3 of 3 Parts. ♡‧₊˚✩

♡‧₊˚✩ Part One: Blackmail Material [8/7] you've been hiding one - or maybe two - things from your best friend on the Bowie. unfortunately for you, now he knows. smut with feelings + fluff. sex toys, voyeurism/exhibitionism, impact play.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Two: Self-Sufficience [8/28] rocket deals with the emotional aftermath of your night together, engages in some kinda-sad masturbation, and learns that deep down, his most-secret kink is having sex with someone who loves him. fuck. smut with feelings + fluff. angst, sexual fantasy, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), spanking.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Three: Bioluminescent [10/23] rocket finally decides what he wants. you're glowingly happy to oblige. smut with lotsa feelings + fluff, dirty talk, begging, light dom/sub elements, little bit of oral, references to impact play.

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

I too desire this hoodie.

I need this hoodie!

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY (2015)

I’m gonna write the fuck outta this scene you’ve imagined if you aren’t careful. 🦝 🧔

tbh rocket in the 2021 video game looks like a cute lil man with his beard i wanna braid it

looooook

i have so many thoughts about this lil guy and his goatee. i already started writing about it in my LENGTHY fuckin list of eidos-rocket headcanons that i'm trying to post in july (i'm so close to being done watching the game but then i feel like i gotta go find all his lines somewhere tbh because i can't just rewatch it 4+ times like i have with the movies). but honestly, this guy is the most vain rocket, i'm pretty sure. his fur is SO fluffy and sleek. and that little beard is so well-manicured and maintained and flowy. he's got lil beads in it. what a cutie.

(i may have said this before but like, he for sure stole beard-oil from some spartoi dickhead at some point, just for laughs? but then got addicted to how nice it made his fur feel. eventually he had to find a knowhere vendor who could reproduce it for him on the cheap)

like all rockets, i'm sure he hates being touched without consent, though it probably looks something like "hey, get your krutackin' mitts off the fur!" ...but once he trusts you? he's for sure gonna let you groom him. he loves the way it feels when you comb through his fur delicately, dividing and weaving together the surprisingly-silky strands. sometimes he'll even let you choose the beads, as long as they match his overall aesthetic.

(depending on your relationship, this could definitely become a steamy situation. i imagine you sprawled across him in his hammock, braiding his beard while he lays on his back with a hand tucked under his head and the other tracing your shoulderblade with a light, prickling claw. for sure there's been at least once that you were helping him with it in the common room - fully-clothed and actually innocent for once, with him sitting on the couch and you on your knees in front of him. pete walked in, saw you, turned bright red, and backed out of the room like he'd just seen something that would scar him for life. look there's an undeniable intimacy to it)

最近的鱼！

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!

When you think you can’t get any more hype, and then your favorite author posts something like this.

i spent too much time today outlining all of cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

it should be forty chapters long (give or take if i need to split something up). i have over half of them drafted.

and friends....it's like... good, i think? lots of smutty commentary so not for everyone but it's maybe almost an actual space opera. and the plot points are tight, even if the writing isn't always.

i don't know. it's no Window Across the Galaxy *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ but i'm kind excited about it???

major themes:

chapter seventeen. keyframe. a moment that felt innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—a chance meeting you’d think back on for years, a harmless comment that sparked an ongoing feud, an idle musing that would come to define your entire career—a monumental shift secretly buried among the tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next. In video compression, a key frame defines major changes in a scene. Most frames in compressed video are in-betweens, marking subtle incremental changes, but key frames depict a whole new scene. This technique allows you to move forward without stopping to buffer, even if it makes it harder to rewind.

chapter eighteen. attriage.  the state of having lost all control over how you feel about someone— not even trying to quench the flames anymore, but lighting other fires around your head just hoping to contain the damage. From atria, the chambers of the heart + triage, the sorting of patients in hospital admissions, factoring in the urgency of their illness or injury.

chapter nineteen. tiris. the bittersweet awareness that all things must end. The way you’re still only settling into vacation while mentally preboarding your flight home, or how soon after starting a new relationship you start to wonder exactly how this one ends. Even before you’ve purchased the carton of milk in your hands, you’re already turning it over, looking for the expiration date. In the end, all goods are perishable. Everything is transient. From Tír na nÓg, the land of everlasting youth in Irish folklore + hubris, excessive pride or arrogance, especially toward a god.

