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hibatasblog · 3 hours ago

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Holy shit, guys! This is gonna be awesome!

Half-Hitch.✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- a birdie [chapter four] preview EXPECTED JULY 22 ✩ | ❤︎

An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a net external force.

Half-Hitch. A friction knot used to secure rope and/or change direction in the tie. The working end is looped in a ⍺ shape around an existing straight line. — Rope Office Hours Glossary.

Rocket clicks the data-port into place and your file opens again. His stare sinks into your wide-eyed corporate ID snap, gaze still hazy and uncertain. He replays the holocam footage of you leaving with your duranium-alloy capsule. He can’t say exactly what he’s looking for. A crooked glare, maybe. A smirk of smug satisfaction. Hell, he’d settle for seeing you kick a stray orloni. Anything that can confirm what he knows to be true: that you’re as much of a shitbag as he is — worse, maybe, ‘cause you’re less honest about it. And that all your apparent softness — the softness that keeps fucking with his head — is just a convenient cover that you use to charm gullible morons.

A cover that must have been working for a while — long enough to inflate your ego to the point where you’d fucked up, and fucked up bad. One-point-five million units bad.

For some reason, the prospect of all that cash doesn’t fill him with the same hot rush of adrenaline and intention as it had the first time he’d opened the files. It only gives him the slightest sense of foreboding — a faint whisper of dread, lurking deep in his belly — making the fur along his spine stand upright.

Get your shit together, he orders himself — minimizing the holo of your file and pulling up the comm recordings instead. He skims his fingers down the volume-bar and opens the file containing the holorecording of his transmission to Spice and her subsequent reply. He’s pretty sure it’s not obvious that he’s drunk, but there’s nothing particularly enlightening in her reply, either.

He considers sending another transmission — trying to get a better feel for what you’d actually done. Why they want you back. Because if it were just about the capsule, they could’ve hired him to retrieve it without you. Or, hell, sent an assassin. Someone who’s not Rocket. Which is to say, sure, he’s killed some guys from time to time — okay, maybe more than some, and maybe he even liked it — but he doesn’t do it for money. No way. Getting murder-for-hire on his record isn’t worth the potential units.

But Spice doesn’t know that.

She’s annoying, he imagines telling Spice briskly. Not sure I’ll be able to bring her back alive.

Maybe the broad’ll spill something — tell him what awful thing you’d done to earn such a devastating bounty on your head.

Unfortunately for Rocket, when he types in Spice’s comms-coordinates, he doesn’t expect them to connect — to find himself in live communication with Spice, rather than simply posting her a private transmission.

“Bounty hunter,” Spice purrs as the holoscreen flickers to life, and Rocket rolls his eyes. Broads like Spice always seem unable to figure out whether they want to kill him or fuck him. If he’d had time for the distraction, he would’ve suggested she just settle on both. Although it’s less appealing to imagine her sharp teeth and furious claws these days — not when he’s still trying to crush down his dreams of you, all soft and whiny when he rips a handful of meanspirited orgasms out of your pretty body, then hate-fucks you until you pass out with your tits and pussy plastered in his cum.

He turns the volume even lower on the comms and grimaces. “Might hafta be a change in plans. She’s annoying the shit outta me.”

Spice lets out a cold, twinkling starburst of laughter that he’s sure is supposed to be charming. It isn’t.

“She is awful,” she concedes. “What change in plans are you suggesting? Do you want us to meet you somewhere earlier on your route?”

“Awful seems like a frickin’ understatement,” he scoffs, then clarifies, “I was just wondering how important it is that she’s turned in alive.”

Spice’s mouth splinters in a sharp smile of delight. “You dislike her that much?”

“Hate her,” he admits easily.

“She is a smug, self-righteous little bitch,” Spice agrees, practically gleeful. “However, Mister Gnawbarque wants her delivered alive. She’s unfortunately quite good at what she was hired to do, and he plans to make an example of her.”

He feels the sides of his mouth twist dubiously. “You can’t just replace her?”

Spice smirks. “What part of make an example of her don’t you understand?”

His mouth opens without his conscious approval. “What are you gonna do to her when you get her?”

