#and forced to learn how to fly on its own

[zemkzone]

^ THIIIIS! (Damnit, @simpledontmeanpeachy this really cracked open a door in my skull for Big Thoughts. I almost wanna copy-paste my SitI end notes and the stuff I nattered at @softboydepot , lololol olol)

It would have added SUCH an extra layer of tension. In theory, it'd likely be a case of mutation to adapt vs what their original human bodies were capable of BEFORE the dark matter hit. I like to think Barry is SUCH an extreme case since we're not JUST dealing with the dark matter from the particle accelerator but that it opened him up the Speed Force, which is a giant load on its own. But I don't think it's all just "we get hungrier". Human bodies adapt in so many damned ways, be it to external environmental pressures (hello, evolution, with different skin tones and nose shapes depending on the region and temperature/climate, etc!) to available resources over time. Specifically, metahumans have such very different powers!

So, because my brain's been on my fix-it-ish kinda AU this whole time, I may be misrembering facts/reasons from the show, but the way I see it, there's some kind of spectrum. Barry's in the.... I forgot how many tacos Cisco originally said the equivalent of his metabolism was... because of the level of physically taxing activity running takes--and they later learn the Speed Force thing. Hartley, if we scanned him, likely has a mutated pair of ears and voice box, which would account for him originally having those... implants, if I recall right. So between the mutation and the general low-key needs of that ability, Hart's biggest issue isn't his metabolism, but a conscious effort not to put himself in loud places or to learn some kinda muffling technique (or, well, make special earphones for renovation/construction areas). The sonic screaming may not be all THAT taxing to him unless he decided to make himself FLY for giant distances, and then, he does have those gloves that lessen the physical taxing load. I headcannon he drinks tea now, rather than coffee, to keep his sensitive nervous system calm. Shawna's teleporting, Cisco's vibing/breacher abilities, and Cecile's empathy (I know she gets added powers later, but I'm sticking with what I actually know) feel like they're sort of on a scale. Cecile's pretty passive, so if we only take her empathy into account, the woman's biggest issue is headache control if she's around too many high-strung people. Oh, the painkillers!!! So, yeah, an elevated stress management thing. A scan prolly will show something mutated in the workings of her brain. Which would be similar to Bivolo's, really, but his is more elevated because he then manipulates emotional regulation in other people itself.n Shawna's molecular structure as whole would have been mutated to allow her to deconstruct and rebuild based on a location she SAW, so it's partly that she just adapted to that being normal and then it gets extra taxing if, say, she has to teleport several times in a row or do it over... a mile? More? Whatever the range of her spyglass is. Then she's really burning calories. Cisco.... hoboy. I think his caloric intake gets fucked more by the vibe blasts than the breach opening and vibing. Again, like Cecile, I think something in breachers/vibers' brains gets mutated to make them sensitive to the multiverse. Given how there were specific areas in the city where the breaches were opened because of that wormhole at the end of S1, it may be a feature of the multiverse, hence it may be harder or easier to open a breach depending on where he is/plans to go. Then there's HOLDING those breaches open for extended periods and vibe blasting. Those would be cray taxing. Mark Mardon and Caitlin influencing the physical world would have a different energy output from, say, Tony's skin-to-metal thing and Farooq Gibran's electricity. We do know Farooq ended up requiring a special energy source, electricity over food, and.... well, that's kinda along the lines of Al Rothstein too. I could go oooooooon and on with different metas. XDDD And that is not even dipping my toes into the male vs female differences in presentation/adaptation of powers because biologically male and female bodies are actually different and our collective medical data is still heavily influenced by research on biological male bodies, applied to female ones, and that is why medical advice doesn't work for women the same way or at the same level of efficacy. Nora and Jesse Quick would have quirks/added changes and issues Barry and Wally don't, as speedsters, the same way Gypsy and Cisco would have divergences and Killer Frost/Caitlin would from, say, a cold-meta version of Leonard Snart, a la New 52 comics.

