#have been a big sign of Something Wrong with this child when i was young lmao. i feel like ur favorite bible book growing up or etc says so

[corpsecoded]

also found my expensive leather oxford annotated bible with apocrypha while going thru my things.. girl that grew up with terrible religious family standards and instead just got even more annoying about religion and the bible

[howtodrawyourdragon]

The Post In Which I Deduce How Old Baby Hiccup Was When Valka Disappeared

You know, in order to write this Httyd Retelling, I have to do some preparing. I have to collect plot points for future storylines, keep certain canonical facts in mind and take a closer look at certain scenes.

Like the flashback scene in which Valka gets taken, for example. Because that'll be a vital scene for the prequel-type fic that I'm currently working on.

And I don't think I've ever realized how truly young Hiccup was when his mother was stolen from him. And I'm not talking about how he was a baby, because that fact is obvious.

I'm talking about how it's possible he was barely 6 months old.

And there are a couple of things about the flashback that point to this.

When Cloudjumper finds Hiccup and appears to play with him, I notice that Hiccup is:

Laughing

Grabbing Cloudjumper's wing talon

Clapping once (which could be a fluke as he is waving his hands around wildly)

Appears stimulated by Cloudjumper's attention and actively seeks interaction

Now, the laughter I won't waste much time on because I don't really see it as an indicator. On average, it starts as early as 4 months, but in my experience that highly depends on the child. I've seen a 3 month old laugh, I've seen kids not start laughing until they were almost 1.

Points 2 through 4, though, are much more interesting as what Hiccup is exhibiting is actually not "true" play, but rather hints that Hiccup is still actively learning to interact with the world around him. This may seem strange for people who don't interact with babies and toddlers on a daily basis, but children actually have to learn to play and this starts by interacting with the world around them.

Putting a variety of things in their mouths, sucking on things, grabbing things (like Cloudjumper's talon), shaking things, etc. This is usually how a baby between ages of 4 to 6 months old begins to learn how to play.

You can try to offer toys to a 3 month old, but chances are they won't do anything with it or even react much too the toy at all. Older than 6 months old, it's possible you can see them actively pick what interests them to inspect rather than simply put whatever they've been giving in their mouths.

In my personal experience, it's not until around 4 months old when babies start to show interest in the things around them. (Which doesn't mean you shouldn't try to stimulate your child by at least offering a toy before that time, we do.)

Something else of note in this scene is:

Hiccup can't sit up

No teeth

Hiccup simply lying there swaddled in a cradle is actually a big indicator that, not only is he not sitting up yet, but he doesn't appear capable of rolling over.

And if you think "Oh! but that's because he's swaddled in furs!" Wrong! Babies of any age are surprisingly determined. If a baby wants to roll over, they will fidget their way out of the swaddle and roll over. In no good conscience would Valka or Stoick leave Hiccup in a cradle unattended if this child showed signs of rolling over.

Now babies can start rolling over as soon as 4 months. (If you know what that looks like, it's quite an endeavor, takes a lot of manuevering, which the previous unattended Hiccup didn't appear to be doing)

And I know you may be thinking; "doesn't that mean Hiccup is younger than 4 months in the flashback?" I don't think so simply because of how he reacts to Cloudjumper, whose attention and stimulation he actively seeks out. Rather, I actually think Hiccup is a little bit of a late bloomer physically.

He was canonically born prematuraly, to the point that his mother feared he wouldn't make it. And often when a child is a late bloomer physically, they actually usually end up ahead of the other kids in other areas. Like mentally, verbally, or with their finer motor skills.

In my experience, children who can walk by the time their first birthday comes along, take longer to even begin to start talking. (which takes the form of making sounds. Not forming words, but voluntarily making sounds)

Meanwhile kids who are barely crawling by their first birthday are usually already showing signs of forming words (usually done by trying to repeat sounds they hear others in their life say) and verbally responding back to the people in their life (though through sounds and not actual words)

Being late in his gross motor skills while actually excelling in his finer motor skills and speech seems in line with the Hiccup we know and love. Even between the ages of 15 and 18, he still appears to be a bit of a late bloomer. The example I'm thinking of is how he can work years in a forge, yet struggle to pick up a single weapon versus to 3 years later when he's a swordsman himself and picks weapons up with no problem now.

That brings me to the lack of teeth.

On average, babies will begin to teeth between the 4 and 7 months old. From my personal experience, it tends to start much closer to 7 months than the minimum 4 month mark. I've even looked after plenty of children who didn't start to teeth well beyond the 7th month mark. (even had one who didn't start teeth until they were almost 1 and then suddenly got multiple teeth in at once.) Hiccup has no teeth.

So lets line all of the evidence up.

In the flashback, Hiccup:

Actively seeks interaction with Cloudjumper

Actively interacts with the world around him, but doesn't know play yet.

Responds positively to Cloudjumper's stimulation

Doesn't yet appear to even try to roll over

Has no teeth

And all of these points point to the very likely scenario that Hiccup was only 4 to 5 months old when he and Stoick lost Valka.

4 to 5 months old.

That's hella young to be losing your mother, a terrible time to lose your wife and mother of your very young child and, honestly, a terrible time for a mother to have her abduction be preceded by watching her premature son and her husband almost die due to her lack of actions.

I realize that I'm ending this post with a hot take, maybe even an unpopular opinion, but as it already takes months for a parent who gave birth to feel somewhat normal again even without breastfeeding their child... No wonder Valka, in this highly sensitive and vulnerable time, internalized that both Stoick and Hiccup would've been better off without her.

Valka, who:

Was still on month 4 after her pregnancy, meaning her hormones would've still been all over the place

Had to breastfeed with a lack of better options at the time, meaning it would remain that way for quite a bit

Had a traumatic labor that involved nearly losing her son

Her son who was born much too early, which would come with complications (right down to getting him to eat at all, for example)

Almost watched Hiccup and Stoick die in a fire right before she got abducted by a dragon, which would've meant hours if not days or weeks of believing she was going to get eaten

Doesn't mean she just gets to stay away for 20 whole years, but it definitely puts a different perspective on her sudden departure from Hiccup's life.

Everyone in the Haddock family was hurt that day. Though, the biggest victim of all was that literal 4 month old boy.

Video from SoloMinike-Movies & Shows scenes HD for reference.

[heartmix]

Rebel - Kelly Severide

Pairing: Kelly Severide x fem!reader

Word Count: 800+

Warning: One swear word, mention of we*d (the whole fic is about this)

A/N: Just a warning, I've only seen half a season of this show and a full season of Med. So if I get a character wrong, my bad. Also, I mention that the reader is Boden's niece but she doesn't need to be blood-related. She can be a family friend niece or whatever you want to decide.

Masterlist / One Chicago Masterlist

Once in a while, everyone would be in a good enough mood to sit down and have dinner. No excuses about needing to clean the truck or refill the ambo. Also now excuses from Squad 3 that they were having an intense round of cards. Them being free to actually sit and eat together was probably due to the fact that you cooked dinner, something that was rare. Often you were too tired, but today felt different so you decided to do the task of cooking dinner for the firehouse. 

For the first 10 minutes, everyone was quiet. Other than utensils clashing against each other hardly any words were said. Everyone wanted to get a good amount of food in before a call would come through.

Although it wasn't long before someone started up a conversation. In a second the table looks like a real family dinner table, loud. The topic seemed to be reminiscing about being young, before becoming a firefighter. You were one of the youngest at the table so you didn't think they were gonna ask questions about the topic. Your youth wasn't that long ago. 

"What's one thing you miss when you were younger." Sylvie asked you seeing as you were next down the line.

"Smoking weed." You casually said which made everyone look at you with a raised eyebrow. They thought you were joking or not believing you.

"What? I work for the state, I can't do that anymore." You shrugged as if it was no big deal. You really didn't think it was, it was so easy to get the supply so it shouldn't be that shocking.

"You used to smoke weed?" Casey asked again still in disbelief as with everyone else.

"Yeah, who hasn't at last once?" You asked and soon courses of 'me' all spoke at once. Some of them had to be lying right?

"God you guys were boring." 

"Next you're going to tell us you got arrested." Otis quipped which made you gasp.

"Wow just because I smoked weed you make that connection, and no I haven't I just ran from the cops." You mumbled the last part not knowing why you were feeding them this information. Sure you were all one big happy family, but big happy families don't need to know everything about each other.

"What the hell, kid," Hermann said making you give a sheepish smile. The look on his face told you he was never going to look at you the same again.

"It was a different time, I was having the time of my life." You defended yourself. Sure weed wasn't legal in Illinois, but it wasn't bad. It was a herb.

"What else did you do?" Kelly asked who surprisingly has been quiet this whole time. He didn't look as shocked as everyone, but he didn't know you had this side of you.

"Uhh shoplifted?" You said in a questioning tone. Still, you didn't know why you were confessing all this.  

"How did you do a 360?" Sylvie asked impressed. You acted nothing like the girl you were talking about. Their young, sweet, rookie.

"I got sent to live with Boden, that's what happened," 

"I heard my name." You heard the devil himself say from behind you as he made his plate of food. He must have had an important call if he didn't come to eat right away.

"We didn't know your niece was a rebel child," Sylvie said making Chief laugh. He had the pleasure of watching you grow and is a big part of why you are today.

"Yeah, but look at her now." He said in a proud tone making you smile.

"Well he just made stop half the dangerous illegal stuff, I still smoked." You added not thinking much of it, you really didn't know when to stop.

"You what?!" He exclaimed making my eyes go wide.

"I thought you knew this!" You defended yourself. This was your sign to stop talking and not spill anything else about 'the time of your life.'

"No! How long did you do it for?" He asked making me gulp, all of a sudden you felt like you were 16 again.

"I stopped when I got hired." 

"You continued for 5 more years. You were smoking in college?!"

"How did you not smell it, I had some good shit. I thought you let me go since I was doing good in school." You defended for what seemed like the millionth time in just 5 minutes. 

"I'm going back to my office." He shook his head making you laugh. You knew it stressed him, but years have passed. He was just going to have a good laugh about it when he gets over the fact he couldn't tell what was happening in his house.

"Who knew you were such a rebel child," Otis said making the table chuckle.

"Oh like I'm such a good girl now. You older people are a buzzkill." You pipped in taking a jab at them, they were really showing their age. Even the younger ones who weren't that much older than you. 

"You got your hands full Severide," Sylvie said making your boyfriend shake his head in amusement. 

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine you are Aemond and Helaena’s daughter.

Warnings: none; fluff all the way; alternative universe where… uh, Rhaenyra and Aegon are actually married and there is no civil war.

***

• Stage One: To Be a Toddler.

You are actually a merry child. One so vivid and full of joy, prompted to mischief. Unusually early, you like to go after your father. In one of these days, you are brought to Vhagar.

“Always restless, my dear Y/N”, says he when lifting you up and holding you on his arms. Aemond smiles in his own way at you, his lingering good eye admiring your chubby faces and wondering how could he have made a child so pure. When you smile back, he melts down completely. “One wonders why.”

“Vhagar”, you say lazily, still smiling.

Aemond chuckles quietly. He ruffles your long silver hair, lingering in his touch on your cheek and pinching it lightly.

“Vhagar, really? You really liked that old hag, didn’t you?”

The one eyed prince does not think there is a more adorable sound than when you burst into childish giggles.

“I love Vhagar. Daddy, she’s so big and… and…”, you grown, hating to forget the word you’ve learned recently.

Seeing how much you aim to please him, Aemond is patient.

“It’s a word uncle Aegon taught me!”, you try to justify yourself.

Aemond’s smile is quickly wiped out of his face. He furrows his eyebrows.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need not to beg, papa. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The prince chuckles, but you can tell he’s worried by the look on his face.

“Come now, what did dear uncle Aegon teach you, Y/N?”

“Weeeeell…”

“Y/N…”

You know you should not test longer. Aemond really hopes there is nothing to be anxious about, though.

“He said Vhagar is gross!”, you quickly put both of your chubby hands over your mouth and your eyes go wide. There’s a mix of amusement, mischief and concern altogether as you wait for some snap.

But Aemond is rarely snippy with you. The prince laughs quietly instead, his shoulders relaxing.

“If she is gross, why do you like her?”

Suddenly the prince remembers Helaena, when she loved bugs and other… bugs at a young age. The memory makes him smile fondly.

“Because she is legendary”, you explain as-a-matter-of-factly. “Besides, gross is not necessarily a bad thing. Can we fly now daddy? Pleeeeeease?”