chapter twenty. foilsick. feeling ashamed after revealing a little too much of yourself to someone—allowing them too clear a view of your pettiness, your anger, your cowardice, your childlike vulnerability—wishing you could somehow take back the moment, discreetly bolting the door after a storm had already blown it off its hinges. Scottish Gaelic foillsich, to expose.

chapter twenty-one. puntkick. a quiet jolt of recognition that it’s time to become a better version of yourself, sensing that all the strategies that brought you this far are no longer working—that it’s not enough anymore to be cute or nice or righteous or tough—as if you’ve now entered a new phase in the game of life, moving forward with a completely different token. Dutch puntstuk, railway frog, which is the part of a railway switch where two rails intersect. Sometimes you can feel a little kick when your train passes over it, as if the world is trying to signal you’re missing a turn, having traveled too far on the same old track.

chapter twenty-two. falesia. the disquieting awareness that someone’s importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match—that your best friend might only think of you as a buddy, that someone you barely know might consider you a mentor, that someone you love unconditionally might have one or two conditions. Portuguese falésia, cliff. A cliff is a dizzying meeting point between high ground and low ground.

chapter twenty-three. xeno.  the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a warm smile, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone. Ancient Greek ξένος (xénos), alien, stranger.

chapter twenty-four. nodrophobia.  the fear of irrevocable actions and irreversible processes—knowing that a colorful shirt will fade a little more with every wash, that your tooth enamel is wearing away molecule by molecule, never to grow back. Greek μονόδρομος (monódromos), one-way street + -φοβία (-phobía), fear. Pronounced “noh-droh-foh-bee-uh.”

chapter twenty-five. la gaudière. a glint of goodness you notice in someone that you wouldn’t expect, which is often only detectable by sloshing them back and forth in your mind until everything dark and gray and common falls away, leaving something shining at the bottom of the pan—a rare element hidden deep in the bedrock, that must’ve been washed there by a storm somewhere upstream. French la gaudière, from Latin gaudere, to find joy.

chapter twenty-six. thrapt. anderance. anderance. the awareness that your partner perceives the relationship from a totally different angle than you—spending years looking at a different face across the table, listening for cues in a different voice—an odd reminder that no matter how much you have in common, you’re still in love with different people. Dutch ander, another person, someone else. Pronounced “an-der-uhns.”thrapt. awed at the impact someone has had on your life, feeling intimidated by how profoundly they helped shape your identity, having served as a ghostwriter of a work that nevertheless only appears under your name. From thrapped, drawn tight, as with nautical ropes + rapt, carried away with emotion.

chapter twenty-seven. dolorblindness. the frustration that you’ll never be able to understand another person’s pain, only ever searching their face for some faint evocation of it, then rifling through your own experiences for some slapdash comparison, wishing you could tell them truthfully, “I know exactly how you feel.” Latin dolor, pain + colorblindness. Pronounced “doh-ler-blahynd-nis.”

chapter twenty-eight. amoransia. the melodramatic thrill of unrequited love; the longing to pine for someone you can never have, wallowing in devotion to some impossible person who could give your life meaning by their very absence. Portuguese amor, love + ânsia, craving. Pronounced “ah-moh-ran-see-uh.”

chapter twenty-nine. mauerbauertraurigkeit. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends whose company you generally enjoy—like a poker player who keeps folding a promising hand in order to avoid the pain of losing, or tamp down the urge to go all-in. German Mauerbauer, wall-builder + Traurigkeit, sadness. 

chapter thirty. holiette. heartmoor. holiette. a place that seems to hold profound significance to everyone else but you—the sacred temple of some other faith, a random fence post festooned with flowers, a crowd cheering for a team you’ve never heard of—which leaves you trying to coax yourself into feeling something anyway, like inserting your house key into a random lock just to feel if something clicks. From holy, sacred or religiously revered + -ette, denoting an imitation of the real thing. Pronounced “hoh-lee-et.”heartmoor.  the primal longing for a home village to return to, a place that no longer exists, if it ever did; the fantasy of finding your way back home before nightfall, hustling to bring in the cattle before the rains come; picturing a cluster of lanterns glowing on the edge of a tangled wood, hearing the rattle and hiss of meals cooking over a communal fire, finding your place in a crowded longhouse made of clay-packed thatch, where you’d sit and listen to the voices of four generations layered into a canon, telling stories of a time when people could still melt into a collective personality and weren’t just floating around alone. From heart + moor, to tie a boat to an anchor. Pronounced “hahrt-moor.”