After saying all that, honestly, more than "allied with Team Flash or the Rogues for changing economic situation reasons" that are skewed towards higher grocery/food needs, they CANNOT go to the doctors normally. MRIs, EEGs, even sensitivity to getting touched/blood taken... being meta changes that. They need alliances/networks of other metas or meta-comprehending people BECAUSE of their new physiologies.

And of course, this is where ARGUS/military, etc... intervention becomes a thing... The Flash and Arrow briefly touch on government cooperation/clashing and Supergirl had a whole monitoring system that could have been waaaaaay scarier if they weren't the "good guys".

Okay, that got WAY long for first thoughts in a day. I clearly spend too much time thinking about metahuman abilities and worldbuilding.

i know it was his show and all but it's sooo boring that the flash gave us all this info about how barry's powers affect his biology and yet did not do a single thing for the other metas outside of the cool shit they can do with their powers, so i've decided it's my new headcanon that in contrast with barry, who has to eat significantly more to compensate for all the energy he burns while running, caitlin has an incredibly slow metabolism due to her low body temperature. she often forgets to eat because of this, and instead of sleeping, she goes into a torpor-like state to conserve energy. bonus points if she does it with her eyes open because it's creepier and therefore sick as fuck. imagine cisco walking into the cortex and the motion detector lights are off so he assumes he's alone, until the lights come on and caitlin is sat at her desk, staring straight and unblinkingly ahead like a doll in a horror movie, with an almost undetectably slow pulse, pale and unresponsive as a corpse, and----cisco, why are you screaming, she's fine

[borbealis]

feeling very much like a failure in a lot of ways

[invincibledc]

BATFAMILY X TAILS!READER HEADCANNONS

Summary: A fox?! In Gotham, wait and the fox can talk…and it’s a child. What the—

An eight year old fox…in Gotham…that can speak and has two tails?! Tails!reader who moves around anxiously as people stare at him. The small child is trying to stay low, he really is! But when a scary bat demands who he is. The small fox can’t help but run away, running quickly before almost falling off a roof top. Batman tries to stop him, but tails!reader huff his chest and jump off the roof. Batman’s eyes widen, ready to jump for the child only to be shocked to see the fox mutant thing is flying by its two tails being used as helicopter fly away.

Thought Batman can’t help but just watch in amusement at how the fox child is helicoptering away. Batman grapple hooks tails!reader tails as an advantage, he finally captures the “mutant” with care. He can’t fully tell the fox is a child by the looks of it. It’s cartoony eyes and the way he looks around, yeah Bruce feels bad for scaring the poor child. “How old are you?” “Eight sir.” Yeah Bruce feels like an asshole.

Alfred who makes the fox mint candy, learning that the fox likes it. Bruce then stacks up with mint candies which makes tails!reader stay a littler longer before experimenting the kitsune child.

Bruce who treats tails!reader like he did with dick, soon the other batboys notice this and smile seeing Bruce liking the smart child. Though the child is like Tim but with more of a dick grayson’s personality of a shy and sweetheart.

Dick who gushes over the new addy to the family, he doesn’t care much that the new addition is a fox that is sorta humanoid. What he finds adorable about the eight year old is the determination he has to be his own hero. But dick still treats tails!reader like his age, always just telling stories, maybe bed time stories? Dick just loves how tails!reader helicoptering around with that focused stare. He probably got hit during a fight because he couldn’t help but coo at the eight year old.

Jason who would not admit he has a soft spot for the eight year old, he can tell that tails!reader is full of bright energy and pureness, making Jason act like big brother around the eight year old. He doesn’t care that the twin tailed kitsune can basically fight back by being smart and fly away with his twin tails. You wanna go on a mission that contains real villains? No. He’s forcing you to sleep with a bed time story and warm milk. Now go to bed bed.

Tim who’s happy to have another gadget smart kid around, even if you two have an age gap, he’s happy to know that you are smart like him. You two playing chess with each other, board games that contain street and book smarts, mostly book smarts. Tim loves hanging out with then new addition by talking and geeking out by things people call “nerdish or nerdy”

Damian at first when he heard his father caught a fox, he was immediately intrigued to go see the fox. But was shocked to see the fox was small, standing on two legs, eight years old, and had two tails like a kitsune. Plus it can talk and is very smart. Damian didn’t act no different and still pets tails!reader who looks confused but still smiles like an adorable cutie he is. His fox tails swaying and Damian immediately asks his father “are we adopting him?”