He’s starstruck by your precocious wit. As he agrees to do what you requested, he remembers nostalgically how you came to this world.

***

Helaena always followed Aemond when they were younglings. Somehow the taste for books and studies set the two of them even closer. Before Aemond lost an eye, he came to discover that his dear sister had visions of some kind.

“It is a trait that comes from our ancestors. Magic comes with a price”, she told him then.

“What can I do to relief your burden, Helaena?”

It was when she touched his hand for the very first time. Aemond could recollect how right it felt when their fingers intertwined, hands awkwardly moulded. Sentiments that escaped the common scope looked obvious.

“Your friendship is sufficient, my dear Aem.”

But in due time it proved to be insufficient. Helaena was welcomed in Aemond’s chambers when she had nightmares. These consolations led to discoveries… which resulted in an early pregnancy.

Helaena was no more than six and ten summers; Aemond, five and ten, when you were conceived. Quickly, they married.

And just as quickly they moved to Summerhall.

***

When Aemond takes you to fly Vhagar, the one eyed prince notices you’ve been quiet. He takes a quick look wondering if you’ve fallen asleep, but he’s surprised by how attentive you are.

Y/N has inherited some of me, I see it now. Laena likes to say Y/N has her beauty, but my iron.

As he smiles at the recollection, Aemond asks you:

“What is my dear daughter thinking of?”

“I want to reclaim my dragon, daddy.”

Aemond sighs. Again, he is remembered of Helaena’s vision.

It came actually two months after you were born. His wife was struggling to sleep and this was a sign she was disturbed by something.

“What is it, my love? What is troubling you?”

“I cannot be sure what it is”, she sounded anguished as she took his hand and Aemond tried to remain calm. Helaena had to take her time when visions shook her. “Y/N carries the spirit of our house. She will not be like any other. I cannot be sure what it is. But she must be let to follow her path and reclaim a dragon herself.”

“I assumed she’d sleep with an egg”, it was all Aemond could tell.

“No.”

“You make it sound bad.”

“I do not wish to make her a queen, Aemond. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

“A queen?”

But seeing Helaena would say nothing more, Aemond calmed his restlessness and held her close. He knew she needed him by her side, not any of his inquiries.

“We will do the best we can do to raise our little princess. I promise you.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“I love you, Aemond Targaryen. I could have not chosen a better man to be the father of my children.”

And that was also the day she conceived their second child, a boy nine moons later born, named Maegor.

Back to the moment, Aemond clears his throat and says:

“All in due time, daughter. You must bear patience. Methinks Vhagar would be jealous if she knew you want a dragon for yourself.”

It’s enough to take your mind off the matter. And as if to confirm Aemond’s remark, the old dragon turns her head and gives you a look. You swear she buffed too.

“Oh no, Vhagar! Don’t be jealous! I love you and you’ll always be my favourite!”

That strangely seemed to calm the old hag and Aemond looks pleased it all ended well.

*

Helaena is welcoming her sister Rhaenyra and her family when she spots you running around the castle with six year old Jacaerys. The oldest son of Aegon and his wife is the heir to King Viserys’s throne after Aegon’s own rise to the throne. He is a handsome and very smart young man who seems to have taken a like of you.

“You stare at them”, muses Aemond, who silently puts himself beside his wife. He knows when these visions come and go. But not only that, he is acutely aware how welcoming the whole family party—which will soon be joined by the king and the queen—can be too much for her. “Is there something I should worry about?”

“No”, Helaena gives Aemond a small, but confident smile. She touches his arm discreetly, not too firm nor too weak. It’s a good vision, he understands. “He will make her happy.”

Aemond doesn’t like the idea of seeing you married too soon. Noticing this, she chuckles.

“My husband, you do not expect me to believe that Y/N is going to be a toddler for all her life, do you?”

He sighs, but does not answer. His good eye holds back a shadow of sadness as he sees you running after the curly haired Jacaerys.

***

• Stage Two: To Be A Child.

You have just recently celebrated your ninth name day. Aemond is keeping an eye on you as you are at the beach with a small group of friends, all of whom are your cousins: Jacaerys, Lucerys, Visenya and Baela. They are all talking about dragons.

A topic that, Aemond knows, can be somewhat sensitive to you—and this gives him some shivers. He remembers how his own cousins, Rhaegar and Baelor, sons of Lord Daemon and Lady Laena, mocked him because he didn’t reclaim any dragon. It costed him an eye. And he prayed nothing the same would occur to you.

Aemond is trying not to look very anxious when it’s Helaena who comes for his aid. She had excused from her sister’s adorable company to join her husband’s abrupt exile under the excuse of watching over the children.

But she knows what really troubles him.

“She is not like you. And they are not like them.”

Aemond limits to side eye at his wife.

“Is she…?”

“No.”

“But then…”

Helaena sighs.

“She is your daughter, she has some stubborn traits that you are to blame for”, she smiles. “Give them a chance. They are the next generation.”

“You let her too loose”.

“And you hold her too tight. This is not the way. Believe me, my dear. She will be fine.”

*

A third child came and suddenly your family is one of three. After Maekar, a boy named Jaehaerys has joined Summerhall.

“You must give me a companion, mama”, you pout. Today you are having an embroidery lesson with her. “It is not very fair when Maegor has a companion and I don’t.”

Helaena gives you a loving glance.

“Our family is growing big indeed.” And then she looks fondly at your father.

When you follow her gaze, you smile to yourself. You do sigh over at how devoted Helaena and Aemond are to each other.

This afternoon, Aemond is spending some time with his boys. Maegor being the oldest is trying to show off his best traits to his father, who doesn’t hesitate in appreciating his efforts.

Since it is raining outside, the family gathering is occurring just as fine until Maegor comes to tease you.

“Did you know, dear sister, that my dragon egg has hatched?”

Aemond is rocking baby Jaehaerys when he notices Maegor is not around.

“What about it?”, you pretend to find sewing interesting.

“It’s beautiful, really. It has blue scales.” And then the inevitable happens. “Soon it will grow and I’ll fly with it next to Vhagar. You’ll be left behind and no one will remember you.”

“SHUT UP, YOU STUPID FOOL!”

And to a general surprise, you stand up and slap his face hard. Aemond quickly comes at you, partially shocked—and secretly amused, since he’s been watching the scene from afar—but you escape everyone’s possible snort in tears.

“Maegor”, Helaena sighs as she tends her crying boy. “You shouldn’t have teased your sister.”

Aemond and his wife exchange looks. It’s very fitting that he, after reluctantly giving away his baby to a maid, goes to you.

Unsurprisingly, you are found pacing towards the yard. But something stops you from going out, despite the riot that so violently came upon your chest: it is the sound of those steps you are so familiar with.

“Now now dear Y/Nickname. What has come to fall upon my little princess?”

You run to your father, who is on his knees expecting you to do so. Whenever you felt distressed by something, this was how he welcomed you. Indeed it is a safe haven for you and Aemond knows it.

He sees so much in you and part of him blames himself for sharing this old wound with you.

This shouldn’t be it, Y/N. You’ll never know how I lament this to be it.

“Sing me that song, please.”

Aemond smiles at you. It’s a secret he shares with you. Whilst indeed Daeron is the one more apt to this function, once upon a time Aemond discovered that, thanks to you, singing old poems calmed your fears.

Whatever it takes to make my princess safe.

Choosing a song named Ode to Visenya, here father and daughter forget that time is passing and with it, all that childhood means… at the same time that he proves to be a better father than his own ever were where his infancy was concerned.

After a moment, you two are outdoors, at the yard, watching rain fall.

“You shouldn’t have slapped your brother, Y/N.”

You swear Aemond is smiling, but you don’t take your chances to bet on it.

“I cannot say I regret standing up for me. If I do not do so, then who will?”

So much like her father. Aemond looks at you, a hint of pride in his good eye making you smile and lean against him.

“Regardless, child. You are a princess, you must know when it is time to wage wars.”

“Does this mean I can be taught sword lessons when I grow up?”

Aemond looks at you for a moment. He should ask his wife first, but how can he deny you anything? His first child, his only daughter.

“Will you behave?”

“Yes, I promise! I promise I shall not slap the thwart…”

“He’s still your brother, Y/N”, Aemond scowls at you.

“Sorry. But I promise, yes.”

“Then I will teach you myself.”

Aemond swears he’s never seen such a bright face before. The light in your eyes almost makes this iron prince get to tears.

“I love you, daddy.” You say as you hug him tight.

….

“I love you too, my dear girl.”

*

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you are coming to tell me you are teaching our only girl to practice with sword”, says Helaena in such a casual tone that Aemond believes there should be an accusation where in truth there is none.

“And are you?”

With the children asleep, the two are settling their own nest. Aemond is thankful for this moment, where privacy is finally unbroken.

“She is a princess, Aemond”, Helaena gives her husband an amused glance, as if she knows things he doesn’t. “Mother would be horrified if she knew.”

“Thankfully, she is too occupied with her business in King’s Landing to be meddling in how we raise our children”, says Aemond, still somewhat resented that his mother is as absent now as she was before.

Helaena comes by his side and gently touches his face, making him look at her. As she does so, the princess removes his eyepatch and leans to kiss his forehead.

“She loves us in her own way”, then she melts in his embrace.

Aemond presses a kiss over her forehead, holding her tight. They stay like this for a while until the prince asks:

“What will be of our dear Y/N?”

Helaena looks up at him with amusement glinting in her lilac gaze. She smiles when she points it out:

“Y/N is really your favourite, isn’t she? Please be careful about it, or our sons will be jealous. Well, her future is not something that will get us preoccupied.”

That night, Aemond Targaryen slept a lot better.

*

You are visiting your aunt Rhaenyra and your uncle at Dragonstone again when you are told that there is a red dragon located at the dragon’s pit.

“Really?”, you ask Jacaerys. “How’d you know?”

“Father says that the old dragons like it there better. It’s like home for them, which makes sense considering their history.”

“Hum”, you say.

“You’re not considering going there, are you? No one has tamed Vermithor for decades since King Jaehaerys died”, Jacaerys gives you a concerned look.

But you do not give away your bold side just yet. You smile and dismiss his concerns by assuring him that you won’t do such a thing. In the meantime you two are speaking, here we follow to the adults conversation.

Sitting in the higher table are Rhaenyra and her husband, as well as Aemond and Helaena. They are expecting to welcome King Viserys and Queen Helaena with their youngest son Daeron in the next day.

“I have news to share”, says a mischievous Rhaenyra after a while.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t drank your wine, dear sister”, Helaena giggles quietly. “One wonders why.”

“Good Gods”, Aemond raises his eyebrows at Aegon. “Who knew this would come too far?”

“You ruined the news like always, Aemond”, says Aegon, amused. “But in truth.. aye, few would say an arranging as this would blossom to something good and provide to be a right decision.”

“Talk about it. How many children came of it?”, Aemond could not help himself, chuckling as he is elbowed by his wife.

“Aemond”, she snaps at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Hardly mean, sister”, interferes Rhaenyra amused. “The children are good. And speaking of them…”

“Jacaerys is very fond of Y/N”, muses Aegon. “We’d think he and Visenya were pairing well, but Visenya prefers Lucerys whilst Baela has rather been good friends with Maegor.”

Aemond notices how Helaena suddenly appears more pompous. This time he’s the one who quietens. Marriage is not his expertise field and as he notices the group of children playing, he cannot foresee them married. Or maybe he’s just being protective.

Indeed as it seems, Maegor and Baela are getting along just fine: the former reads and the latter listens. A sight that actually leaves a good impression on Aemond, who had his own doubts about Maegor’s interest in studies.

He keeps an eye at the maid who’s holding baby Jaehaerys before noticing you, Visenya, Jacaerys and Lucerys discussing… dragons. Again. This time Aemond narrows his eyes, waiting for some strange burst or abrupt humor swift. He side smirks to himself at your composed self, but in fact the prince detects some familiar determination that honestly…. He isn’t sure if he wants to find out the reason behind it.

“Aemond”, Helaena summons him impatiently. “The children are doing good, thank you. May you be more considerate in this matter? What do you think?”

Murmuring an apology, Aemond doesn’t shy away of what he’s asked of. But Helaena knows the difficulty in doing so. However, the princess is certain that a merry path is underway. All they must do now is sow the seeds.

In the meantime their future is planned, you are found playing with your cousins.

“I have a dream of flying with Silverwing to Winterfell”, says Jaehaerys. “Much like our forefathers did.”

