Fuck Me Gently With A Chainsaw. That Filthy Fucking Raccoon Talks Some Seriously Good Game. I Would Die

My top 5 fave things to talk about.

1. Art, art history, visual languages and anything related. I’m an artist and teacher by trade, and I love all of this.

2. The Interview with the Vampire TV series… bring on the gays.

3. Traveling and anything to do with it.

4. My poodle. I am obsessed with her beautiful goofiness.

5. Rocket Raccoon, Black Jack O’Hare, & Petra Jane Quill. The Guardians and Rocket fan community are amazing, and I’ve made so many dear friends.

Thanks for the tag @whodoesnataliehave !

I was tagged to list 5 topics I could talk about for hours.

1. Yellowjackets all day every day!

2. Arcane ofc!

3. Music, esp Paramore or Lights but open to most things

4. Visual Art/Design/Comics/Graphic Novels etc

5. History and politics. I’m always about learning something new

No pressure tagging @firelilysky @mars-all-over @lais-a-ramos @lesbianforlottie @kings-paintbrush

and anyone else who wants to!

#rocketraccoon #peterquill #petraquill #Entanglement

them,,,,

Here’s a sneak peek at Entanglement chapter 15. 🚀 🦝

When Rocket and Lethys entered the lecture hall, a hiss and rumble of voices erupted around them. Lethys walked as if he were a king, proud and tall, but his ears swiveled catching the odd whispered word or snide remark. His upper lip lifted towards one particular humie who quailed at the sight of three-inch long canines.

Tail bristling, and chest so tight even the metal there ached, poor Rocket heard more clearly than his father: “Look at that thing,” “Am I truly to believe that creature is a Tekton,” “I can’t believe these two were even allowed into the building,” and “Let us hope they have had their shots.” It took everything that Rocket had inside of him to keep from either latching onto the rich wool of Lethys pantleg or fleeing the room.

His crimson eyes swept the room, searching for even one friendly face. Just as he began to harden his heart against the whole assembly, a bald, short, and aging man and a willowy tall and thin woman stepped into the aisle. “Rocket, my boy!” the older man smiled in true welcome, and Rocket recognized the jovial voice.

“Professor Stollwizer?” he guessed from the rich baritone of his favorite teacher.

“Yes, indeed! It is a pleasure to finally meet you, young man,” Professor Stollwizer smiled his bushy mustache moving with his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Professor,” Rocket said with his best manners, voice clear and free of accent as he could manage.

The little man shook Rocket’s hand with real affection before offering his hand to Lethys. “Sir, your son is the most brilliant scholar I have ever had the good fortune to teach. You must be so proud of him,” the man enthused.

Lethys guarded expression smoothed into one of beaming pride, “I am most proud of him and his achievements,” he agreed, his massive paw completely engulfing the man’s small hand.

“Ah, Rocket, Mr. Kavashi,” Professor Stollwizer smiled broadly as he gestured at the thin woman next to him, “This is Professor Rikthi. Rocket, you will be the teaching assistant in her introductory physics and mechanical theories classes.”

Professor Rikthi bent down to offer her hand to Rocket. She had an ageless face, a monocle, and a soft, kind voice, “I’ve heard how hard of a worker you are, Rocket. I’m sure we will get along well.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain about that,” interjected a middle-aged Xandarian who eyed Rocket and Lethys with a sneer of derision as he pushed up his glasses and shoved his way past Professor Stollwizer. “It hasn’t yet presented any proof that he is the true author of the paper submitted,” the man continued in an annoyingly nasal voice.

“He,” growled Lethys looming over the man, “My son is a person, a male, he is not an it.”