He doesn’t mean for that to be his next question, and he can tell it’s the wrong one when Spice’s malevolent pleasure goes cold and remote in an instant. Her face pinches with disapproval, and she sniffs, like she thinks she’s some sort of goddamn queen. Unbelievable.

“We’ve been over this. You didn’t ask that question when you brought in Frankie Fat-Hands, and I don’t see why it matters now.” A shrewd glance. “You’re not sleeping with her, are you?”

from ✴︎Chapter Four. Half-Hitch. ✩ | ❤︎ EXPECTED JULY 22.

WARNINGS for this chapter: angst. ableism. brief discussion of hate sex; rocket explicitly mentions rape (from the standpoint of refusing to engage in it). otta being a creep. brief thoughts of bondage and brat-taming. canon-typical violence, science-fictionalized medical care.

NOTES for this chapter: nobody self-sabotages like my guy.

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- (an evasive maneuvers quasiprequel)

Xandar is saved. The power stone rests safely in the hands of the Nova Corps, and our favorite heroes-for-hire get their records expunged before going their separate ways. Unfortunately, one furry little motherfucker just can't seem to keep his claws out of trouble. In a rare gesture of good will, Nova Prime offers him a get-outta-jail-free card (not that he needs one). All he’s gotta do is escort a bratty little princess safely and discreetly to her new home, halfway across the universe. Should be a piece of cake. What's the difference between a bodyguard and a bounty-hunter, anyway?

GOOD TO KNOW: no use of y/n. mcu-based canon-divergent post-vol1. true enemies-to-lovers. slowburn with fantasy flare-ups. includes angst, betrayal, forced proximity, pining, grovelling, and lightly-bdsm-inspired filth. find more specifics on the masterlist and with each chapter. happy endings always.

silver stardust and silver bar dividers by @/bernardsbendystrawsblack | black rose divider by @/firefly-graphics | heart-handcuff dividers by @/strangergraphics | support/mdni banners by @/saradika-graphics | moodboard by me!

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hibatasblog · 5 days ago

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Beautiful tribute to Rocket!

Our boy is bright as the moon🌙

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hibatasblog · 5 days ago

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This is an accurate conversation between these two.

Rocket: Remember, if you die in the simulation—

Quill: Yeah, yeah, I know, if you die in the simulation you die in real life.

Rocket: What? No! You need to reset the simulation with the terminal! What is WRONG with you?!

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hibatasblog · 10 days ago

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Guys, guys. I love this fic so much. Flood the author’s comment section because she’s got an amazing story. Pillar of the community folks.

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter thirty-four. anderance. [NEW 7/8] ❤︎❤︎

NOTES: i really should have split this chapter into two for your sake, gentle reader. and for my sake. and for the sake of my goddamn posting schedule.

the crew moves on to the next mission.

Rocket swallows, and rolls his eyes. Carves the habitual defensiveness out of his voice — well, most of it, anyway — and tries to give the cyborg what’s left. “I mean, c’mon, Nebs. You don’t think we’re friends?” He wrangles out a limping smirk — not that he could say why it frickin’ stings so much. “I’m hurt.”

Nebula’s galaxy-dark eyes round out. Her mouth snaps shut — then opens again. Closes. She blinks rapidly, like there’s a glitch in her ocular moisture distribution programming. “Don’t be a dickhead,” she says at last, though her hoarse voice tilts into uncertainty. She shakes her head a little. “I should have you drop me off somewhere along the way. I’m Black Order. Thanos will—“ “You were Black Order.” It’s apparently pearl’s turn to speak the reminder into existence. Nebs scowls. “You said it first,” Rocket adds with an arched brow, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. Nebula’s rigid brow twitches — about as close as she can come to what Rocket would guess are her natural facial expressions, adapting around the vibranium orbital socket and countless other prosthetics hidden underneath her synthetic blue skin. The delicate hydraulic joint hidden in her jaw pulses as she clenches her teeth. Then her gaze hardens. “It’s been… nice,” she says at last, grudgingly. Her lip peels back like the words taste of salt and tar. “To… pretend.” A grimace, or maybe a flinch. “Foolish, but nice. However — ultimately — no-one truly ever leaves the Black Order.” There’s a slight hesitation in the stitch at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flick away and she glowers out at the stars. “Even if they want to.” The words are a quiet, reluctant mutter that echoes against the crystalline-armored glass. Rocket’s mouth parts, but he hesitates — not sure what he can say that won’t make shit worse. “We will fight anyone who comes for you.” His ears flicker and his eyes round out as every head on the flightdeck swivels toward Drax. “Don’t go,” the Kylosian adds steadily. “You belong here.”