“You’ve claimed Silverwing?”, you cannot help admiring. “How bold!”

“I was not allowed to mount Vermithor for a strange reason. But alas Silverwing is such a good girl”, Jaehaerys smiles warmly.

“Silverwing was matched to Vermithor”, Visenya meddled, somewhat maliciously.

You cast her cousin a long gaze, but opt to remain quiet. Seeing you don’t buy the bait, or at least it is what Visenya assumes, topics are changed. But little they know what you are to do this evening.

*

“Y/N looks restless”, Aemond muses as he lies next to Helaena.

The princess is mute for a moment. She turns to face her husband.

“It is her moment, Aemond.”

“She is claiming her dragon”, but the prince doesn’t take it well. It’s up to Helaena to tell him what she has seen your future so far.

“Look, there is something you must know about Y/N…”

*

You walk barefoot the moment your feet reach the sand. Under moonlight you opt to trace your steps to Vermithor cave through an unknown—or rather an unusual—path that few are familiar with.

It’s risky. You know. Part of you wonders if this is right, but if Jacaerys has claimed Silverwing… You blush. Pairing the dragons together has only been done once and it was done so by your great-grandparents Jaehaerys I & Alysanne.

But you want to prove your parents that you are not delicate as they see you. In the end… you want to be seen as bold as your cousins, as Targaryen as any of them.

Here you are. Holding a torch to light your way, you enter unprotected through it. The great red-ish winged being opens its eyes and stares at you, distrusted.

A loud groan echoes through the cave, and the sound may as well be mistaken to an earthquake. But you do not quake in fear, despite looking paralyzed as the large old dragon comes at you as if you are ready to be burnt.

It’s when death comes so close that you lift your chin and tell Vermithor:

“I am my father’s daughter and I will claim you, Vermithor.”

The dragon spits fire as if to defy you. You escape barely of losing your life, but you proceed—even if your body shakes and your conscience questions your audacity.

“LIKYRI, VERMITHOR! DOHAERAS!”

A little girl. Nine moons and counting. Giving such a command to a dragon almost as old as time. It could end very bad.

But it does not. Vermithor doesn’t spit fire. It bows towards you.

And you smile proudly.

“Like my father. We are in this together, Vermithor.”

As poets later say, like father like daughter.

And this is not the ending, it is just the beginning.

[marvelstars]

Anakin´s fall

I have been thinking how, for Anakin, being separated from his mother was the beggining of his fall to the darkside, while of course slavery played a big part of it because this suffering marked Anakin from a young age and forced him to lose part of his innocense, he still had his Mom and his friends on Tatooine, those two reasons made up a little bit for the fact he was a slave, he may have been one but he was still a person and his name was Anakin.

But between the separation from his mother, leaving her a slave and the separation from his friends while being send to a completely different culture and what it meant to him living in a context in which nobody remembered their birth family or their mother, Anakin was worried about his mother´s well being, he missed her but he could not talk to anyone about this, not even his master, because it could be taken to mean he was attached and so, not a good Jedi tm but also because even if they were sympathetic to his situation, they could not truly understand how much this was affecting him, this was one of the reasons why he was not going to be accepted at first by the Jedi Council or Yoda but even when Yoda changed his oppinion at Obi-Wan´s insistence, there wasn´t really an effort to accomodate Anakin´s need to know his mother was safe and free from slavery.

This also generated guilt, because Anakin felt like he abandoned his mother to a terrible fate without any way to communicate with her or try to help her in her situation.

Another big factor of his isolation inside the Jedi Order was Obi-Wan obedience to the council, Anakin was painfully aware he was only accepted because Obi-Wan promised the Council to train him as Qui-Gon´s last wish but also because he was the "chosen one" even if nobody knew what that meant and with the resurgence of the sith, someone who could be useful for his force habilities, so from the beggining his stay in the Jedi Order is conditional to:

1.- Him being perceived as a "good jedi"

2.- Someone "useful"

Any moment he showed signs of not being a "Good Jedi tm" be it because he missed his mother or because he got angry when other padawans called him a slave, he could not even defend himself because he is supposed to be in the "wrong", his master always takes the council side when he is "wrong" he had not confidants or people who at least tried to see his pov because for the Jedi, especially the Jedi Council, there has always been something wrong with Anakin and it´s Anakin the one who has to make adecuations to become a "good jedi tm", he was bassically the odd one out in his community with nobody to trust his feelings to inside the Jedi Order.

So of course, it wasn´t surprising Anakin accepted Palpatine´s offer to be his "confidant, father figure, fun uncle" because at least with him he could talk about his feelings, about his Mom, about Tatooine as he did with his mother and friends back home and this would have been ok if Palpatine have been someone like Bail or Padme someone interested in his well being or at least turstworthy who cared about him for himself, too bad for Anakin it was Sidious, master of the Sith order, who saw him as something that belonged to him the one who listened to him all those lonely years living in the Jedi Order.

Anakin´s fall to the darkside a tragedy in three acts and his mother´s separation and death were a big component of it.

This is why I believe while Anakin had great habilities, a big heart and already big cualities to become a great Jedi, his particular circunstances didn´t allow him to develop in a healthy way in the Jedi Order the way it was estructured in his time, in fact it had the opposite effect, for Anakin living in the Jedi Order meant becoming bitter, lonely, afraid of losing people dear to him, instead of being the sociable, happy, optimistic and active child we meet in TPM and it would have made him a world of good to be raised with his mother or with an adopted family while knowing his mother was safe, away from Palpatine´s influence and with people who understood him for who he was, people he could trust with all his being, this was also why he married Padme and why FAMILY has always been central to Anakin´s character, it´s such a strong force inside him that he tried to make his own despite being a Jedi.

[bibibbon]

I honestly hate that Dabi’s abuse has to be debated. Like, it’s pretty clear as day that he was neglected by Enji.

The sheer fact that Touya was literally harming himself to be even noticed by his father should’ve been a massive red flag!

“Oh but Enji did the best he could-“ No, he didn’t? Enji could’ve at least put Touya through some mental health care or you know, STOP LIVING THROUGH HIS FUCKING KIDS!

Also, another thing that grosses me out about the MHA fandom is how people “joke” about how Rei only stayed was because Endeavor had a big sholng and that’s just pretty disgusting in of itself

Hi @palesweetscherryblossom 👋

Absolutely I hate the fact that what the todoroki family all went through has to be debated if it's abuse or not. I have seen people say that shoto was never abused and that enji done nothing wrong by training shoto to the point he puked his guts out at the age of 5 or that enji wasn't in the wrong for purposefully neglecting touya and inserting very harmful ideologies in his head. No enji may have not of abused touya physically but he definitely did abuse touya by neglecting him (neglect is a form of abuse!!!!)

It's still surprising that people can't pick up on the fact that enji very much did neglect touya and shoved the hero ideology down touya's throat (Iam aware that touya's backstory came from enjis pov probably to make enji look better but even with that there are clear signs of neglect)

Chapter 301 to 302 literally had touya say multiple times that it was enji who "lit this fire beneath him to beat all might and become a great hero". The blame is on enji and should be put on him for trying to use a child to live his own foolish dream while also filling the child's mind with harmful ideologies and ideas (I know full well that the whole girl comment that touya made towards fuyumi was directly influenced from enjis thinking and what enji probably told touya when he would ask whenever fuyumi wouldn't train with them)

The thing that some people can't seem to fully grasp is that touya was approximately 7 when all of his training stopped and he was abandoned by enji. Touya had a good 3 years spent being around enji almost 24/7 learning from him and being built to be this powerful masterpiece that is his father's favourite and all of that got taken from him because his body couldn't handle it. Now for a child at that age it would be difficult to understand why his father doesn't talk or love him anymore because I bet full well that touya probably connected enji training him = father son bonding time and as a sign that enji loves and cares for him the most. This is the reason why touya continues to train and harm himself so he can get enji's attention. In the end it was more about enji's love and attention than it was about becoming a hero. For touya becoming a hero was the key to his father's love and attention and that key was robbed from him because his body wasn't compatible with his quirk.

You have Rei literally calling out enji's neglect and behaviour saying that touya is only doing this because he wants his father's attention but enji replies saying that the only attention he can give is showing the path of a hero which is something that touya cant do. This literally goes to prove touya's own thinking as right. The only way touya can get his father's attention and love is by being the best machine to let his father's dream live through him. Touya needed to be the perfect puppet so his father could love him.

Then there's the fact that touya was Ultimately around 8 or so when he found out about the himura family and their secrets and why his mother is having children. All of that is too complex for a child and honestly traumatising to learn about but touya knew it from an incredibly young age. @thr0wnawayy 's post goes into more detail about touya learning what Rei had to go through and his whole family situation.

Enji should of helped touya understand it's not his fault, he should of loved his children equally and should of definitely given him therapy (the guy is rich there's no excuse for him not to take his child to a therapist)

Oh and don't even get me started on the fandoms messed up jokes when it comes to enji and Rei. It's like they don't even read the manga and realise that Rei didn't have a choice in any of this. She didn't stay because she liked it or because she wanted to, the poor women didn't have a choice at all.

[olenvasynyt]

What’s your take on Beron? Him saying that he fought to keep his family alive UTM keeps me up at night. Do you think there was ever a moment in his life that he showed kindness to his family? Or, was warm to Lucien at any point?

Ugh the Vanserra family is so interesting. And it’s because of 🫶daddy issues 😂😭

I have too many headcanons around Beron and the Vanserras, so I guess I got to trim it down a bit.

With LoA: she was young when she was sold off to Beron by her family. I’m not exactly sure if it was before or after Beron was High Lord but either way, LoA was described to be all smiles before their marriage. And I think there were signs that Beron was awful, but I don’t think he was initially. He was probably very manipulative, and LoA, being young, might have been manipulated by him and also her family to believe that this was right, that this was her duty in court.

Going to be obnoxious and post a quote from my fanfic, sorry. No big spoilers.

From chapter 5:

They all assured her that she belonged here. Her father, the previous High Lord before his untimely death…even her sisters were thrilled at the news of her betrothal to the heir to the Autumn Court. So she tried to hold onto the hope that they were right.

Despite that tug at her ribs that wanted her to stray somewhere else.

She was so unbearably naive back then. So hopeful, despite all of the little signs she tried hard to ignore; the angry fire flickering in Beron’s eyes despite his polite smile…the dark hallways that even a torch couldn’t brighten. Of course that hope was too green to last. And it dwindled for more than two centuries until it was nearly gone. The glass of The Canopy became dirty, the couches began to sag and the tea table collected dust.

She stroked Lucien’s hair again, breathing in its scent, letting its softness fill her with comfort.

After over two hundred years, hope was at her fingertips once again.

Beron is soooo much more vicious behind closed doors. He’s an asshole in public too, but he also makes a show of holding LoA’s hand, talking about keeping her safe. He’s a manipulative abuser. And like all abusers, he tries to manipulate and lie to his wife and children, and attacks when things don’t go his way. So he probably has been kind of LoA and his sons, and I think especially Eris, as his eldest. He was their first child, and Beron probably immediately set into place what he expects from his children.

Beron enjoys hierarchies, competition, etc. We can see this from his sons, from how he treats the lesser fae, to the blood duel, which is an Autumn court tradition. And he teaches his sons that. And again, he is an abuser, so he probably has different ways of going about that: switching from approval to disappointment and anger when his sons do something wrong; turning his sons against each other to win his approval. It’s psychological abuse.

Lucien is different, though. And I think he brings out another aspect of Beron that’s common in abusers: pride. Beron is very prideful, and that could already be a motivator before Lucien was born, but Lucien upset that pride because he’s proof LoA disobeyed him. He is proof of LoA’s infidelity, and abusers hate proof. They hate their rules being disrespected. So with Beron’s pride, it was probably very hard for him to continue faux love and manipulation he had with his other sons with Lucien. Because though he may not have known about Helion and LoA’s affair from the start, he suspected. And he probably was so angry it was impossible for him to even pretend he loves or approves of Lucien. Plus abusing Lucien is a way to hurt LoA for her betrayal too.

Such a fun topic, right? 💕 thanks for the ask haha!

[pinkeoni]

More Willel Mirroring: Textual vs. Subtextual Abuse

So not only do Will and El's mirrored storylines reveal ideas about sexuality, but they also present an interesting narrative about the different facets of child abuse.

Also, for this post I think I want to just want to focus on season one. There is absolutely subtext for abuse across the other seasons, but since the first season was written to hold on its own, it does create an interesting self contained story about child abuse.