“It,” the man snarled back, uncowed by Lethys’ size and ferocity, “Is an animal, a sick joke being played on our university by this preposterous creature,” the man indicated to Lethys then and smiled meanly. Every cell in Rocket’s body longed to hide behind his father from this sharp man that reminded him too much of his Sire. “How long did it take you to train it to wear clothes? Stand on its hind legs? There is no possibility of this little monster having authored-”

“Enough-” interrupted Professor Stollwizer in booming voice at odds with his cheerful seeming mien. “I assure you that no one else but Rocket Kivashi could have written the thesis in question,” Professor Stollwizer frowned up at the man, “I advised him extensively during the writing process, his voice has always been the same, writing style the same, intelligence unrivaled by any person I’ve ever met-”

“Shall I tell you how easy it would be to fake a voice, old man? Are you so far into your dotage that you actually believe this preposterous lie?” the angry man hissed. He pointed at Lethys, “The only thing that surprises me, is that you planned this ruse so poorly. Couldn’t you have engineered something that looked more convincing? I can see bolts sticking out of its face.”

Rocket barely controlled the instinctive reaction to touch the metal on his cheeks. Heat burned his face, and he wanted to cry, but just as he was about to open his mouth on a silent sob, a memory flickered in his mind.

The evening before he’d stood on the stool in Petra’s bathroom combing his face fur, trying to style it in a way that would cover the metal there. As he grew older, Rocket’s fur grew more and more luxurious, but it still didn’t cover that hateful metal in his face. He sighed and considered using some of Petra’s hair gel, but thought better of it when he remembered that it accentuated her curls but did little to control them.

“Whatcha doin’?” Petra asked appearing behind him in her nightshirt.

“Oh, nothing,” he tried to lie.

“Rocky, you were combing like you wanted to pull out all your fur. What are you doing?” Petra countered as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Standing like this, his head was just below her chest; if she leaned forward any closer, she could rest her breasts against the top of his head, a thought that made his embarrassment flare even hotter.

“People will see the metal in my face, see what a freak I am,” he whispered watching Petra’s face in the mirror.

She frowned then and used her hands to turn him to face her. “There is nothing about you that makes you a freak, Rocky. Besides lots of spacers have mods.”

“What will I say if people ask about them?” he asked her, so many things he had to cover for, think of excuses for.

“Tell them to mind their goddamn business, is what you’ll say,” Petra replied with real heat, “Tell those rude motherfuckers to fuck right off.” She searched his face and found him still uncertain and lost. Petra leaned in close and slowly, purposely pressed a kiss right over both protruding metal implants. “You tell those assholes that your girlfriend kisses your beautiful face so much you had to your cheeks reenforced, that you’re just that irresistible to her.”

Rocket’s eyes went wide and he whispered, “No one would ever believe that. I don’t even believe that. I-”

Instead of answering him with words, Petra lowered her face and pressed her lips to the metal collarbones holding his shoulders back, kissed the metal bars that squeezed his chest. “I will kiss any part of you to convince you otherwise,” she whispered against the scarred naked skin around the outer ribs. “So don’t you even care about what anyone thinks about your body but me.”

Inside of Rocket’s chest fear turned to anger, because, the truth was, his appearance didn’t and shouldn’t matter. Lethys and Petra loved and accepted him, and that was all he needed. This fucker’s opinion didn’t matter at all. “It is too my paper,” Rocket found himself declaring loudly enough that the whole hall went still. “I wrote every single word, and in my defense I’ll prove it beyond doubt.”

Every eye was swiveled his way, every human face staring at him in either disbelief or shock except for Professor Stollwizer and Professor Rikthi who smiled warmly. “Ask any question you want about my paper,” Rocket said casually as he walked to the stage. Before he stepped up the first stair, he shot back over his shoulder, “Of course, that’s assuming that you can understand the complexity of the work in question.”

Beautiful and sweet.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part one. prepare for departure.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 21] | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 1/6 | word count: 1371.

rocket gets a very-important mission from danvers and needs a partner to go with him. enter the witch.

It is a well-documented fact (I know you know) that in the comic books, many of the marvel ladies have a thing for Rocket Raccoon. How could they not? Eyes like red beryls and pyropes, teeth and wit both so sharp they can kill long before the perfectly-aimed gravity-blast. Intuition off the charts, not to mention the things they've heard he can do with that tail...