read more on ao3 | cicatrix masterlist & notes see warnings and art below.

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: angst, fluff, found family shit. rope-bondage, blindfolding, dirty-talk, begging, cunnilingus, tit-slapping, nipple-play, clit-play, edging, maybe a hint of dumbification.then a little more angst and a whole lotta fluff.

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

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

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hibatasblog · 13 days ago

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The face that launched a 1,000 space ships. He is unfairly gorgeous here.

Our favorite boy🦝

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hibatasblog · 13 days ago

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If I am more quiet than normal, it’s only because I’ve been reduced to ashes and cinders! It was too hot! Nooooo!

anderance.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview ❤︎❤︎

[ANTICIPATED 7/8]

the crew moves on to the next mission.

When Rocket makes his way into the captain’s quarters, he’s expecting to find one of two things: pearl, so hyperfixated on her den — their den, some obnoxiously-hopeful little part of him protests — that she’s lost track of time and is still shifting things around in the closet. That, or she’s fallen into an exhausted sleep without him, all moon-blue curls and pinky-peach curves, spread warm and welcoming under the blankets on their shared bed. Instead, he walks in and turns the corner, and finds pearl quietly waiting, perched on her knees in bed with her blindfold already over her eyes, the scent of waterlilies dripping from the stars and the crystalline dome. She’s wearing a silky scrap of crimson panties from Cyxlore, and a bundle of silk ropes — one set just as scarlet, and the other dyed a starry-soft lavender that nearly matches her hair — are clenched in her curled fingers.

His heart slams into his ribs, clunky and manufactured, and suddenly so full that it hurts all over again. “Hi,” she offers tremulously. He swallows. Any lingering concerns for Nebula dissolve into the stars beyond the glass. “Looks like someone had an agenda for comin’ up to bed early,” he manages to drawl at last. He won’t look at the shiny-sleek cordage in her hands. Can’t look at it. Not if he’s trying not to make assumptions. Not if he doesn’t want to completely lose his mind. She already smells like she’s been soaking her silk panties for at least an hour — waiting for him. Anticipating him. He leaps nimbly onto the bed, then traces a claw gently across the soft, fragile cheek below the blindfold. “How long you been plannin’ this, kitten?” Her head tilts, blue curls bobbing. “Planning? Not very long at all. But I was thinking about it for a while.” Her cheeks pink up beautifully, and he’s already imagining turning her ass the same color. “Yeah?” It’s a croon. “I know you’ve been missin’ that blindfold. Bet you’ve been wanting it almost every night since that first time.” His fingers dart out to tweak one of those perfect, ever-stiff nipples, and she gasps and jolts into a little arch, perking her tits right out for him like an offering, like she’d do anything to get his touch on her again — no matter how mean he is. “Yes,” she admits breathily. “And—” She falters, her fingers tightening incrementally on the ropes in her hands. “And what, pearl?” She licks her lips and wrings the ropes as if they were a handful of her curls of the hem of her cardigan. He reaches out again and flicks the loops of braided silk in her hands. “Somethin’ to do with these, maybe?” Her plush mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. She chews nervously at her lip. “Go on, kitten,” he drawls. “You know you’re s’posed to tell me if you want something.”

from chapter thirty-four. anderance. ❤︎❤︎ 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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: angst, fluff, found family shit. rope-bondage, blindfolding, dirty-talk, begging, tit-slapping, nipple-play, clit-play, edging. a little more angst and fluff.

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

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hibatasblog · 14 days ago

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Beautiful!