chapter thirty-one. heartworm. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire. From heart + earworm, a catchy piece of music that compulsively loops inside your head.

chapter thirty-two. etherness. the wistful feeling of looking around a gathering of loved ones, all too aware that even though the room is filled with warmth and laughter now, it won’t always be this way—that the coming years will steadily break people away into their own families, or see them pass away one by one, until there comes a time when you’ll look back and try to imagine what it felt like to have everyone together in the same place. From ether, an intoxicating compound that evaporates very quickly + togetherness. 

chapter thirty-three. evertheless. the fear that this is ultimately as good as your life is ever going to get—that the ebb and flow of your fortunes is actually just now hitting its high-water mark, and soon enough you’ll sense the tide of life slowly begin to recede. From ever + nevertheless. Pronounced “ev-er-thuh-les.”

chapter thirty-four. funkenzwangsvorstellung. immerensis. funkenzwangsvorstellung. the primal trance of watching a campfire in the dark. German Funken, spark + Zwangsvorstellung, obsession. Pronounced “foon-ken-tsvang-svohr-stel- oong.”immerensis. the maddening inability to understand the reasons why someone loves you—almost as if you’re selling them a used car that you know has a ton of problems and requires daily tinkering just to get it to run normally, but no matter how much you try to warn them, they seem all the more eager to hop behind the wheel and see where this puppy can go. Latin immerens, undeserving.

chapter thirty-five. fellchaser. a long-forgotten mistake from your past that could reappear at any time and rip your life apart, like a boomerang you tossed away years ago that’s only just now looping back around, which you’d have no idea how to handle because you have no idea what it is. From fell, to cause to fall by delivering a blow + molechaser, a low swooping throw of a boomerang.

chapter thirty-six. hubilance. the quiet poignance of your own responsibility for someone, with a mix of pride and fear and love and humility—feeling a baby fall asleep on your chest, or driving at night surrounded by loved ones fast asleep, who trust you implicitly with their lives—a responsibility that wasn’t talked about or assigned to you, it was assumed to be yours without question. From hub, the central part of the wheel that bears the weight + jubilance.

chapter thirty-seven. moriturism. antiophobia. moriturism. a tiny jolt of awareness that someday you will die, which leaves you lying awake in bed whispering silently to yourself, Oh, right, this is it; an unsettling reminder that your life is not just a game you’re playing or a story you’ll be telling later, but your one and only glimpse of what the universe has to offer, like a kid waking up in the back seat of the family car at night, having just pulled into a bright neon gas station, looking around for a moment or two, before settling back in for the long road trip, sleeping for miles and miles off into the dark. Latin morituri, “we who are about to die.” antiophobia. a fear you sometimes experience while leaving a loved one, wondering if this will turn out to be the last time you’ll ever see them, and whatever slapdash good-bye you toss their way might have to serve as your final farewell. Greek αντίο (antío), farewell + -φοβία (-phobía), fear. Pronounced “an-tee-uh-foh-bee-uh.”

chapter thirty-eight. tillid. humbled by how readily you place your life into the hands of random strangers, often without a second thought—trusting a restaurant to check its expiration dates, trusting a construction crew not to cheap out on materials, trusting thousands of other drivers to stay in their lane —people who you may never meet but whose well-being you’re deeply invested in, whether you know it or not. Danish tillid, trust. 

chapter thirty-nine. suente.  the state of being so familiar with someone that you can be in a room with them without thinking, without holding anything back, or without having to say a word—to the extent that you have to remind yourself that they’re a different being entirely, that brushing hair away from their eyes won’t help you see any better. Southwest English dialect suent, easy, peaceful, smooth. 

chapter forty. suerza. beloiter. suerza. a feeling of quiet amazement that you exist at all; a sense of gratitude that you were even born in the first place, that you somehow emerged alive and breathing despite all odds, having won an unbroken streak of reproductive lotteries that stretches all the way back to the beginning of life itself. Spanish suerte, luck + fuerza, force. beloiter. to look around in a state of mild astonishment that your life is somehow still going, as if a part of you had just assumed that your allotment of days would’ve been used up by now, standing there like a player at a slot machine, perpetually surprised that your winnings continue to trickle out, but not sure what you’re supposed to do now. From to be + to loiter, to hang around someplace with no particular agenda.