Alas, this is not the comics. This is the MCU, some time between 2018 and 2023.

And while everything else remains more or less the same, Wanda Maximoff was not turned into ash.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes.

Wanda isn’t sure what to call him. He looks like a raccoon, but insists that he isn’t one. Maybe he’s an alien. Maybe he’s something else. Either way, he’s rolling his eyes at Natasha, so hard that his whole head rolls with them.

“Look, I got a very important mission from Danvers, and Nebs is busy right now, working with Kraglin to make Knowhere a more hospitablistic place for Snap refugees. D’you wanna fuck over a bunch of Snap refugees, Nat?”

He crosses his arms and raises a brow up at the new leader-apparent of the Avengers. If Wanda hadn’t felt so — nothing at all, actually — she might have let a smirk curl the corner of her mouth. He’s kind of a brat, and he knows how to get under peoples’ skin. When she’d been a child, she would have found that entertaining. Endearing. She supposes she’d used to have a soft spot for scrappy survivors. Then she’d had to stop having a soft spot for anything but her brother.

Then —

“Goddammit, Rocket. Go to Washington, then. I don’t care. But we still need the Benatar.”

His challenging look turns into a glower. “Fuck off, Nat. What am I supposed to do, then? Drive your frickin’ car?”

Natasha flaps a hand at him distractedly from behind her desk. “Yes, that’s fine, take the car—”

The look he gives her is withering. “I can’t reach the fuckin’ pedals, Nat. So unless you’re giving me permission to take the whole inefficient machine apart an’ put it back together to suit my needs, you’re gonna have to—”

“I can’t spare anyone, Rocket,” the Russian snaps.

“And I can’t be alone right now,” he snaps right back. Wanda’s eyes flick back and forth between them. 

Natasha grits her teeth. “You said this was a mission from Carol?”

“Yes,” he hisses, tapping one booted foot impatiently. 

She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, leaning back in her chair and pressing her fingers into her temples. “Fine,” she says at last, drawing the word out — petulantly, Wanda thinks from a great distance. “Find someone who’s willing to go with you and I’ll tell you if I can spare them.”

Rocket doesn’t hesitate. Without moving anything but his arm, he’s brandishing a single dark claw in Wanda’s direction.

“I’ll take the witch.”

Five years earlier — in the first days after the Snap, before they’d left all their hope on 0259-S with Thanos’ headless body — everyone else had belonged to somebody. Cap and Nat had each other, and Nat had Banner and the arrow-guy. Rhodey had the rich guy who thought he was a genius, and the rich guy had that other redhead. Thor had maybe lost the most, but he had Banner too, and his buddies from Sakaar. The Dora Milaje had their whole sisterhood. Only Danvers might have been on her own — but as far as Rocket had been able to tell, Captain Marvel hadn’t seemed to have a lotta close ties she was mourning.

But Rocket — Rocket had nobody. 

Again.

Nobody except Gamora’s sister, whose name he’d kept forgetting.

Of course, there was the witch. 

Disproportionate number of redheads on this planet, he remembers thinking bemusedly.

He hadn’t been able to remember her name for a while either, but unlike everyone else on Terra, she’d seemed almost as alone as he was. And he hadn’t been able to help but watch her, his eyes slanting sideways to stare at her as she’d sat by herself across the room, hands anchored around upper arms. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes — they’d seemed impossibly dark, with rage or grief or something else, something haunted.  

Except for when they’d smouldered like furious banked fires. 

She’d never said a frickin’ word, either: face blank and beautiful as a statue’s. Her silence had felt more surreal than any other stupid thing he’d encountered in space, which he supposed was probably just because he’s spent the last four years with a family of weirdos who’d never seemed able to shut the fuck up. 