A happy dream❤️🦦🦝

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hibatasblog · 15 days ago

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Ahhhhhh!!!! This is so outrageously good. I love Rocket, but he does sometimes need to be called out on his less than nice tendencies. I still have no idea what’s in that container. Also, Birdie let her secret slip. No way Rocket missed that little gasp!

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- Chapter Three. Stem. ✩ | ❤︎ [NEW JULY 4]

A truce is offered, and rudely declined.

Stem. The part of the rope harness which connects all, or many, of the wraps together. — Rope Office Hours Glossary.

read Chapter Three. Stem. now wordcount ~7,200 ✩ | ❤︎

Rocket knows he should move on — head to the engines. Do what he’d frickin’ planned to do.

Instead, he finds himself lounging with his back against Groot’s door — a study in nonchalance. His tail swishes languidly and he shoves the laser-lever into a loop on his belt, studying a handful of claws with mock patience while he waits for you.

He’s still there when the door to the toilet-room opens again. You step out, eyes darting furtively down the hall before you see him. He watches the dismay flicker over your face — followed by resignation. You step out and hover in the hallway, pinned between the two doors.

“Excuse me.”

He blinks. That had been — way more polite than he’d been expecting. Well. Weird, but it doesn’t mean he’s backing down.

“You hiding from me, birdie?” It’s a lazy drawl.

Your eyes flutter briefly closed. There’s a bruised, puffy quality about them. The lids look a little swollen, and you’ve got hollows underneath. For a moment, he feels strangely queasy. Are you not sleeping? Had you been frickin’ crying in there? For all his recent fantasies of making you do exactly that, any apparent evidence of it makes his stomach pitch and roll.

“I just want to get into my room.”

Just like that, his queasiness evaporates. His teeth feel sharp and threatening in his mouth.

That’s Groot’s room.

read Chapter Three. Stem. now wordcount ~7,200 ✩ | ❤︎

WARNINGS for this chapter: rocket’s fantasies continue to be filthy, as per frickin’ usual. ongoing descriptions of hatesex (rocket is a still mean dom) which include overstimulation, humiliation, degradation, use of “slut”/”whore” (not affectionate), bondage, electrocution, nipple clamps, begging, crying, brat-taming, blow-jobs, dumbification.

NOTES for this chapter: rocket's gonna be so mad at himself later. watch that raccoon dig his own grave i guess. ♡♡ i am traveling for a bit in mid-july so the next update will be in about 2.5-3ish weeks (and i am hoping during that traveling i can get a lil inspo for love is blind, since i know some people have been asking about it and also i could use a lil sweetness to offset this angst)

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- (an evasive maneuvers quasiprequel)

Xandar is saved. The power stone rests safely in the hands of the Nova Corps, and our favorite heroes-for-hire get their records expunged before going their separate ways. Unfortunately, one furry little motherfucker just can't seem to keep his claws out of trouble. In a rare gesture of good will, Nova Prime offers him a get-outta-jail-free card (not that he needs one). All he’s gotta do is escort a bratty little princess safely and discreetly to her new home, halfway across the universe. Should be a piece of cake. What's the difference between a bodyguard and a bounty-hunter, anyway?

GOOD TO KNOW: no use of y/n. mcu-based canon-divergent post-vol1. true enemies-to-lovers. slowburn with fantasy flare-ups. includes angst, betrayal, forced proximity, pining, grovelling, and lightly-bdsm-inspired filth. find more specifics on the masterlist and with each chapter.

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

silver stardust and silver bar dividers by @/bernardsbendystrawsblack | black rose divider by @/firefly-graphics | heart-handcuff dividers by @/strangergraphics | support/mdni banners by @/saradika-graphics | moodboard by me!

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hibatasblog · 15 days ago

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I’m not crying… lays down and cries really, really hard. This is beautiful!

TW trauma , abuse

New Rocket comic!🫂❤️

I wanted to celebrate Rocket’s long awaited and well earned happiness🦝 he’s my everything

Enjoy, friends🫶

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hibatasblog · 17 days ago

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Look at how damn cute he is here! I would get my face bitten, but I always want to hug him so badly.

Drew Rocket in his hammock again because he's just so cute!