Tails!reader who still misses Sonic as he huddles up in the room he was given, hugging the blanket. Tails!reader doesn’t know how he is here, but he misses his friends.

Tails!reader who helps with gadgets in the bat cave, even Tim is impressed and wants to know about. “What’s your IQ?” Tim asks the eight year old who made a gadget in a span of 5 minutes. “[IQ level of tails].” Tails!reader says nonchalantly as he smiled. Tim almost dropped his mug before lifting the fox. “We got work to do.” Tim immediately shows a board of games that require high intelligence.

Tails!reader using his spin attack to knock over villains, though holds his head in pain before Jason picks up the small child as the other fights the villain.

Tails!reader trying to hold something heavy while helicoptering around the manor, he’s panting tired. But Jason shows up out of nowhere, taking the damn heavy thing and walks away. Tails!reader smile and follows the giant.

Tails!reader who is most protected by the batfamily, though they know this eight year child can handle himself. They still put a tracker on tails!reader, but reader isn’t dumb.

Tails!reader who is snuggled against Damian who is sleep as well. Reader’s tails wrapped around Damian like a blanket. Alfred can’t help but take a picture of the two young boys bonding.

[andhumanslovedstories]

There's so many horrible things happening in America right now that it has been interesting to see what individual horrors hurt me personally the most. I grew up going to the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Musicals, plays, concerts, that weird bust of JFK, playing around on terrace during intermissions, putting on a velvet dress that you're going to ruin dropping a milk dud in your lap and not noticing until it's fully melted, wearing the pinchy shiny shoes that are the training bras of women's formal footwear, operas I didn't like but did love, jazz I didn't understand but still fascinated me, red carpet, big stairs, the absolute nightmare amount of experiences I had as a new driver as I repeatedly got trapped in the Kennedy Center's fucking private DC island or whatever the hell is going on traffic-wise, free performances on small side stages, getting to see an enormous production on the Center's most enormous stage, all of which was accessed by walking through that a long, tall hallway lined with flags of the world that made you feel like a dignitary attending the most important even in the world.

And now Trump's taken it over. He fired its board. He appointed one of his loyalists to run it. I want to throw up.

Sometimes I miss DC so much. I love the Pacific Northwest and expect I'll live here for the rest of my life, but this isn't my hometown. I grew up the edge of the District. I've lost cumulative years of my life stuck in traffic on the inner loop and outer loop. Because of the Smithsonian, it used to be so baffling to me that anyone ever had to pay to get into a museum. I've used the Washington DC zoo as a shortcut to a different part of the city because it's free to enter. You couldn't count the amount of knockoff Spider-man popsicles that I've eaten sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. My reading tastes were molded by Kramer Books in Dupont Circle. I spent afternoons walking around the National Mall, normally just a big empty field until there's an event--book fair, country music program, international cuisine, whatever--at which point for a day or a weekend or a week it becomes a sea of tents and stages. I went to protests outside the Capital and the White House about the war in Iraq. I froze my toes off watching Obama's 2008 presidential inauguration.

It seemed like everyone's family touched the federal government in some way. Everyone's family had moved here because they were military or state department or a political consultant or worked with an NGO or some other reason that meant you had to be here, in the nation's capital. Plenty of people had connections to the federal government that we more hush-hush. Like kids in class straight up going, "I have no idea what my parents do for a living. They're not allowed to tell me." High schoolers regularly, accidentally drove into the CIA parking lot and got escorted out because the premises were that accessible. My family moved here because my dad is a reporter who ended up covering international trade. (Imagine how much his job sucks right now.) He switched beats one summer to cover the White House instead. He got to fly on Air Force One. He got official Air Force One M&Ms. I was SO disappointment my dad didn't work there for Bush to call on him by nickname.