Still. He’d tilted his head when the other avengers had walked past her — watched as they’d seemed almost to forget she was even there. They’d barely talked to her, and once, when they’d been ordering lunch, they’d missed her entirely.

Uh — you didn’t ask the witch what she wants, Rocket had said to Nat awkwardly, and the assassin had blinked and her eyes had hunted the whole room before they’d finally focused on the other woman — like she hadn’t even known where her fellow-Avenger was. 

No. The witch had been an outcast. And Rocket has always known something about outcasts. His whole frickin’ family — both, some small part of his brain had tried to speak up before he could smother it; both families were made of the unwanted — his whole frickin’ family had been outcasts and misfits. It had made some part of Rocket’s heart suddenly stretch in his chest. It had reached with grasping fingers, trying to hang onto something he’d already known he’d lost.

Family.

The next day, Rocket had cleared his throat and told Gamora’s sister that he was gonna go starside to touch base with Kraglin on the Third Quadrant — to see if he still exists, he hadn’t said, but he’d been pretty sure the cyborg had picked it up. 

“You wanna come, Blue?” he’d asked — wincing when his nonchalance had been too thin to be believable. But the Luphomoid had inclined her head, eyes dark and steady. When that had been squared away — surprisingly a hell of a lot easier than he’d thought — he’d  shuffled to his feet, and headed to the bench outside the compound, where the witch had been sitting since sunrise.

He’d stood in her line of vision and stared at the sky too, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, tail trying to tuck itself underneath him. It had probably been a full twenty minutes before he’d felt her eyes on him.

“I. Uh. I heard you lost your robot-boyfriend.” The words had been as clumsy as an orloni drunk on fermented Asgardian figs, but he’d been trying.

The witch’s eyes had flared, crimson-bright. “Robot?” she’d repeated dangerously.

Rocket’s ears had flicked back and he’d taken a step away, into the grass: hands extended, palms out.

“Hey, m’not trying to be a dick,” he’d protested. “I think I might be part-robot myself.” He’d stabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the Benatar, where he could feel  his new blue companion staring holes in his back. “Gamora’s sister’s almost all-robot, too.” 

He could also feel the sister in question rolling her eyes. 

“M’just saying,” he’d muttered at both of them, hunching his shoulders and half-turning to kick a patch of grass. “Some of us are solo now.” He’d gestured at the cyborg again. “Might be good to stick together.” 

“I was used to being solo,” Nebs had pointed out, and Rocket had winced. “You’re the one who got attached.”

His ears had flattened. “Whatever,” he’d growled. “Just thought — whatever.” He’d spun again, kicking more grass, and muttered bitterly under his breath. “So much for trying to be the captain. So much for trying to look out for the damn strays.”

“You’re the stray,” Nebula had replied with a mutinous jut of her chin — and how the fuck had she heard him? That wasn’t standard Luphomoid hearing range. 

Rocket had cursed whatever aural implants Thanos had given her. 

Then the witch had made a strange sound behind him — a little huff of breath.  A disbelieving, agonized little shred of laughter.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 21] | main masterlist

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

Yeeeesssssss! Rocket and any sweetie of his is going to play good cop bad cop!

Peter- I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

Rocket - it’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Y/n isn’t.

Ahhhhh! Someone rescue that poor honey. 5 packs a day! That’s all his earnings!

rocket raccoon au where he works a minimum wage fast food job and he’s at the end of his rope so he smokes 5 packs a day to cope

Y’all. Y’ALL. I’m losing my mind over this. Fans self as I try not to ignite in a grand conflagration of flame. 🔥 Rocket, go slay that sweet storyteller pussy. 🚀 🦝 🍆 🍑 💦 🦷 😜

year five: dispersal

part three preview ✿ coming wednesday 4/30

florescence❀| navigation | fanfiction masterlist 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5+/6 years | word count: pending.

seeds of second chances.

“Well, this is definitely where I’m gonna fuck you, then,” Rocket growls, and the words are soft and smoky against the rumpled bedroll. 