Also yes he's cuddling a gun XD

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hibatasblog · 18 days ago

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This always breaks my heart. Rocket is so so hard on himself.

Artist: fukujinzuke

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hibatasblog · 19 days ago

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Faints from anticipation. I’m having a full fit of the vapors now. Guys, if you haven’t read, kudoed, and commented on this delightful fic, what are you even doing with your lives?!

Stem.✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- a birdie [chapter three] preview EXPECTED JULY 3 ✩ | ❤︎

A truce is offered, and rudely declined.

Stem. The part of the rope harness which connects all, or many, of the wraps together. — Rope Office Hours Glossary.

Rocket’s three-quarters of the way through a new fifth of clear, lemony Xandarian licor when he hears you on the midlevel — trying to creep quietly out of Groot’s bunk and into the showers. You must assume he’s gone to bed, but he doesn’t plan on leaving the cockpit tonight.

Nope, not tonight.

Instead, he pricks his ears forward and raises the heavy glass bottle in a salute to all his dead best friends, then lifts it to his lips and swallows down the rest without pausing. He can hear you below: the soft susurration of your clothes as you strip, the sudden hushed cascade of sound as you turn on the water. His vision shivers, bright and starry in the wake of the licor. He bets you look so fuckin’ pretty in that misty stall: lashes spangled with droplets; hair all diamond-studded and glittery. He could go down there right now — corner you in the showers. Probably scare the shit out of you, then lick every drop of water off your skin.

Turn your frightened, angry snarls into something weak and needful and pleading.

He stares moodily at the licor bottle. It’s pretty, too: leaves and vines and fat fruits worked into the glass. It reminds him of you, and he hates that it’s empty. Fortunately, he’d already brought two more out of storage. He sets the empty bottle on the grate by his feet and twists the creamy wax seal off the second.

As tempting as it is to tumble down the hatch right now and scare you in the showers, he doesn’t do it. He’s gotta have some kinda line when it comes to harassing you, and though keeping you intimidated feeds a smug, savage sort of satisfaction, he doesn’t want you really fearing some kind of sexualistic predation. No matter how often he dreams about having you strung up and vulnerable for him, about watching your snarls melt into moans, about you begging for cock.

His cock, specifically.

Instead, he broods. Against his will, the alcohol slicks pictures of you in his mind. He imagines how you’re soaping up your pretty body. How the suds will be collecting against your collarbone and sliding between your perfect, slippery breasts — practically floating on your skin. You might have old wounds and blemishes, he figures — but they’ll be minor next to his. You probably even scar prettily.

And he bets you taste as sweet as you smell.

He takes another pull on the licor and wishes he’d ordered the orange instead — something closer to your own brand of spiced-citrus-cherry. The three million units continue to fester in the back of his brain. Mentally, he pokes at the splinter of it, letting it grow irritated — fostering the inflammation with another mouthful of booze.

“I could do it,” he mutters. “I could do it right now.”

✴︎Chapter Three. Stem. ✩ | ❤︎ EXPECTED JULY 3.

WARNINGS for this chapter: rocket’s fantasies continue to be filthy, as per frickin’ usual. ongoing descriptions of hatesex (rocket is a still mean dom) which include overstimulation, humiliation, degradation, use of “slut”/”whore” (not affectionate), bondage, electrocution, nipple clamps, begging, crying, brat-taming, blow-jobs, dumbification.

NOTES for this chapter: nobody self-sabotages like my guy.

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- (an evasive maneuvers quasiprequel)

Xandar is saved.The power stone rests safely in the hands of the Nova Corps, and our favorite heroes-for-hire get their records expunged before going their separate ways.Unfortunately, one furry little motherfucker just can't seem to keep his claws out of trouble. In a rare gesture of good will, Nova Prime offers him a get-outta-jail-free card (not that he needs one). All he’s gotta do is escort a bratty little princess safely and discreetly to her new home, halfway across the universe.Should be a piece of cake. What's the difference between a bodyguard and a bounty-hunter, anyway?