TW for discussion of child abuse

This time around I am probably going to be focusing on Will more than El, because Will's abuse lies more in subtext whereas El lies more on the surface. And there are layers of metaphor and subtext for both instances, which I touch on in my sexuality longpost, although it is much easier to point to El's story and say "she is being abused." After all, this is what happens in the show as well.

The age and lived experiences of the characters does impact their perception, however.

An adult like Benny is able to look at El and understand that she's likely been abused, but young boys like the party who don't know any better think she's crazy. Regardless, it's obvious with El, a little girl with a shaved head who doesn't say much with no sense of privacy that something is wrong with her.

I think that Will and El's storylines are meant to represent invisible versus visible abuse, thus El's abuse is textual while Will's abuse storyline is subtextual. With El, it's hard for her to hide her abuse. As for Will, it's much more concealed. In Jonathan's words—

"He's good at hiding."

The inclusion of this line is part of what points towards Will's abuse. It postulates a couple of questions— why is Will good at hiding and what was he hiding from? Furthermore, I think this line plays into the idea of Will's abuse being hidden. You can't tell just by looking at him that he's been abused, at least from what we see of him in the show. And when you look at his story from a surface level, you may not catch on to this.

Gleaning subtext from Will's flashbacks

El and Will are the two characters that we get flashbacks for, and for both we see what their differing home lives are like. El is being treated like a weapon in the lab by Papa, and Will shares some wholesome moments with Joyce and Jonathan.

Because Will is not presently on screen for much of season one, so a lot of his characterization has to be delivered through flashbacks. Within these flashbacks, there is a lot that can be gleaned from just below the surface that points toward Will being abused.

Lonnie may not be on screen for any of these flashbacks. But if you look closely, his presence is definitely felt.

Flashback #1) Castle Byers

First off, Castle Byers itself— the fact that it exists, and the fact that it's so far away from the Byers' house.

We aren't given an exact location for Castle Byers, other than it's in the woods behind their house. But it's not in their backyard, that's for sure. We also get a comment about Castle Byers from Jonathan later in the season, stating that it's his hiding spot. Why would Will need a safe space and hiding spot outside of his home?

Furthermore, Castle Byers is password protected, with a big sign in the front that reads ALL FRIENDS WELCOME in big letters. Is it not hard for one to infer that Castle Byers is meant to keep something out? Something not a friend?

More from this flashback, we know that Will used to be scared often to the point of having nightmares for a week.

"Anymore" implying that he did used to get scared in the past tense. Had Will just said "I don't get scared like that." it would have a different meaning. The "anymore" is an important inclusion. Will used to be very scared of something when he was younger, but not anymore.

Flashback #2) Should I Stay or Should I Go

The second flashback mentions Lonnie more explicitly, when we hear Joyce arguing with him over the phone over not showing for visitation. Perhaps the mention of him here is meant to subconsciously tie him to the other flashbacks?

This flashback also provides heavy subtext surrounding Will's sexuality, using this line from Jonathan.

I think it’s very likely that Lonnie was abusing Will because of his sexuality. We already have confirmation that he was verbally bullying him for it from Joyce.

Flashback #3) Will the Wise

Will the Wise was introduced in the first scene of the show, but this moment shows that Will the Wise is more than just a DnD character to Will. He’s something he goes to in search of comfort.

In this moment where Will is drawing him, we see that Will seems a little somber. Drawing can be fun, but it’s also a tool that Will can use to express his emotions, both good and bad. More specifically, Will the Wise is fighting bad guys.

Could these bad guys just be referring to Troy and his gang? Or someone else?

The thing about all three of these flashbacks is that they sneakily hide their subtext behind more pertinent pieces of information.

We are introduced to Castle Byers which becomes an important set piece. We are also shown that Will has a safe space outside of his home and used to get nightmares.

We are introduced to Jonathan’s distaste of Lonnie and also given clues about Will’s sexuality.

Will’s drawing becomes a plot point later (used to discern El from Will) but we are also shown that Will’s has a persona which he uses to fight “bad guys.”

The Upside Down as Subtext

Here's the main point I wanna make that took too long to get to, the Upside Down is used to deliver subtext about Will's past abuse.

But isn't Will being actually being tormented by Vecna in the Upside Down? Well I think it's both. Yes Will is literally being hunted by Vecna, and at the same time it's metaphorical for Will's abuse by Lonnie. Some things have a dual-purpose.

We know that the Upside Down is a dark mirror of Hawkins. For most of his time there, at least from what we see, he stays in or around his home.

Will is, quite literally, in danger inside of his own home.

Here.

R-I-G-H-T H-E-R-E. Right here.

My most solid piece of evidence that backs this is this moment where Will tells Joyce "Mom, it's coming!" and the following Byers House scene we see is Lonnie pulling up to the house.

Additionally, we do not see any attempts from Will to contact Joyce while Lonnie is there, along with Lonnie hammering over the hole in the wall and taking down the lights he was using to communicate. Lonnie's presence literally silences him.

Does Joyce know?

Joyce's comments in the sheriff's office suggests that she is aware of Lonnie's homophobic bullying, I think that just like the Upside Down, the extent of Lonnie's abuse is something that she doesn't fully understand. But she does want to.

Understanding does require communication from Will. And unfortunately for Joyce—

—he's good at hiding.

Evidence from future seasons does lead me to believe that Will forgot some of these traumatic memories, although if I were looking at season one on it's own, I would say that Will is hiding his past abuse.

If anything, Will was likely hiding this abuse as it was happening.

[straighter-than-a-cishet]

poetry dump

Choose It Or Lose It

Choose a path, And use it. Take it all, Or lose it.

Take my hand, Or leave it. Leave my heart, Or keep it.

“Sorry”

You say that you're sorry, And I have to move on. You say that you're sorry, But you're still in the wrong.

I try to act like I’ve been fine. But, trying to believe it Is one big lie. And i'm starting to see it, All my deepest fears Were right all along.

You never cared, And I was just wrong.

Someone Who Never Died

Losing someone who isn’t dead Is trying to find common sense In why you left.

Maybe I was the dumb one For thinking you actually cared about me. And maybe I’m the dumb one, For thinking we were friends and not just family.

I still regret that question in the car, I still miss you, and hate you’re so far, Yet so close. The hurt is so dumb. I’m too young To understand Why you left, why you took a stand.

And, I hear your voice Underlaying every noise. When I’m up late and can’t sleep, I wonder how you could lose me And never reply. How could you lose me And still be so fine?

And that’s the pain of losing someone who’s still alive.

Everything

The sobs fade to laughter. “What is wrong with me?” I’m sure I’ll be fine after. “What is wrong with me?”

My eyes are rivers. “What is wrong with me?” The cold air sending shivers “What is wrong with me?” Down my spine. “What is wrong with me?”

I can’t even lie. “What is wrong with me?” I’m not fine. “Everything.”

You and I

Your name is just another word, The pain is just another hurt. I'll ignore the river streaming down my face, And I'll ignore you in every place.

I'll give up on waiting for a reply, I'll give up everything between you and I; I'll pack up and just leave Just like you did to me.

Maybe

I thought I had moved on, Then everything went wrong When I heard that song. It brought me back to the car ride.

The highs, And the lows; The pains, And the growths.

Then it made me realize: Maybe we're both better off this way.

Mr. Never Got Your Heart Broken

I’m so wrecked, Close to death. Yet, you're still so perfect, Mr. Never Got Your Heart Broken. Was I just a pawn In the long game?

I heard something about someone, Mr. Was Never Going To Stay, You like her instead. And, now i've let it get to my head.

I’m Not Sure

I’m not sure why you lied, Or why I tried To act like it was fine when i knew i was dying inside.

Or why you dodged the question; And why we refused to mention Everything that was going on, Which led to everything that we did wrong.

Why?

Tell me Why you did this. Why you left me feeling like shit. You knew it would hurt, And it did. So please, Answer me this.

The Little Girl

It’s the little girl you miss, Not me; Not this.

You can pretend you care, But I can tell when you’re lying. The trips, The falls, And you swore you’d be there For it all.

But you promised the little girl, Not me.

Two Weeks Too Late

You sit next to me, Two weeks too late. You say I look pretty, Two weeks too late.

I nod and smile, Two weeks too late. I feel like a dumb child, Two weeks too late.

And you’re showing signs, Two weeks too late. Gods, I wish I could read minds, When you’re two weeks too late.

All That We Mean

You pick up my feelings Like a nice Autumn breeze, And I can’t explain How much that means to me.

But, these signs get confusing, And it’s hard to believe That the friendly banter Is all that we mean.

I’m Trying

Trying to get good grades, But you change The curriculum every day.

I try to study, But you burned the books.

And the looks I get Make me regret Going outside.

But all you care about is how it looks, Not how it is. So you rewrite the books Of my life, And carve me with your knife.

The Job Of The Perfect Wife

I’ll never paint the fence, I’ll never wear the dress. I would never be a pretty bride, I could never be the perfect wife.

They’ve tried to morph me, Tried to convince me it’s fine To be someone’s babysitter For life.

So I’ll be forced to do it right, And you’ll send me down the aisle. You’ll cry of joy, whilst I fake a smile. I’ll run that extra mile For the rest of my goddamn life. Guess that’s just the job of the perfect wife.

Bitter

I used to sit and watch you When I was young. Now your name Leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

I swear I used to think you were okay, But now I feel like I’ve gone insane.

Your Knife

I’d trust you with my life, Until you broke that sentence down with your knife.

How do I know my worth After all the hurt You caused?

I bet you were expecting applause, But I was too broken To respond.

Floating

I float And fly Through The sky.

I look down, But I’d rather be up here. Away from it all.

Down, On the ground, I’m sad. But here, I’m free.

Alone

Alone, A flower in a field. You came along, And picked it up; When no one else did. You carried it home.

No longer alone, You place it in a vase. You take care of it, When no one else did. You love it.

But, flowers wilt And people change. It’s shine is dead, So you left; Like everyone else did.

Regret

The warm July air, The breeze through my hair. The night after confirmation From a confrontation.

I knew it was true, I just felt the need to ask you. And nothing has been the same since then I've never felt this much regret.

[[I’ve definitely uploaded some of these to Scratch before, but whatever.]]

[cuurlyhair]

The war under my eyes.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE, GAZA, RAFAH, CONGO WILL BE FREE

Dear Diary...

Realizing that the world I see isn't even half of the world I know bothers me.

Realizing that there are boys and girls my age, brilliant young minds who will have their heads bashed in by another human just because of a different religion, darker skin color, different body shape, uncommon thinking. Goddamit..

Lying on my bed, between clean blankets and in the cool air conditioning makes me understand how privileged I am, even though I'm a woman, even though I'm a lesbian, it makes me understand how truly there is much worse.

What would my life have been like if I had been born in a country where I would be hanged if I was attracted to a woman? What would my life be like if I was born in a country where having dark skin meant that society automatically considered me a thief or a murderer? What would my life have been like if I had been born in a country where because of my gender I had to cover myself from head to toe?

It pisses me off to think that not all 8 billion people in this world think war is wrong. How can one say yes to certain death like war? Why do humans not learn from their mistakes? We have not understood anything from the millions of wars that have evolved since man existed.

Even now, when I am writing this post, when you are reading it, an innocent person is dying because of his different ideologies, a child is losing all hope in man, the very child that society should save and keep safe.

I have participated in many pro-Palestinian demonstrations, even risking running into the police, but I still went to make the world understand the right thing to do - Also because this is no longer a matter of opinion since millions of human lives are at stake.

I do what I can do: I watch videos of Palestinians asking for help until the end, when I have money I donate it to those who really need it, I sign aid for the most needy on the other side of the world.

But the more I go on the more it seems like it will never be enough because of those who don't care about the lives of others.

I remember how my cousin, when she went to Brno for a month, had an Israeli friend who was ashamed of his country, and of the fact that friend of her friend told him not to make friends with other Palestinians. I was shocked by the stupidity and disgust of what he told me.

This post is as always a vent, but thinking about people like me who literally die because of something too big to stop alone burns me inside.

Good does not exist without evil, but how much more must we pay for the mistakes of others?

-your dear, cuurlyhair.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse - Ch 7

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VII.

“You did good,” he complimented.

“I did good?” she scoffed. “That was like a movie. Is your life always like this?”

He thought a little bit about that while turning onto the ramp to the highway. “More or less.”

