My Top 5 Fave Things To Talk About.

A Call Home ———

Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little feet With miles ahead Take it slow see it all take it in

I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little heart Dancing on So the ins and outs won't bring you down Little dream Grow up tall With a little rain A little sun you'll feel alive I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little hands -Little Hands Inland Sky

———-

Based off Marvel comic creatures and the story by @bbasmos. I finally attempted to color this and it couldn’t have been more of a chaotic day.

I saw an image from a film called Delivery Man and decided to draw it for RocketRaccoonPromptWeek. Check out the movie, the song or the story and I hope you have a good time with it.

Art by my request by Mila Losenko

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

:)

howdy! thank you for your submission :3

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

I’m melting from the sweetness and the sexual tension in this chapter. Holy hell.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter nine. mal de coucou. [new 5/9] ✩❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 9/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter nine. mal de coucou.

pearl and the monster make landing-plans. pearl gets a massage from her survivor. see below for warnings & notes.

His hands remember everything they’ve ever touched, and everything they’ve ever felt. They never, ever forget. He stares at pearl’s pretty, delicate fingers. His lowlight vision paints them with the champagne light of the security orbs, and he can see them so clearly that he can count the faint freckles on the second knuckle of her first and third digits, and a beauty mark on the web of her thumb. He compares the satin skin and spindle-thin bones to  the mass of gnarled leather and claw that make up his own hands. Then he rolls her fine knuckles under his rasping thumb, and finally — carefully, stomach tight with tension at the thought of waking her up, of getting caught — he brings them to his face and coasts his mouth over them lightly. He wants to lick them. Take the flavor of them into his mouth, press them against his teeth. Maybe between his teeth — nibbling just enough to leave little divots that would fade in less than an hour. Get the taste and texture of her silken skin on his tongue.  An antidote to ghosts. 

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

i am updating this from an uncomfortable chair in the hospital room. and yes, i am so tired i might as well be drunk, so please forgive any messiness of this chapter. in my head i had imagined it very slow-burn and delicious, but now i suspect it is clunky and clumsy. either way, i had a hard time deciding where this was worth a ✩ or a ❤︎‬ in the ratings, so i sorta gave it both?? anyway i hope you enjoy, my little glass suncatchers. sorry for being a day late again and please note that i might be late next week too as we are still waiting on some results for this surprise-brain-surgery-thing.

WARNINGS for chapter nine: description of hand surgery/butchery. massages and the resulting filthy fantasies.

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

The cuteness is so perfect!

Entanglement -Chapter 5

This isn’t my favorite picture BUT I did slowly make this whole feeling really down so I’m just happy I finished it. This amazing story is by @hibatasblog!

Preps calendar for all the goodness.

august aspirations

friday, august 2: ･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie ❤︎❤︎

friday, august 9: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter eighteen. attriage. ❤︎❤︎

friday, august 16: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter nineteen. tiris. ✩❤︎

tuesday, august 20: rocket prompt week: day six. bite. ✮✩ ao3 crosspost

friday, august 23: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter twenty. foilsick. ✩

friday, august 30: florescence ❀ chapter five year four: formation ❤︎❤︎

why does august have so many weeks? fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎ | much smut ❤︎❤︎

other things i'm working on for september and beyond...

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter twenty-one. puntkick. ✩ chapter twenty-two. falesia. ❤︎‬❤︎‬ chapter twenty-three. xeno. ✩❤︎‬

florescence❀, chapter six year five: dispersal. ❤︎❤︎

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★ defiance ★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ [oneshot] ✮✩

hot local dads in your spaceport. oneshot. ✩❤︎❤︎ ︎

untitled childhood-with-rocket anthology. ✮

✩࿐࿔ take what you need. [taking requests] ✮

other future projects

banners by @/thecutestgrotto & @/saradika-graphics

A fight, a flight, and a feather soft comforting.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter thirteen. heartspur. [new 6/7] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 13/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter thirteen. heartspur. see pearl's character design here. see pearl & rocket's bunk here.

rocket and pearl get in a fight. rocket shares a secret. see below for warnings & notes.