GOOD TO KNOW: no use of y/n. mcu-based canon-divergent post-vol1. true enemies-to-lovers. slowburn with fantasy flare-ups. includes angst, betrayal, forced proximity, pining, grovelling, and lightly-bdsm-inspired filth. find more specifics on the masterlist and with each chapter. happy endings always.

silver stardust and silver bar dividers by @/bernardsbendystrawsblack | black rose divider by @/firefly-graphics | heart-handcuff dividers by @/strangergraphics | support/mdni banners by @/saradika-graphics | moodboard by me!

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hibatasblog · 19 days ago

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Ahh he’s too adorbs for me to live on this planet anymore!

Artist: Scott Fabianek

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hibatasblog · 20 days ago

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Babe. You are the sweetest peach. Thank you for this.

you all know i can't say enough nice things about @hibatasblog's Entanglement but my babe is writing a supplemental fic right now (happier/smuttier vibes to balance the current darkness of entanglement) and i HIGHLY recommend

Give In, You're Mine All Mine

is a glimpse into the behind-the-scenes of Petra Quill's eventual relationship with BlackJack O'Hare and, if you've been paying attention, there are implications from hibata's kiss kiss bang bang challenges that rocket/jack/petra may be an eventual throuple....

anyway, give in is just so playful and fun and i highly recommend it if you just want some cute relationship-building with lots of absolute filth on the side (or absolute filth with cute relationship-building on the side) ♡♡♡

also petra always has the best outfits and i kinda wanna draw her in her club getup

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hibatasblog · 22 days ago

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Great chapter!

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter thirty-three. apolytus. [NEW 6/26] ✩ | ❤︎

rocket collects on a xeronian bounty. pearl muses on life, death, and fron.

“Rocket—” His name breaks across her lips, soft and tattered. She wraps her other arm around him and tugs them both down, deep into the cushions of their Xeronian bed. He buries his face between her breasts, but there’s nothing sexual about it this time; his claws prickle over the slopes of her back and then cling to the satin skin there, pulling her in so close that it feels like he’s trying to crawl into her heart. As if she didn’t already carry him there.

He weeps against her for a long time: almost-silent, other than a few heaving breaths. His hands clutch and spasm against her, and hers stroke against the back of his head: threading her fingers into all his fur and sadness, all his loss and grief. Trying to hold onto some small amount of it for him, so he can feel what he needs to feel without being crushed by it. Slowly, his breaths begin to steady. His hands ease on her flanks, and he mutters something against her, fierce and fervent, that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks softly, but he only shakes his head against her and pulls back. His damp fur is all mussed and splayed — gleaming in the lantern-light spangles — and she combs her fingers through it gently. His whiskers twitch against her palm. “Nothing, kitten,” he utters, and clears his throat. His fingers find her wrist again — claws scraping the delicate bone as he lifts her arm and rotates it again. His eyes are clear now, though. Bright, and as ember-red and glowing as ever. When they catch the lamplight, they burn: flat copper-moons. “The work’s not bad,” he says grudgingly, like his grief had never happened. She laughs, then: startled and bright in the quiet gold and shadows. “I’m pretty sure it’s the work of the finest tattooist in the area,” she confides. “It was done by D’au’s artist.” He snorts. “That don’t necessarily mean anything.” Still, he studies the fine lines, the soft purple-blue blushes and rosy glows, all etched into her skin between glossy leaves and spindle-thin stems. The blessings that trickle down from her shoulder. “You like it, though?” he asks gruffly, and she smiles at him softly. “Do you?” she asks, a little teasing lilt of a challenge in her voice.

read more on ao3 | cicatrix masterlist & notes see warnings and art below.

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: lingerie-shopping. angst about relationships and mentions of past abuse, descriptions of tattoo-related sensations/pain, brief mentions of cunnilingus, biting, cockwarming, and pussy-slapping fantasies.

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

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

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hibatasblog · 23 days ago

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Read this! So so good!

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- Chapter Two. Lark's Head. ✩ | ❤︎ [NEW JUNE 23]

Rocket considers his options for escape.

Lark’s Head. A loop formed in the bight of the rope, often used to join two pieces of rope together. — Rope Office Hours Glossary.

read Chapter Two. Lark's Head. now wordcount ~7,500 ✩ | ❤︎

“I don’t think this is what Groot would have wanted for you.”

