Sounds like your pronouns are
Scud/Hole.

+ checking corners and any blind spots.

Where were they?

+ overcompensation levels of power.

The raccoon moved quickly, claws prying the door open and shutting it behind himself, trying to limit the light and noise he sent into the warehouse.

The soon-to-be-dead-man was here.

He stepped quietly, moving through the aisle with practiced diligence, +

+ time to see the door of the warehouse shutting, the target slinking in. “Flarkin’ hell!” He grumbled, stowing his gear and hopping down the tree.

Moving with the quickness of someone who had just missed what he had been waiting hours for, Rocket drew his blaster, the weapon expanding to +

A snap of a branch, drawing Rocket’s attention to the space behind him… and the aim of his sidearm. Eyes darted from branch to branch, the feeling of being watched making every hair stand on end.

Nothing.

As Rocket reluctantly turned his attention back to the warehouse, it was with just enough +

+ eyes against the macrobinoculars and back against the tree as he watched the door of the warehouse.

+ Get rid of this mystery man, one way or another…

A job was a job and action was action. Besides, he could probably snag a few valuable looking things from the warehouse once he was done.
So, with a long sigh, Rocket resigned himself to continue sitting in the canopy of the tree, +

+ been told.

So, that’s why Rocket found himself here, waiting for his mystery target to show up. The group that had hired him, buncha stuck-up pricks known as the Yurani, had grown tired of dealing with whoever this pain-in-the-ass was. Hiring Rocket was their way of washing their hands of it. +

+ get used to the silence. He had to. The alternative was to go insane, and if he was going to do that, he would’ve done it when the group first got together. But now? The galaxy was peaceful… or as peaceful as one could hope. The conflicts that arose didn’t need the Guardian’s… or so Rocket had +

+ themselves no crunching of sticks as Groot meandered through the halls, no humming as Quill fought back the urge to sing along with the tunes that seemed to run through the Terran’s head even when his music player was off. There was no denying it: Rocket was alone.

He’d eventually +

@galacticoutlaw.bsky.social Rocket hated the quiet.

Only a few hours ago, while the Warbird II had drifted towards his destination, things had been silent, holding a distinct lack of the background noise he had grown used to. There had been no sharpening of blades as Gamora and Drax prepared +

a cartoon of a monster with the words " or suffer my curse " below him ALT: a cartoon of a monster with the words " or suffer my curse " below him

//: make him or suffer my curse

… You look like a flarkin’ nabble got ahold of you and ripped you to scud.

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

we’re all monsters now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t choose what kind of monster we are.

He’s definitely drunk.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Here’s to you, Lylla.

Somebody shoves me anywhere, they’re losin’ their head.

Why the flark are you letting people pin you to a wall? Just shoot ‘em?

Ugh, another day on this rock.

Can somebody shut their shark up?

7: He has definitely taken off from a planet and purposely left Quill on it.

6: He has definitely taken off from a planet and forgotten one of the Guardians on it.

5: His favorite Terran show is Say Yes to the Dress. He will never admit it.

4: He has chronic back pain due to having a metal spine. It gets worse on cold planets or stormy planets.

3: He 100% has jettisoned some of the other guardian’s belongings while they slept. Someone got Quill a drum set and it was gone by the next day.