He didn’t get shot at in broad daylight very often. Usually his opponents were smarter than that. More discreet, at the very least.

Luckily, no blue and white sirens appeared in his rear view. There were certain cops in the area who would recognize his car and not pay his hijinx much mind, unless they absolutely had to. More likely though, he’d simply outrun any sluggish response the city might have offered.

Unless Igor and Alexei could get their ride flipped back over, he had a feeling they would be having an annoying little chat with the fuzz. The thought made him feel slightly better, though his overall sense of resignation didn’t subside. The fact of the matter was, they had shot at him, and that was a thing John Wick the Baba Yaga couldn’t let slide.

He would have to do something about it. That was a fact of their world. Any sign of weakness would be pounced upon. Usually this was a thing he would have dealt with quickly and efficiently, but…he didn’t want to go hunting that evening. He wanted to make dinner for this beautiful woman beside him, and linger over a bottle of good wine. Usually self-discipline wasn’t an issue for John, but this once, just this once…

The rest of the trip was uneventful—as uneventful as driving in the Big Apple could ever be. However, John didn’t really relax until the city views gave way to the pastoral, the landscape shifting from the angular grays and browns of buildings to the welcome softer lines and greens of early spring. It was about an hour’s trip, all in all, and Helen looked around curiously as they motored up his manicured driveway, slipping into the garage.

“Wow,” she said quietly as they went through the mudroom to the kitchen, the cavernous open living area filled with natural light from the wall of windows. “So modern.”

“I guess so,” John shrugged, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter.

“It’s definitely not what I would have pegged for you,” she admitted as she stood on the cusp of the living room, looking around. There was no negativity in her words, more a statement about her own perceptions of him.

John joined her in looking around, curious if there was something he’d missed.

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something darker, maybe. More traditional. You seem to gravitate towards classics.” From his suits to his taste in books to his vintage car, he supposed she wasn’t wrong, and thus far those were the only things she knew of him.

With hands in his pockets he looked around. He realized he was about to share something he’d never told anyone; it came so naturally, with her. “I only realized this a few months after moving in…but I think I bought a luxury version of the Soviet orphanage I grew up in.”

He thought back on the cold concrete building that had been home for years of his young life in Belarus. The hard angles, the utilitarian design. Ugly, but cheap to build in a pinch when housing was needed for the numerous parentless children of the USSR.

This home took those design principles and made them into something beautiful. In this rich country, the most basic modern building materials of concrete and steel were transformed into luxurious commodities for the rich. It mirrored his own transformation in a way. The hungry but stubborn child, ragged but determined to survive—and now, a man of means, living comfortably. The American Dream, or some version of it.

She turned back to regard him, compassion in her eyes. He hadn’t imparted the information to garner sympathy; it was just the truth. She had a way of bringing it out of him. He realized he wanted her to know him. The real him, outside of the legend she’d been gossiped to about at the Continental.

But rather than coo over him, you poor thing, I’m so sorry, she simply canted her head. “So, this house is like your ‘Fuck you’ to Communism?”

It was also the exact opposite of the shabby elegance, the opulent but crumbling ormolu mouldings and dark enclaves of the Tarkovsky theatre, another place he did not miss.

He smiled a little, in spite of himself. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She nodded, looking around with approval. “Nice. So, you like it, then?”

He looked through the windows, across the expanse of his yard to the tree line. Beyond that, there was a glimmer of water in the distance. The travails of the city were a distant dream there. He’d bought this house under the name of a shell corporation; one could not easily look up where John Wick lived in the real estate records. It truly was a sanctuary. And now, for the first time, in fact, a beautiful woman was standing in his kitchen, looking through him with her wise, bright, eyes. It made this place feel like a home more than any couch or table or painting, and he wondered what it would take to convince her to stay.

“Yeah. It’s peaceful.”

“I’m happy for you, John.”

Strangely enough, he believed her. After that, he didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease her. “Thanks, for not calling me a rich asshole to my face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just for that, I’m going to make you carry my bag.” Hefting the thing, she handed it over.

“Oof. What’s in this? Bricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With an insouciant look over her shoulder, she began to wander down the hall like she owned the place. Allowing himself a borderline dopey smile with her back turned, John made to follow.

***

“I think we’ll start with the basics. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Helen placed a hand on a spandex-clad hip, one eyebrow raised high. “Do I give the impression I grew up on the yuppy side of Boston? I’ve been in a scrap or two.”

They were in his home gym, a large room he used to exercise and train, and he was fairly certain the sight of her in form-fitting yoga clothes was going to be the death of him.

The corners of John’s mouth turned up, delighted by her sass, as usual. “Yeah? Have I got a juvenile delinquent on my hands here?” He couldn’t fathom a young Helen getting up to much, in the grand scheme of things. Shoplifting. Possession. The usual mischief teenagers amused themselves with. He’d been running guns by the time he was fourteen. Killed for the first time when he was sixteen. Most teen misdeeds paled, in comparison.

As soon as the words left his mouth Helen froze.

After a few awkward seconds she remarked, “Did Winston tell you?” There was a strain in her words, and he knew he’d stuck his foot in it somehow. Sighing heavily, she looked off to the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, avoiding his eyes. “That man is a terrible gossip.”

“Tell me what?” asked John, feeling like things had jumped from point A to point F and he’d missed everything in between.

Helen, however, kept skipping ahead, talking to herself as much as him. “I wondered if that was why you mentioned blade training today. The record’s supposed to be sealed, but I guess he has his ways of finding things out.”

“I…am completely lost here,” admitted John, and only then did she look at him again. “Did you stab someone?” The suggestion seemed ludicrous, but Helen’s frown conveyed a multitude of words.

“Would you believe me if I told you he had it coming?” 

To his credit, only a beat passed before John answered, “Absolutely.”

“That's something, I guess.” 

“Give me a name.” It was becoming a theme with them.

“I would...but he's dead.” John’s eyebrows lifted at that. “I didn't kill him,” she quickly amended. “But...I would have. Still think I'm such an angel?”

He could tell that the possibility that he might think less of her hurt her.

“Yes,” he answered, unequivocally.

“Well. You do kill people for a living…” She tried to muster a smile, but it was an extremely watered-down version of her usual radiant offering. “I don’t think you enjoy it though.”

“No.” It was true. He thrived on the adrenaline of completing a difficult task—but the actual killing brought him neither joy nor much pain, these days. He’d numbed himself to it. “Did you enjoy…what you did?” He had to admit this was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with this woman.

She crossed her arms over herself, sighing again. “In a way?” A nervous little laugh escaped her. “God, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

John simply waited, patient as the mountain.

“I guess I should give you some context.”

“Only if you want to.” What he’d meant to be a playful comment had turned into an ordeal for her, and he loathed himself for it. This was what he got for trying to flirt.

She nodded, more to herself than him. “My father died when I was in my early teens. My mom...was a drunk and an addict. It got so much worse after Dad was gone. Some of the men she brought home were very aware of the fact that she was a train wreck with two young girls in the house. Luckily I was older by then, but my sister…” She grimaced, and even after so many years, the flash of rage in her eyes could have started a wildfire. “I caught my mom’s boyfriend trying to corner my little sister in the kitchen. So I stabbed him with a kitchen knife. And in the heat of the moment…it felt good. I hated him. He was creepy and horrible and it felt so good to hurt him.”

John wanted to hold her in that moment, yet he could tell she didn’t want to be touched just then. He understood that all too well, so he simply nodded. “You did what you had to do to defend her.”

“I guess.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

There was a broken note to her laughter. “I know he deserved it. But I think in a way I’ve been trying to make up for what I did to that awful man my whole life. Nothing like Catholic guilt to make a bad situation worse, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He thought for a moment about this information she’d offered up like a confession, eyes lowered. He had a feeling she meant it as a warning, but he couldn’t take it as such. He knew what true evil looked like. He saw it in the mirror every day. This woman was not it. “I do know that your sister is very lucky to have you for a protector. I never had anyone who would have done that for me.”

She took a deep breath, her long fingers holding her throat as she looked at the ceiling, picturing the conditions he’d endured as a child. The thought of him as a scrappy little dark eyed boy with hair in his eyes, fighting for the meagerest crust of bread, lodged her heart directly in her throat. Her voice came barely a whisper. “Was it as awful as I’m imagining it was?”

  “Probably. But my point is…don’t blame yourself for doing what had to be done to survive. For your sister to survive. Blame your mother, if you have to blame anyone.”

That brittle laughter came again that broke John’s heart. “Oh…I do.” She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Enough pity party. Teach me how to kick some ass.”

And just like that, she was back. He’d always known it in a way, but he found himself more convinced than ever that this woman was tough as nails beneath her warm exterior. Somehow, despite what had happened to her, she had not let the world turn her bitter or mean. That took a strength that John could barely fathom. He felt that he had survived the traumas of his youth out of pure spite. Spite for his captors, and his tormentors, and the dark world he owed fealty to through no real choice of his own. He’d killed and killed until he’d carved out an existence for himself that slightly resembled freedom.

But Helen—she resisted, and kept her heart full all the while, and he’d never admired her more than in that moment. This woman was precious, and he wanted to make sure she had the tools to fight anyone or anything that might dare try to quash that light. It was possible he’d never realized how much he’d numbed himself to the horrors of the world, until she’d entered his life. Now he felt everything to the power of ten. Desire. Fear. Rage. The thought that someone might even dare hurt her made him want to burn the world down. He knew it was crazy, but now that the box had been opened—he didn’t know how to put it all back.

He was realizing there was no going back, and if he’d had any sense left to his name, that would have scared him.

***

He knew it would take a lot more practice for this multitude of information to sink in, but hours later he was proud of Helen’s focus. She absorbed information like a sponge. She was already no stranger to the workings of the human body. As it turned out, taking it apart was almost easier than healing it. He showed her how to attack the vulnerable pressure points in a man’s body. The underarms, the throat, the eyes, the groin. How to break from certain holds on the wrist and how to turn joint locks against them. How to use an opponent’s momentum or own bodyweight against them, so it didn’t matter if they outmuscled you, if surprise was on your side.

Despite his earlier faux pas, he taught her some blade work too. As a student of anatomy, she already knew where the most vulnerable arteries were. The femoral in the leg, the carotid in the neck. The wrists weren’t bad either, and the belly would certainly usually make an aggressor pause and evaluate their life choices. With a small knife concealed in her pocket, he felt comfortable that she could do almost more serious damage than with a gun. He already knew exactly which one from his collection he would be sending with her. 

He would have been a liar, if he’d claimed it didn’t move him to be in such close proximity with her. Touching her. Even if with such a specific purpose in teaching her how to defend herself, there was a titillation he hadn’t anticipated. Training had always been about survival. Now, after they had been at it all day with only a short lunch break, exhaustion and maybe a lowering of guard was setting in.

“One more time, then we’ll call it,” he insisted.

Helen answered with a pout of lips that played hell with his resolve. “But I’m tiiiired.”

“I know. You’ve done great, and I’m proud of you. Kick my ass one more time.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked him up and down, taking in his lean form, the corded muscles of his arms deliciously bare in his black sleeveless shirt. He’d been slowly driving her mad throughout this training session. It took every iota of her concentration to focus on what he was trying to teach, with those large hands touching her. To not utterly melt, like in every delightfully bad bosom-buster romance she’d ever read. She’d known John was strong, in theory. He had to be, to do what he did. However, it was quite another matter to experience that inexorable strength first hand, even while she knew he was being exceedingly gentle.

“It will make me feel better about unleashing you back onto the world.” He couldn’t watch her back 24/7, as much as maybe he would have liked to.

“Ok. One more, then I will be officially pooped.” They assumed the position, the way they had countless times that day, John standing close at her back with his arm around her waist, his other hand resting lightly at her throat. After several seconds Helen released a shaky breath. Centering herself, John reasoned. Reviewing her options. Probably not enjoying the fleeting moment of closeness, the way he was, because he was a sick bastard.

The moments of stillness stretched on, their awareness of each other amplified by this exquisite nearness.  

“Are you going to do something about this?” He didn’t mean to whisper it. He really didn’t. But she was so close, and her scent of sweat and that sweet honeyed herbal soap drove him to the edge of sanity.

In answer Helen leaned back slightly, closing the line of their bodies that were damp with sweat from the day’s exertions. Nerves he didn’t even know he had came to attention, leaving him painfully aware of this woman in his arms. He held her weight effortlessly, his grip tightening of its own accord about her waist.

He never wanted to let her go.