It’s like she’s found a dial he hadn’t known was there. His heart and lungs are still pummeling his bones, too much momentum to slow them down — but his shoulders go molten, becoming flux under her ministrations, and his head tilts forward, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Her fingertips float to the sides of his face — light as Foresterian moonmoths brushing against his whiskers and fur — while her thumbs continue to stroke up from the nape of his neck to the crown of his skull. They rove against his head in petal-like ovals, and then slide back down again.  Circs and circs before, trapped on HalfWorld, the muscles in Rocket’s neck and shoulders had been manipulated into new shapes: shortened, lengthened, split; twisted into tendons. They force himself to hold his shoulders broad and his head upright. He’s pretty sure there’s no name for any of the stuff he’s got going on in his body. But it’s here — in these strange manmade muscles between his neck and his shoulders — that pearl carefully kneads her thumbs. Her fingertips are still stretched upward, cradling his jaw like he’s— Like he’s something precious. Fragile. His breath hitches on a strangled sound. His ribs spasm upward, eyes suddenly wet and burning.

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

LONG chapter. buckle in, baby bluebirds. i was gonna split it but we've got two weeks till the next update and i just wanted to give you something nice for being so nice to me while i've been back-and-forth with my family situation. thank you for being fucken amazing little suncatchers and gemstones and fireflies, and buttery lil silver-dollar-pancakes.

WARNINGS for this chapter: canon-typical violence against animals. brief description of surgical violence. rocket's a real piece of work.

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

I fucking adore this so damn much. The art is gorgeous, the expressions are perfection, and Jack’s stupid thicc thighs are 🥰😍😜 Poor Rocket has to endure so much nonsense and general shenanigans with Petra and Jack. Then again, he gets mind shatteringly laid in the hottest hot and steamiest configurations by them too, so there are rewards for patience/forbearance on Rocket’s part.

Petra: “Rocky, you’ll like the shirts so much more when you see us also modeling the matching thongs…”

Jack: *Flashes Rocket a glimpse of his ass and snaps the g-string with a kiss and a wink.* “I’m gonna make you take mine off with just your teeth, Rocky…”

scribble time

navigation | art masterlist | rocket fan art headcanons & imagines

for the dearest most darlingest firefly-of-my-heart, stained-glass wonder @hibatasblog

featuring my favorite throuple: hibata’s petra quill, blackjack o’hare, and rocket raccoon

hibata wrote an amazing oneshot for jack & rocket for the kiss kiss BANG BANG challenge, and has implied that they will be an upcoming throuple in her fic entanglement, which you know i adore

and we ended up having a conversation about this scene after i wrote my headcanon about rocket’s dad-mode

and now here we are, staring at jack’s thick-as-fuck thighs (oh wait that’s just me)

this is his “what the fuck” face. i imagine he wears it a lot with these two

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.

Commencing with the heavy breathing and foaming at the mouth.

amoransia.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 4/16] ❤︎‬❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 28/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation see warnings and art below. | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

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

“Look at you,” he repeats. His voice is riddled with too many emotions for her to identify, especially when she’s feeling like this: all untethered, only jerked back into her body by the scorching kiss of his touches. “Like a little frickin’ toy I can do whatever I want with.”

Her lips part, and she has to force herself not to pant. He hasn’t let go of her nipple — rubbing his thumb back and forth across the pink button, still pinched tight between the knuckles of his first two fingers. His voice drops even lower than before, a smoky-deep register that sends infrasonic vibrations up through her core. “You’re all for me, aren’t you, kitten?” He tugs sharply on her nipple, and her intended agreement gets lost in a wordless wail.  “I don’t gotta share my little doll with anybody. There ain’t nobody you want the way you want me.” Another sharp tug, but she’s prepared this time. “N-nobody,” she stammers out, rising a little on her knees when he pulls. Her pussy clenches on nothing, agonizingly empty, and she can feel more wetness slip out of her and glaze her inner thighs.  “That’s right. My little fuckdoll-wife.” Oh. A desperate little sound trips up her xylophone-ribs and she’s suddenly drenched, dripping everywhere down her thighs and calves. A feverish flush melts in her abdomen and floods everywhere: up into her breasts and cheeks, down to her knees. Her muscles turn buttery and weak and her clit pulses needily. Her scattered, floating thoughts suddenly seize and cling to his words, trying to make sense of them. Has he ever called her that before — his wife? Is it a common colloquialism in the vastness of space, outside of Herbert’s influence? Does it mean anything more than a throw-away little pet-name? She’s been the High Evolutionary’s bride and betrothed for over half of her life, but nothing could have prepared her for how it feels to be called Rocket’s wife.

from chapter twenty-nine. amoransia. ❤︎‬❤︎ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂ navigation | fiction masterlist

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.

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

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