Rocket's smirk turns into a snarl. “Then it’s a real good thing he’s not around to see it, isn’t it?”

Dey flinches. “I didn’t say that, Rocket. I didn’t mean that.”

Rocket doesn’t respond: just crosses his arms and glowers up at the Denarian, tapping his foot. “Can we get going? I got a jailbreak to plan.”

There’s a quiet sigh, and Dey leads him to the loading chute, and in he goes. His nose flares and he grimaces at the flood of familiar scents: blood and metal and sweat. Burnt and filthy greases of various questionable origins. The occasional cloud of particularly-crusty body odor. Everything is essentially the same as Rocket remembers, despite the fact that pretty much the whole prison had to be rebuilt after the attack by Ronan, Nebula, and the Sakaaran mercenaries. Of course, the inmates are a little more subdued and morose — probably on account of the fact that basically all their predecessors had been killed in the same event.

Subdued, but not silent. Rocket’s ears prickle and swivel, following the very first whisper.

That’s the opossum that broke out last time. He and the rest of his crew killed Ronan.

Him and a tree, right?

Yeah, but the tree got merked. The biggest one in the whole outfit, and he’s the one what got taken out.

The words might be muttered so low that most mammals’ ears don’t pick up on ‘em, but Rocket’s had an extra-special range of hearing since as long as he can remember. Every tattered mutter sticks to his fur, oily and trailing behind him like hateful, tar-painted ghosts. They drag along the dirty concrete as he trudges through the bullpen.

Look, it might be true that the tree was bigger — but between the two of ‘em, I heard the opossum was the more bloodthirsty one.

Really? I bet I could take him. He looks puny enough.

read Chapter Two. Lark's Head. now wordcount ~7,500 ✩ | ❤︎

WARNINGS for this chapter:violence in the kyln. rocket’s even-filthier fantasies, including but not limited to descriptions of hate sex (rocket is a mean dom), bondage, edging, gunplay, masturbation (guided and not), cum-eating, humiliation, degradation, use of “slut”/”whore” (not affectionate). begging, crying, brat-taming. mentions of spanking, pussy-slapping, and blowjobs. rocket’s special brand of post-orgasm self-loathing.

NOTES for this chapter: just letting you all know that if you're into this grim, absolutely lecherous rocket, i should have chapters coming out more-or-less every two weeks between now and october. things might slow down then if i end up doing kinktober, cozy autumn, and borealis fics, but this story is about half-drafted already, and i know how it's ending. there are a lot of overused tropes in this story but i am having fun and i hope you do too ♡♡

birdie ✴︎࿔⋆˚⊰⊹- (an evasive maneuvers quasiprequel)

Xandar is saved. The power stone rests safely in the hands of the Nova Corps, and our favorite heroes-for-hire get their records expunged before going their separate ways. Unfortunately, one furry little motherfucker just can't seem to keep his claws out of trouble. In a rare gesture of good will, Nova Prime offers him a get-outta-jail-free card (not that he needs one). All he’s gotta do is escort a bratty little princess safely and discreetly to her new home, halfway across the universe. Should be a piece of cake. What's the difference between a bodyguard and a bounty-hunter, anyway?

GOOD TO KNOW: no use of y/n. mcu-based canon-divergent post-vol1. true enemies-to-lovers. slowburn with fantasy flare-ups. includes angst, betrayal, forced proximity, pining, grovelling, and lightly-bdsm-inspired filth. find more specifics on the masterlist and with each chapter.

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

silver stardust and silver bar dividers by @/bernardsbendystrawsblack | black rose divider by @/firefly-graphics | heart-handcuff dividers by @/strangergraphics | support/mdni banners by @/saradika-graphics | moodboard by me!

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hibatasblog · 26 days ago

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Amen to that!

Shipping is so fun, like what do you MEAN when the horrors of the series become too much I can instead focus all my time and energy on obsessing over two losers and their cute moments and ignoring the suffering that they face in canon and imagine them in various situations instead?! That's literally God's gift to Earth.

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