Every day my family got The Washington Post. I read the comics and the kid's page, then the rest of the Style section, then Metro, then news. I learned to read from it. We wrapped our delicate Christmas ornaments with its pages. We used yesterday's papers to clean our windows because they didn't leave streaks. I took journalism in high school. You can't IMAGINE how much and how frequently we talked about Watergate. When Post changed its motto to "Democracy Dies in Darkness" after Trump's election in 2016 that meant something to me. I knew Bezos owned the paper now, but that was still my paper, and the motto spoke to something I fervently believed: if people just knew what was happening, they wouldn't allow it to happen. If you expose a problem, people will naturally agree that it is a problem and that we should do something to fix it. Flash forward to Trump's third fucking campaign, and the newspaper wouldn't endorse a presidential candidate. Chickenshit cowardice. Then they change the motto. "Riveting Storytelling for All of America." Eat shit. You're nothing now.

Politics in America is just telling everyone how much you hate Washington, DC so that they'll elect you so you can move to DC. Well, guys, the city fucking hates you too. Republicans will never give the District actually meaningful political representation because no one in that city would vote for them. It's not just the policies; it's the contempt. No one in the new administration loves the city they schemed and lied and stooped to take over. It's just iconography to them, and all they care about is taking that iconography for themselves. Trump doesn't give a shit about the summer program for the Kennedy Center. He has never seen a show at the Kennedy Center. When he was president, he never attended the annual awards. He's trying to destroy one of the most significant places of my life and I'm genuinely unsure if he has ever stepped for inside of it.

[jsooly]

if you were the sullys' human kid / jake sully & neytiri x daughter!reader

synopsis, a baby when the na'vi forced the sky people off their planet, jake bonds with you and tries to convince neytiri to raise you as their own. she doesn't agree, unless…

+ takes place during avatar 2009

(1 - ur here! ☆) / (2) / (3) / (4*)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

"hey—who's kid is this?!"

your mother was pregnant with you during her term as an RDA corporal. she often went on missions with you in tow, safe behind squads of personnel.

you were born on the battlefield, promptly transported back to base before the worst could happen

she died shortly after, before you were even a day old.

orphaned, they powers that were let you stay in her room and put you in the care of the scientists and doctors.

months passed. you learned to walk quickly, learned to yell for attention when you needed something... the RDA base was in no way suited for a child, and no one cared to accommodate you. not when they had na'vi to terrorize and a planet to pillage!

worming your way out of supervision yet again, you found yourself in the fields where the avatars' playing court and farm plants the height of two humans.

you scurried out of the cover the tall stalks provided as an avatar came flying up the path, its knee connecting with your side and sending you flying.

"shit—!"

"jake, i told you you weren't supposed to be running!"

your body must've tumbled 10ft. down the way before you came to a stop. and once you got over the shock, your cries were definitely heard all the way in the command center.

"that's a child!" jake held his head in his hands, relief flooding through him that you were responsive after that collision.

"woah, really?" norm said in a dumb voice before pushing past him and crouching beside you.

"how old is she?! how is she just allowed to walk around on her own?"

"she's turning two soon and her mom died recently in a spat with the na'vi. frankly we don't have the time or resources right now to keep an eye on her at all times." norm cradled you as he surveyed the damage. "thank goodness you just missed her and didn't bulldoze her like an animal."

it ended up fine. you were a tough kid.

poor jake didn't leave your side as you were taken to the med bay and treated, avatar and all.

he fretted as the nurses wrapped your arm with bandages.

"hey, kid." jake offered a sympathetic smile, dusting the dirt off your clothes. his thumb rubbed over your cheeks gently, wiping off the mud that had crusted. "no hard feelings?"

you gave him a wide-eyed look and wrapped your little hand around his thumb as if you were shaking his hand in agreement.

and that was the moment you had him hooked.

sure, his primary objective was bonding with the na'vi, but the times he was on base, his mind would wander back to you. what on earth pandora could a 2 year old be doing to entertain themselves in this weird environment?

curiosity would get the better of him and he'd use the little spare time he had to peek into your room.

seeing you play all alone with your blocks and cars and makeshift dolls made him so unimaginably sad he had to reconsider why he even felt that way.

you caught his figure in the doorway. he tried to retreat, but you'd already made your way towards him.