She turned her head, their lips agonizingly close to touching. One hard intake of breath was all that stood between them. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. “You make it hard to want to get away,” she answered in equally hushed tones, as though they were in a church, and not the place where he daily honed his deadly trade.

“Helen…” He didn’t know what he was asking for, in saying her name like prayer. Benediction, absolution, or damnation.

She touched the tip of her nose to his lightly, experimentally. How well they fit. John Wick was not a man to give in to nerves, but he realized his hand on her throat shook ever so slightly.

He’d never wanted anyone, the way he wanted her.

Her eyes fell to his mouth, a tell as to her thoughts if ever there was one.

Then her gaze dropped lower, and those beautiful eyes went wide as saucers. “Shit, you’re bleeding!” A smear of tell-tale red glistened across his shoulder.

The magic of the moment shattered like glass on stone as she turned in his arms, all business as she wrenched back the shoulder of his shirt to see. “You’ve pulled your stitches. I was afraid this would happen. John…you are a hazard.” The exasperation in her tone was mostly endearing.

Indeed, the newest wound on his shoulder had opened a little. Blood seeped from the small tear in his flesh, running down his pectoral.

“Sorry.”

She shook her fist up at him, though her smile belayed any ill feeling. “Well, you wanted to know what was in my bag. It’s mostly the Costco-size first aid kit I’ve put together for hanging around with you.”

“Lucky me.” He tried not to betray his disappointment, still feeling as though live electricity crackled over his skin, desire tying his insides up in knots. This woman would be the end of him. It took everything he had not to grab her up and kiss her silly, his noble intentions and his pulled stitches be damned.  

“We’ll see. Alright, where’s my operating room? Bathroom? Kitchen?”

“How about…the dining room.”

“Okay, it’s your furniture.”

“I’m not bleeding that much.” He certainly wasn’t bleeding enough to want to stop what they had been about to do.

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

This was probably for the best, but why did it have to hurt so much? Worse than his wound, by far.

“Lead the way.”

<<CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 8>>

[zatna]

i know i know, i'll give my first chapter review of z:bdth!! personals leave me alone i do NOT fuck with u.

review: its good. 10/10 (no one expected anything less).

now my silly little thoughts:

it opens with with zatanna being ridiculed for messing up a ball-disappearing trick, then promptly going to her father for some advice on real magic. zatanna's backstory has never been heavily consistent, even in her early origin days, so to see an actual scene where she's younger and doing her own actions.. it's different than the regular flashbacks we've been getting with her that just exist as a sort of "here's how magic works" to the general audience.

this page above is SOO GOOD i'll be thinking about it for the rest of my life. the colors, the shapes, the poses for both young zee & her father.. i'm glad they're bringing attention to their relationship prior to magic teaching, because it creates a distance between them that we don't see a lot, but i consider all the time. zatanna's most remarkable teacher was her father, yes, but zatanna had way more years of self-teaching than being a mentee to someone else. giovanni had never wanted to teach her anything beyond a few simple spells, and for a man who spent his life fighting supernatural horrors and threats i don't blame the fact he didn't want his daughter going into the world-- even though it's apparent they're both consumed by it already. the magical tomes, books, the obscure objects (floating or not), typical assistant bunnies. smthn smthn a visual clash of the two types of magicians we see in the room. giovanni's face is shadowed in, he's mysterious and direct, if not somewhat dismissive: "you said you'd teach me magic..." "did i?"

this could be read as not dismissive as well, since in the next scene she does use magic. so maybe he indulged her. but the spell was definitely not what she asked for and looks way more like a strong desire that developed into a spellcast out of emotion alone. maybe she grabbed one of his books when he wasn't looking, or we can go a different route and assume giovanni did teach her that spell, a backwards lesson of the difference between parlor tricks and real magic. he's always written as very coddling of zatanna, so to see him even demand her to "speak up." when she's got her head down was a bit of a surprise in itself, i don't know what he might've done..

i will never get tired of overpowered children having to deal with the fact they're overpowered children. this is the second time, that i can remember at least, where a younger zatanna had used her powers in a scenario where she thought they were justified, only to deal with the cruel consequences after the damage is done. how zee wielded magic in her youth, intentional or not, drastically impedes how she views it in her adult life. she's scared of it, this immeasurable power that responds to her slightest command. its a type of power that grown men yearn for, but giving it to a critical, impulsive child that's still learning the world around them, the people around them, and it'll just end up as a disaster and they'll grow to fear it.

nothing is important here besides the first signs of something is wrong, with her bunnies being cowered as far from her as they can while one bites in retaliation. ok there's like, smthn big going on but just look at the fact zatanna wears boxers... shes so hot. also transfem. thanks.

also omg little notes is the magic poster of herself being a wall for the rest of the kitchen. identical top hats on shelves. the drawn out man on the wall with knives sticking out of it jksgjkds. you can't see it exactly in this crop but there's just a bucket of chains and cuffs... she's such a weirdo... get another hobby im begging u. also mattress-on-the-floor zatanna is real and she is out to get you.

just a casual shadow of a creature following your shadow, no big deal. idk if the book will go this route, i think it's just another *team-up with someone who won't ever appear again in any continuity, but i like to think this is a canonical example of the consequences of zatanna under-using her magic. enter me forcing my headcanons and portrayal onto panels that definitely represent something else. anyway i'd like to think her magical presence becomes so dense when there's no "output" on her magic, and it's the equivalent of dangling a steak in front of a carnivore... or a carnivore's shadow. it's a mirror to when magic wielders overdo their own magical output, leaving them drained and instead an itty bitty fish in front of a carnivore. foods still food. i'm done with these metaphors i hope everyone caught the gist already..

pretending to hypnotize someone is so silly of her. but even more importantly there's a justice league mention oh wow!! and she turned them down :( zatanna's passion of the stage was very much outweighing the possibility of being a hero. this, as far as i'm concerned, has always been a fact. zatanna desired stardom and was perfectly content to sticking on stage, it was her fathers disappearance that had her jumping through mystical hurdles.

at this point on i'm not gonna post anymore panels because im lazy and this is getting so ridiculously long and also you should read it yourself. but i'm happy they're incorporating the fact zatanna doesn't use real magic on stage. outside of the premise of this series, where she has a present fear of it, zatanna in the past was of the stern belief that she shouldn't need to, and so she didn't. these lines kinda got blurred, and then discarded completely, and then now her main act is using illusionary magic and leaving it up to the audience to decide if it was real or not. i like both interpretations, personally, but it's nice to see the former again.

a bit of a disappointment that this is yet another zatara-led storyline.. or maybe this is just where it starts? you'd think they've run out of "cleaning up my fathers messes" plotlines but you'd be wrong!

*team-up wise smells like yuri... even better it smells like doomed yuri so i'm here for it for as long as it'll stick around.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Proposal (9) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight

all the little temporaries (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: Not for the first or last time, Phil has to say goodbye to everything (apart from Dan).

can i go where you go? (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: dan and phil find time to settle down.

a proposal, a marriage, a honeymoon, and an adoption.

the life they'd always secretly wanted.

for the rest of our lives (ao3) - lyricallyharley, writtennotsung

Summary: “Dan's kept a lot of secrets in his life.

The ring is the biggest one though.”

Every time Dan attempts to ask Phil one simple question, something goes wrong. Perhaps even some of the most important events in his life don’t have to be perfect.

Or alternatively, the five times Dan tries to propose to Phil and the one time he gets it right, although not in the way he expected.

Happy Birthday My Love (ao3) - phansuniteinluv

Summary: It's Phil's 33rd birthday!!! Laughter, fun, and a birthday proposal that Dan has been planning for ages!

I'd marry you (with paper rings) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Maybe learning calligraphy was of greater importance to Phil, and them, than Dan first thought

in which they get married in bed (ao3) - Wraithpinned

Summary: “We could just get married right here you know?” Dan said, plainly.

La Dolce Vita (ao3) - CrushingMagnolias

Summary: Phil plans a surprise engagement during their vegas trip at the Bellagio hotel.

Dan is head over heels, smitten, Phil Trash #1

Little Black Box (ao3) - hygge

Summary: While packing up their apartment before they move into their new home, Dan finds something hiding in Phil's suitcase that makes him question what he wants out of their relationship.

lost in forever (ao3) - manchestereyes

Summary: Phil makes a very special video for his and Dan's future child.

Or, Safiya and Tyler's proposal video, but make it dnp.

marriage is just a piece of paper (ao3) - howell_slide

Summary: In the middle of the night in Manchester sometime in 2011, two young men get engaged.

Never Stop (You Still Get My Heart Racing) (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Dan and Phil celebrate Dan's 29th birthday at home.

A cute, fluffy engagement fic that somehow took me two days and turned out to be 10k words.

phuture phusbands (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: Dan’s opinions on weddings are pretty clear — marriage is piece of paper with some benefits, and organising a big fucking wedding is exhausting, and really, Phil, do we need it? Do we? The answer, of course, is no, and yet Phil is still thinking about it. As Dab and Evan’s Sims 4 wedding approaches, that thought process goes into overdrive.

Or: Phil proposes to Dan just after the Devan wedding is filmed.

run away with me (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: they're grown men, and if they want to run full pelt across the isle in the early hours of the morning, who's going to stop them?

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) (ao3) - dip_the_pip

Summary: Meeting extended family for the first time, especially after a decade of being together already, is difficult. Cornelia helps Dan navigate the difficult party, which leads to Dan making a big decision when he finally gets to be alone with Phil.

Six centimetres a second (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Cherry blossoms and proposals

take one (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Phil’s knee hasn’t fully made contact with the ground before Dan… screams.

The Dance That We Do (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Prince Daniel of Howellot and Prince Philip of Lesterall share an evening together at the summer ball. Unbeknownst to them, this night will change the trajectory of their lives forever.

We’d Never Need Company (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: Dan decides it’s time to be a bit selfish - Phil is one step ahead.

When You're Ready... (ao3) - Mangomelions (orphan_account)

Summary: Phil decides to buy a ring, so when Dan eventually proposes, they can have a cute double proposal. But what if Dan has had the same idea. Will they be waiting forever?

[smolvenger]

I Say Nothing That Frightens Me, Part One

Pairing: Loki x fem! Reader

Summary: As a young Asgardian, you have grown to be friends and secretly pine for the younger Prince Loki. After his fury has sent him off to put himself in danger, his mother sends you on a quest to find him and bring him home. Your quest makes you cross paths with a mysterious group that calls themselves the TVA. There, your mischievous prince can be found. But it comes with a heartbreaking revelation. He loves another.

Warnings: angst a the end, mentions of Sylvie as a romantic love interest. This will be angsty (but have an eventual happy ending, so stay tuned!). Unrequited love and pining! Loki definitely isn't gonna return Reader's feelings!! hahahaha...unless...oop. ;)

Word Count: >3K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Ah- the first fic I ever wrote for the big man himself- Loki! I realized I accidentally inspired this from Bizet's opera Carmen, minus the Punish The Woman ending and the cheating and sexism and antisemitism that can be prominent in the opera's plot, hence the title. I wrote it all the way in 2022 and realized I forgot to post it on Tumblr. For a while, it's been this one part because writer's block hit me early last year. I hope y'all like it and give it enough comments and kudos and responses so I can motivate myself to finish it. Send me good vibes to begin on part two! Enjoy!

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @villainousshakespeare @lovelysizzlingbluebird

I say that nothing frightens me, I say alas that I answer for myself, But no matter how brave I am, At the back of the yard, I’m dying of terror Alone, in this wild place Alone, I’m afraid, But I’m wrong to be afraid, You will give me courage, You will protect me, Lord. (English Translation) - Henri Meilhac, from Bizet's opera, Carmen.

It had been a week and there was no sign of him. No word. Nothing. His father couldn’t care less. He kept on ruling Asguard as if everything was normal. As if the only disturbance was a teapot being knocked over in the kitchen. Something simple and easily fixed and none of his business.

That was not the case for his brother or his mother.

Or most especially for you.

Thor had already gone. And there was no exact contact but whispers. People were dying. There was some grand scheme. Something about even the Tesseract and the Infinity Stones. About Midgard and then the Universe being taken over and at the center of it was your close friend and companion, the missing prince.

You sat alone that morning in the garden, watching the fountain burble. Feeling the bit of breeze and the chirp of birds. It all seemed so beautiful and peaceful. You didn’t know if it was to comfort you or if it was mocking you for your inner turbulence. If only you weren’t so worried so you could enjoy it. You were so lost in thought that a sweet, low voice pulled you out of your head.