A shiver — ticklish-soft, like feathers and fur — floats up your spine. You let out a shuddery breath and turn back to hold his shining eyes. With the festival tonight, you’d never started a fire in the hearth, and Rocket is just a dark and threatening shadow to your weak vision in the night. Without the fire to throw his ruby-cabochon eyes into glow, you can barely pick him out in the shadows.

“‘Cause I missed you, storyteller.” 

Your ears strain. You’re sure he takes a step toward you. 

“You and all your pretty words. How stubborn you are. How smart you are. How damn sweet.” 

The words float toward you, and your abdomen clenches tight, even while something stings your eyes. 

“I missed you too,” you admit. Your voice wobbles, and you scrunch your nose and lick your lips, trying to keep your words measured. “I — so much, sweetheart.”

“I know, babygirl.” He tsks against his teeth — takes another step toward you. Some small shard of light must catch his eyes, because they flash like copper moons — three paces further to the left than you’d thought.  “Wouldn’t have believed it a few circs ago, but you miss me every time I’m gone, huh?” His voice roughens — grows hoarse, with something you’re sure is regret. You’ve heard it lingering against his teeth enough times to recognize it. “I was starside for so frickin’ long this time, too. Wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d given up on me—”

“Absolutely not,” you hiss, wounded by the words. The dark silhouette of him raises its hands in mock-surrender, eyes flashing like garnets as he slides another foot forward. “You promised—”

“I know, princess,” he purrs. “I did. But my promises haven’t meant much to most people before now. Groot’s prob’ly the only one who ever believed in ‘em before.” Another careful, measured stride. “The whole frickin’ time I was out there, I was thinking of you. Wanting to get back — tell you how much I love you. Lick that mark I left you.”

Your fingers flutter up to the pearly ring of scars, and your pussy suddenly flutters and dampens. You take a step backward, further onto the bedroll.

“Could bite you a new promise,” he croons dangerously. “One where I don’t gotta leave you behind again.”

Your cunt spasms now, and something beneath your sternum does too: heart clenching just as needily.

“I want that,” you agree breathlessly. “I want that too.”

“Right here,” he continues. “Gonna fuck you and bite you right on this damn bedroll. Can’t tell you how many times I wanted to before.”

Another loping stride toward you; another quick crimson gleam of lava-hot eyes. Your bare toes curl against the softly-crumpled blankets and quilts.

“Wanted to fuck you in this bed for so long, babygirl. Probably since the first morning I came in here  — following a stray fuckin’ flerken — and saw you layin’ there, all soft and messy.” His voice dips low. “Like that damn pussy of yours.” 

You hear him — breathing in, slow and steady. Inhaling your scent like a hunter.

“I missed her, too, storyteller,” he admits, and when he steps toward you again, he’s got the look of a predator caught in his eyeshine once more. It sends a shiver up your spine. “An’ I can tell by the way she smells that she missed me back.”

from chapter six year five: dispersal, part three [anticipated 4/30] ‬❤︎‬❤︎ florescence❀| navigation | fanfiction masterlist

WARNINGS for this chapter: touch of primal play, touch of somno, light bondage/blindfolding, torn clothing, The Tail™. tons of dirty talk. light painplay, nipple-play and tit-slapping, marking (claws, teeth/biting), praise, light degradation, "slut" (affectionate), lots of overstim, masturbation, cunnilingus.

“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”

rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.

flower divider by @/thecutestgrotto • planet divider by @/edensrose • mdni & support banners by @/saradika-graphics • moodboard by me! ♡

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.”

Kitty everyone who interacts with him lovessss and hatessss him sooooo much at exactly the same time. I imagine my OC Petra (female Peter Quill) saying this to him every other day.

Help me understand the joke here.

Is he flirting? Is he being sarcastic? Is there a race called the Flu?

I don't get it 😂

But I love their dynamic.

Guardians of the Galaxy (2015) Issue #3