“How long have you been here?”

Jumping, you turned and stood up, dipping into a curtsy.

“A while, your highness!” you answered.

Looking up, Queen Frigga smiled. And you smiled back.

“It’s your usual spot, I know. Every other child was training with weapons and swords, but you would run here, crying…”

“If you recall, I kept losing. And I was terrified of getting stabbed.”

“And after you had your cry you came back, and kept on…” she finished, she took a hand to smooth the top of your head lovingly.

Your muscles ached on cue from the memory. Yes, you lost often training on how to fight. Seeing the other warriors glide their swords with ease and grow up to be the pride of the kingdom. You preferred regular studies with reading and culture, history and knowledge, and science. Practice battles often had you thrown to the ground in defeat. But at least when it came to a fight, you returned.

“I had to finish it, that was school after all. It’s how I grew up…” you recalled.

She took a hand to dip into the cool water, tracing a pattern followed by the fish inside.

“You’re worried about…” she started.

“Loki, yes. Is he behind this invasion?” you questioned.

“I don’t doubt it. Loki’s been too angry, too jealous, and without a good outlet. All of his life he kept it inside of himself and now that it’s released, it’s piled up from the years of silence. He’s letting it all out at once…” she said.

“He’s…he’s going to get hurt…” you observed worriedly. Mentioning him in this place made it sadder.

You recalled the day years ago. You ran into the garden at this fountain and accidentally happened upon the dark-haired prince reading. You profusely apologized, saying that you were sneaking out of training. And Loki said that he could help you. Then you asked what he was reading. And such began this friendship between the two of you. He gave you tricks about how to fight and confessed that he enjoyed theatre. You told him what your favorite foods at the feast were.

The memories of you too exchanging books and chatting about them between your classes did not stop in your adulthood. They made you happy, and lately even happier. Thoughts of him switched to private, intimate fantasies as you were alone in your room at night.

Now that he was gone, all that was left was a bittersweet tinge in the air.

“He doesn’t hurt himself when you’re around him…” Frigga commented.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re his friend…so save him. Take him off the ledge, find him…”

“But..but I thought Thor would find him!” you argued, standing up. Remembering your manners, you returned to sitting. This could be seen as an insult to the queen, but her arm dismissed the gesture.

She was different from her husband.

“He won’t listen to Thor. Loki’s always been jealous of him, there will be too much of a fight, too much scuffling. And me, I’m his mother but you…you’re his friend. I’ve seen it. He’s too jealous of Thor. He’s mad at his father, mad at me but……you’re different. You might be able to help him. Talk him out of it…” she instructed.

She put a hand on your shoulder, leaning forward, her eyes big and a little watery.

“Y/N, I charge you, as a queen…as a mother…find Loki, find my son…and bring him back…”

You touched the hand and looked up at her.

“If my queen commands, I will” you replied dutifully.

Although a secret part of you was relieved, thrilled. Not just for an adventure. But to find him.

The queen prepared you for your quest well. There was a special sword and a dagger just in case. You couldn’t use magic yourself, but you knew that you had some strength, and being Asgardian, whatever diseases you encountered would not bother you. As you gathered, with some slight armor over your clothes and bags with an extra set of clothes and rations that would satiate you until you found something more, she did something surprising.

On the hour of your departure, the queen gifted you with a beautiful sword- the hilt was bejeweled but all sides of it were still sharp to cut a foe to ribbons. You placed it in a sheath in a belt tied tight around your waist. She gathered your face in her hands and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you…”

“To tell you frankly, I wanted to…wanted to go…go see him…” you confessed.

She blinked and then smiled. No doubt she could tell you felt warmer mentioning that.

“Really?”

“I miss Loki…I miss him more than anything…” you confessed.

She smiled. “I miss him too.”

From under her long sleeve, she gave you a necklace. Nothing but a small string with a glowing blue crystal on it.

“This will take you anywhere on Midgard. But ask for Thor. If you find Thor, you might find him. Ask if there’s any trouble…that is his specialty," Frigga said.

“I promise…I will be back here with him alive and unharmed!" you vowed.

Clutching the necklace, you touched each other’s hands as a last goodbye.

The necklace glowed.

“Take me to Midgard, please," you guided it.

There was a flash of light. You felt a little heavy for a second. It was as if you were falling, but very still. When the light vanished, you saw that you had landed on a field. The wind blew through the grass as it bowed in return. A big red farmhouse stood quietly. An old man in his rocking chair stood up and squinted at you in surprise, hands on his hips.

Midgard was a large place. It was time to start looking.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“He took the Tesseract and vanished” Thor explained.

“He did WHAT?” you shouted.

You could hardly believe the words coming through your ears. All those weeks. Searcing everything. The country took forever to get through. Eating grits, checking the news, and finding ways to get to New York City, the most likely place he would attack…and he had vanished.

“But I…I…where could he have gone?” you asked.

Thor shrugged “If I knew, I would have told you, Y/N…”

You wanted to kick something, to punch a wall. But you just leaned over the desk, your hands flat on it, and sighed deeply.

For a day, you let yourself sulk in the guest room. All of that traveling had wiped you out. You were so done. There were blisters on your feet and you could feel the grime from your smell. You spent your day bathing, wondering what on earth you could do now.

New York City was large, still reeling from its recent attack. But all in all, people seemed fine. Not too many casualties. Not zero, but not eighty. Wandering around the city, you wore a large hoodie and pants to cover your Asgardian traveling clothes. There were so many people, sights, and smells, it was dizzying.

Stomach gurgling, you wandered around. Midguardian food did not completely satiate you the way food back home did, but it was better than nothing. And it was a while since you ate, anyway.

Stopping inside, the doorbell rang. You ordered your food, chewing absent-mindedly on the crackers served right before. The wrappers crackled as you tossed them over your shoulder.

It sounded like a song back home. A song they did for dances. Once you go to a party together. Loki disliked social gatherings and preferred to hide away. You managed to talk him into coming down. Talking to one person. Trying the wine. Dancing. Saving one dance for you. He found he liked it. And he was enjoying himself, getting into little fights, laughing, flirting…

The flirting. There was a pretty red-haired boy, a woman with blonde hair, and even another person he kept flirting with that night. It must have been another heir to the throne trying to set a match that night. Even though in hindsight those matches never resulted in a betrothal, the images in your head made you want to vomit. Seeing him made you…it made your stomach turn. You tried to go to sleep that night, but your brain kept racing. Reviewing everything. It meant nothing, right? That words-he was being friendly!? Those phrases weren’t in any way romantic…right? Besides, he was just your friend! Nothing more…

. Ordering their food and drink for the first time for something new. Anything to get your brain off of your search for the misbehaving prince and your past. But it haunted you for a week. You barely spoke with him and buried yourself in school and training. But every morning, you woke up early with those thoughts, that memory still burned in your brain.

“Hey, watch it, dumbass!” someone yelled. It brought you out with a jump.

Getting out, you didn’t notice a person. Slamming into them, they fell right on the floor in their nice suit, their tray of food flipping in the air.

“My lunch! How could you?” he screamed.

“I’m so sorry!" you apologized. "I can pay you!"

"Forget it! Leave me alone!" he fumed.

You turn around to focus back on your food. But your ears could still hear his nasal, tenor voice.

“Look at that mess!” he complained from behind you. “She might as well be another damn Loki…”

Your sandwich froze in midair and you set it down in shock. Your stomach twisted in knots. The words were still forming in your brain. What…no…surely, they can’t mean…

But as you kept your ears peeled back, it occurred to you…they were. They meant it. They were talking…talking about him-him! You finished your food quickly, quietly. Then you got up and followed them through.

They went to an alleyway. Nothing but trash cans and tall brick walls. Children in the distance laughed as they played and cars honked their horns in frustration in the streets a few feet away. Unaware

All you had to do was create a distraction. Digging into your pockets, you pulled out a tiny ball. A favorite of the younger prince when you were children. Briefly, you smiled at the toy. In your adolescence, both of you would try throwing them in hallways to see which maidservant it would spook. It was harmless and would make them jump and squeal and you both would guffaw with laughter.

Looking over, you timed it carefully. The agents in their suits pressed buttons on a device and a portal opened in the brick wall. It was the size of a New York bagel when you tossed the ball- it hit the wall and exploded in a flurry of pink fireworks. The agents turned their heads, jumping when you ran fastly as you could, and jumped into the portal.

You would see him. Him! Him! And soon! At last- you could have cried as blues and yellows flashed through your eyes. You were falling through universes. And perhaps, your heart would be at peace, and you would tell this wayward prince the truth. How you felt. How your body ached for the brush of his fingers against your hand. How you worried for his safety. Despite his many flaws, if he was a poisonous well, you would still drink it. You would find Loki, bring him home, and tell him that you loved him more than life itself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

When the bright colors faded, all that was were tans. Earth tones. Browns, greys, tans, and whites but all dirtied and plain. This was far from the magnificent palace and beautiful landscape you secretly hoped for. It looked like an average Midguardian office. Except the surreal posters. But at least it seemed to be benign. There were no weaponed guards. As you walked forward, you saw that desks were pushed aside, mugs with coffee stains long since used and stinking from not being washed, and in the distance, there was old music playing and a ticking grandfather clock.

You stepped forward shyly. Just because it looked harmless didn’t mean there was a trap lurking somewhere.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Asgard fashion!” a voice from behind you cried.

Twirling around, you got out your sword. So far, you were lucky to not use it. But that time was now over. You pointed it right into the face of a man in a suit with grey hair and a mustache. He held up his hands in peace and you released them.

His mouth opened into a smile as he glanced over you, eyes trailing down from your hairstyle to your boots.

“Wait, is that…that can’t be! I think I recognize you! Are you Y/F/N??” he asked.

He walked up to you slowly as if you were a predator released from a zoo.

“I am she. Sir, do you know of Loki Laufreyson, Prince of Asguard and God of Mischief? I’m looking for him…” you asked desperately.

The man nodded.

“Like the back of my hand. He’s trying to disband the TVA right now…”

You put your sword back in your hilt.

“I don’t care about the TVA, I care about him…I need to…I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to take him back home, back somewhere safe! I’ve been on this journey forever all for him! I need him! I mean…I need him to go back to his mother!” you explained.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. You caught your breath waiting for his answer. But he said something else.

“Oh, Y/N, you poor thing….” he sighed.

“Oh gods, is he dead?” you asked.

“Probably not…or not yet…but…”

“But what…”

“I didn’t know he had…the clips showed you both together, but there was no wedding…”

“Clips? What do you mean? I don’t know what you speak of…but that doesn’t matter- where is Loki? Don’t play games! I beg of you- take me to where he is!” you cried, ready to grab the man by his collar.

His eyes went soft. You felt suddenly vulnerable.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

Bullets striking your chest would have shocked you less. An electric rush ran through you. You found yourself looking away and feeling suddenly warmer than what was comfortable.

“Love…define love…” you said.

“I can tell, you have…feelings. Not platonic, romantic ones. You have the hots, a crush for this god. That is how we are defining love right now! Do you love him?”

There was silence. The song stopped playing on the speaker and skipped to a trio of women singing about birds.

You felt as if this was a monster to fight. But not a literal one. And you were taught to be brave no matter what.

“I…I do! Now tell me where he is…” you answered plainly.

“I…I know where he is. Call it the end of the Universe and I know a way to get there but…Y/N…I need to prepare you…” he said with a deep sigh.

He walked up and put a heavy hand on your shoulder. His lips curled as if getting ready to spit out a poison he did not want to inflict on you.

“What is your name, sir?” you asked.

“Call me Mobius,” he answered.

You shook your head.

“What could possibly upset me, Mobius? He’s alive and not injured, I have reason to rejoice why would you say that? Loki is alive and once I find him, I will tell him how I feel and-”

“Y/N, he’s there with a woman he’s fallen in love with…”

It hits you like a rock. No. No no no no-no. You began shaking. The world went dizzy except for him. You began to sit down to ground yourself.

“Wha…he’s in love with someone else?”

Mobius nodded.

In spite of your warrior education, you sat down on a chair and burst into exhausted, heartbroken sobs as Mobius watched. Hand still on your shoulder empathetically.

“That’s not even the strangest part about it…” Mobius added on.

[daddycassie]

Someone To Watch Me Die

Pairing: Platonic!!! Child! Coriolanus Snow x Child! Clemensia Dovecote — 694 Words

Warning(s): Angst!!! Vivid depictions of starvation, children suffering, child neglect, discussion of death and cannibalism, bonding through trauma, Coriolanus missing his mom :( ———————————————

Amongst ash and smoke sat a pathetic playground. It smelled like gasoline and iron, Coriolanus always thought, but it was the only one they had. The school playground, in which the other children played, and he watched through the smoggy air. The sky was always grey back then, his little stomach always empty and aching something awful.

He’d been surprised at first, that the others had the energy to play. They must’ve been better off than him, they all had rich families, didn’t they? Coriolanus was a fallen Snow in a world where only ash and soot coated the ground. Cote. Coriolanus turned his head to the side, and found himself tired from it.

A girl with black hair, deep brown eyes, and hallowed cheeks sat in the same patch of dull grass. “Clems.” He spoke and she turned to him. Coriolanus held up the stuffed cat that sat between them. “Mr. Fluffels is hungry.” Clemensia cracks a small smile.

“Maybe Mr. Fluffels should catch a rat then.” Coriolanus nods a bit. “There are a lot of those. Can he make them all go away?” Clemensia hugs her knees to her chest, her legs looked as if they’d snap right off if she moved them wrong. “Of course he can, he drinks all his milk so he’s big and strong.” Coriolanus looks at the cat stuffy.

When Clemensia had given it to Coriolanus she’d said it looked like him. Little, with blue eyes and white fur. He’d been crying because his stomach hurt so much, felt so utterly empty. She’d looked at him with pity and understanding, with something different then the others kids.

From that day Coriolanus stuck to her like a leech, they shared anything they could with each other, sitting in this patch of grass. Watching. Observing the other children. Observing each other.

They were young but old enough to recognize the sign of a reaper’s hands on each other’s shoulders. Protruding bones, deathly pale skin, bloodshot, puffy eyes. “Clemmie.” Coriolanus demands Clemensia’s attention again. She doesn’t deny him it.

“Yes Coryo?” She watches him. “Do you think you’d ever eat a person?” The question stuns Clemensia, her eyes widening and an unspoken question in her eyes. Where is this coming from? She releases a weary sigh. “I-I don’t think I’ll ever be that hungry.” Clemensia speaks softly.

The answer comforted Coriolanus, at least that was one person whose menu he’d never be on. Sometimes he’d lay awake at night thinking of such things. He never feared the monster under his bed, but the monster of the other people in the world. Maybe Clemensia did too.

———————————————

Coriolanus and Clemensia frequently talked about their parents. 

“I miss my mama.” Coriolanus would admit to her tearily. They were sitting out on Clemensia’s front door on one of the steps, looking out on the steps. They’d both jump and clutch each other’s hands whenever the ground shook. “Was she nice?” She asked him. 

He nodded. “She smelled like roses.” He wiped his eyes with his little fists and she frowned at him. “That sounds lovely.” She squeezed his hand and he nodded. “I want her back.” Clemensia bit back her own tears.

“Me too.” She whispered to him, like saying it any louder would shatter him. It probably would. “But you have one.” Clemensia nodded. “I know… but she’s sleepy all the time. And she doesn’t smell like pretty flowers.” Coriolanus sniffles. 

“She has food too… but I can’t reach it in the cabinets. She doesn’t give it to me on purpose.”  Coriolanus shook his head. “No… a mama wouldn’t do that. Mama’s are meant to love their babies.” Clemensia looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know… I think she doesn’t like me anymore.” He didn’t really know what to say to that.

Not when both of them knew her mother was out cold on the couch just a few feet away. Coriolanus squeezed Mr. Fluffels to his chest. He leaned on Clemensia, hoping maybe a little warmth would comfort them both. She leaned her head on his and shut her eyes. He realized that they both cried very often that night.

———————————————

Note: Genuinely cried a lot while writing this even though it’s technically a little blurb — children suffering really gets to me so I kinda put that on myself

I wanted to depict Coryo and Clemmie’s early friendship so I’d definitely say this includes a lot of my headcanons for them, I may make a part two if me and my coryo @officialelioperlman come up with more ideas :)

@losingmymindrn @sparklebear11 @torturedcoveydepartment @noooooooop-e you guys read most of my stuff but this one’s a little different so I get if you don’t read it but I’m @ ing you anyway 😚

hope you enjoyed, happy reading

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Gremlinverse

(Brief warning for mention of Past Samos being ignorant bordering on ableist -- early 2000s writing really did not do him any favors -- and getting walloped for it)

The drive across the desert had not been a silent one. Between Tess pointing out every animal they saw to Mar, and Daxter trying to convince Sig that he knew how to drive and should totally get a turn at the wheel, Damas was amazed he could hear himself think. One of the little ones stood up in his periphery, sending a little spike of panic through him. Before the child could either topple over the side or get his sticky fingers on the gear shift, Damas scooped him up on instinct and set him on his knee.

Belatedly, he realized it was not the Mar he'd assumed it was.

"Ah-" Damas cringed. "Sorry, wrong kid."

He let go and Jak quickly slid down into the space beside him.

"We'll pretend that didn't happen," Jak answered.

"Agreed."

Jak cleared his throat of embarrassment. "Tess has Mar pretty well trapped back there, anyway. He's not getting out of his seat."

Damas raised a brow. "You got out of yours."

"So?"

"So Mar is you, and you are Mar." Damas glanced back at his toddler with suspicion. "Now that he's seen you do it, it's only a matter of time before he figures it out."

Jak looked like he was going to deny this, but then he made a conciliatory face.

"Okay, yeah, he kind of is an escape artist. You'd think he wouldn't be able to get that far on stubby little legs, and yet."

"And yet," Damas agreed. He paused, and leaned back to study Jak’s face.

"Do you have a scar under your left eyebrow?"

"That," said Jak, "is weirdly specific. Why?"

"Mar's first Escape was launching himself out of his cradle at ten months old," Damas said with a grimace. "Predictably, he landed square on his head and screamed bloody murder."

He puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.

"Scared me half to death."

Jak touched two fingers to the place on his forehead where the eyebrow grew unevenly.

"Do you think the Before Damas was scared, too?"

Damas looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well," he said slowly, "if I am him, and he was me, then I'd say he must have been."

Jak peered out at the dunes around him and casually remarked, "One time back in Sandover Samos asked if I didn't talk because I got a head injury, and the fisherman boxed his ears real hard."

"As well he should have!" Damas growled. "Idiot sage. Didn't he know how to recognize a different dialect of signing?!"

Jak shrugged. "For once, he wasn't trying to be mean, that's the funny part. He was trying to figure out where the scar came from and he let that slip."

The boy gave a grim smile wholly out of place on such a young face.

"Boy, he never did that again. He found something new to belittle me about every week, but when it came to me not using my voice, he learned to keep his big mouth shut."

"I think," said Damas, "I think I would have liked to meet that fisherman."

"His name was Ollie." The grim look softened into a more nostalgic one. "He was one of the only ones who was always nice to Daxter. He'd offered Dax a place under his roof a couple times, but Ollie also had breath that could kill plants at short range. Probably because of the fish he ate raw. He didn't believe in cookstoves."

Damas thought of Kleiver, who had similar thoughts on oral hygiene. He made a face.

"That doesn't sound like an environment your friend would enjoy. He's quite serious about health and cleanliness, isn't he?"

"Well one of us has to be!" Daxter interrupted.

Jak turned around and stuck his tongue out at him.

"Oh, what are you, five?"

"Why don't you come down here and say that to my face, huh, Bigfoot?"

Sig rolled his eye. "Do I need to separate you two?"

Both boys paused and looked confused.

"Why?" asked Daxter, "This is normal!"

"Yeah," Jak added, "I get two years of payback for him always callin' me Bigfoot, and he gets to make short jokes. Fair is fair."

Sig cringed, and Damas fixed him with a look.

"Your impudent past has come calling," he said dryly.

"Oh, so when they're being goblins it's my impudent past, right." Sig shook his head and swerved around a tight cluster of desert sheoak trees.

"I could say something about that, y'know."

"You could, but you won't."

"Won't I?" Now Sig had a smug little grin on, one that matched Daxter too well to mean anything but mischief.

Surprisingly, Damas matched the challenging tone with a wry smile of his own.

"No indeed, you will not. Because that would entail admitting to certain exploits we both agreed never to mention again."

The buggy slowed, and Sig leaned an elbow on the console. "What, this isn't you mentioning it right now?"

The wry grin widened into a crocadog smile. "Keep pushing, you'll find out."

Tess giggled and shifted little Mar on her lap. "Uh-oh, it's double trouble!" she joked.

Mar wrinkled his nose and looked baffled. "What's funny?" he asked, "Are they fightin'?"

Tess wasn't fluent yet in reproducing the signing dialect the boys used, but practicing with Daxter got her far enough to understand most of the things Mar said.

"Just pretend fighting, the same way Jak and Daxxie do," she reassured him, "See? They're smiling! They're doing that silly grown-up thing where we have to see who can look the most serious while playing."

Mar relaxed. "Jak-jak is good at that game!" he observed innocently.

Then he perked up and pointed to a glow on the horizon.

"Look look!"

Damas looked back, and his whole face softened when he saw the excited gleam in Mar's eyes.

"You see the Lighthouse?" he asked.

"Almost home!" Mar answered, hands animated enough to be a shout.

"Almost home!" Damas echoed aloud. "Are you ready to see Mommy?"

"Mmm-a!" Mar croaked, flinging his arms into the air.

Jak turned around to lean over the back of the seat, pillowing his cheek on his arms.

"What's she like, anyway?"

Mar blinked, stumped. What kind of question was that? Mommy was, well, Mommy! Didn't Jak-jak remember?

"She goes swimming, and paints stuff," he said confidently, "And she likes sandwiches."

Damas turned his head quickly to disguise a snort of laughter as a cough. Of all the things to remember-!

Phobos didn't actually like sandwiches all that much. But as a two year old, it was the only food Mar could be trusted to handle on his own. He had made "sandwiches" for his mother to take onto her boat with her often enough for it to stick in his memory, clearly. And Phobos, of course, didn't want to discourage his burgeoning kitchen endeavors, or his wholehearted gestures of affection. There had been more than one week where all Phobos had for breakfast was two pieces of flatbread with tomango paste and three pieces of cereal stuck to it.

The face that Tess made above Mar's head, a grimace aimed at Daxter, indicated that the young rebels had also sampled Mar's version of sandwiches at some point. Evidently his choice of ingredients had not improved in the two years he had been gone. Nevertheless, Damas had promised himself many times that he'd choke down any nasty sandwich his son offered if he only could see him again.

"Sandwiches?" Jak asked Mar, looking dubious. "Uh...okay, if you say so."

He slid back around to face the windshield.

"Probably shouldn't have asked the toddler," he muttered.

Sig grinned and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, cherry. She's...she's a lot like you, actually. No nonsense, loves exploring, used to climb everything, especially if you told her not to-"

"Hey!"

"Well you do, kid." Sig accelerated to cut across a sandbar in the middle of a lush, green, riverbank. Water splashed up, almost as high as the doors as he guided the vehicle through a shallow place in the Cacomiztli River.

"And so did she, when we were kids. Heh. She used to get my cousins into so much trouble."

"Yeah," Daxter said, finally dropping back into his own seat, "That sounds like Jak."

A pair of eyes appeared over the edge of the roll cage, narrowed at Daxter.

"Dax-" he warned.

Daxter, predictably, did not heed the warning whatsoever.

"Hey, Sig, ask Jak what he did on his ninth birthday."

Jak hissed for all the world like a caracal.

"Daxter, I swear by my tiny little hands, I will end you!"

"You can't reach," Daxter teased.

"Wanna bet?" Jak jumped up, about to launch himself at his friend's head.

"Hey!" Sig leaned out of the way of a small, sharp, elbow. "Park your carcass! I'm driving here!"

Damas hooked an arm around Jak’s middle and pulled him back down onto the center console he'd made his seat. That arm stayed across Jak's torso like a makeshift seatbelt, to the boy's exasperation.

"Next person to get out of their seat is washing the garages when we get home. You can go back to killing each other after we shut off the engine!"

He paused, then scoffed. "Ah. I've become that parent."

Having started out with only Mar, Damas had never anticipated becoming like the Wastelanders who had to spend half their oasis trips dealing with offspring practicing for their Arena trials on each other in the back of the buggy.

Tess cackled. "Oh Daxxie, your face! Don't worry, babe. I'd help you if you had to wash a garage. A little."

"I wouldn't," Mar added bluntly.