"jake!" you chirped, stumbling on chubby legs.

"yup." he eased back into view, a warm smile on his face. "that's me." how do you talk to kids? "whatcha up to?"

you mumbled something.

"hm?"

"playing." you shrugged, kicking the invisible dirt on the ground.

"i can see that." he hummed. "is norm gonna let you watch the avatars today?"

you held your chin in thought as you'd seen dr. grace do many times. jake's lips twitched upwards in amusement.

"yeah." you finally answered.

he glanced to the side, unsure what to make of your monotonous replies. "uh... you excited?"

you pointed at him. "you?"

"me?" he asked, pointing to himself also. "am i excited?"

you shook your head. "your... avatar?"

"ohhh." he nodded slowly in understanding. "no, you won't see me much today. i'm gonna be out on a mission."

you frowned and stepped back, shutting the door in his face.

"huh." the rejection stung just as bad as neytiri's.

somewhere down the line, he grew self-conscious, as if his self worth depended on the opinions of a toddler.

the bunch had to listen to him ramble not-so-subtlety and answer all his questions about you, so they caught on pretty quick.

"jake, she's attached to you." grace said with finality. "she's upset she can't spend more time with her favorite person. simple as that."

"favorite person?" jake echoed, distressed. "i almost killed her when we first met!"

grace scoffed. "that's an exaggeration."

"a warranted one." norm mumbled under his breath.

grace whacked him. "you're not helping."

"she slammed the door in my face the other day." jake folding his hands together, resting his forehead against his fists. "you... you think she's mad at me?"

the team groaned.

grace put a hand on jake's shoulder. "don't worry about y/n. you should be focusing on your other girl." she said, referring to neytiri.

the big battle came around, all the tensions and issues snowballing into one decisive moment where the na'vi had the chance to defend what had been taken from them.

jake was over the moon when he finally did what he knew in his heart was right. he embraced neytiri after the battle and he thought he had everything he ever wanted in his hands.

but... a part of his heart was running around the base barefoot.

"ma'jake." neytiri hissed. "no."

"she has nowhere to go." jake pleaded. by the grace of eywa, he was permanently connected with his avatar. his giant hands hooked under your armpits, dangling you in the air in front of his mate.

even neytiri couldn't deny how pitiful you looked. your eyes were sunken from not sleeping enough, frame small from lack of nutrition. what were your caretakers doing?

she shook her thoughts away, retorting, "leave her with her kind! she will be better suited there."

"they're too busy to take care of her properly." jake held you against his chest, stepping towards neytiri. "she needs a proper mother and father."

neytiri growled bluntly in frustration. "i cannot—will not—raise a human child."

jake frowned, unwilling to dismiss her feelings or leave you behind. he loved both his girls too much to deny either one of you. conflicted, he stood there frozen as he tried to think up a compromise.

neytiri studied her husband's face, his brows knit in torment and lips pulled between his teeth. her heart suddenly felt heavy.

“if she matters that much to you… she may stay with us. until those humans can figure out a way to care for her.”

jake lit up like pandora under the night sky. “thank you.” he pulled her in and hugged her right, pressing his lips to her forehead reverently. “thank you.”

within a month, you grew on neytiri. i’m not even joking it was that quick.

she marveled at how light your footsteps were. there were so many times you crept in her shadow unnoticed until she heard that sweet giggle of yours.

you were her fast learner. you were a much better student that your father. being so young, you were able to catch onto the language quickly.

humans were bad. human babies….. eh. this human baby in particular… oh, she could more that spare her prejudice. affection can take its place instead.

it wasn’t bad seeing jake in dad mode either. she didn’t have any doubts, but seeing jake interact so gently with you and entertain you even after a long day made her even more confident in her choice.

a comm came in. neytiri watched jake cross the space as he answered the ringing. as greetings were exchanged between norm, max, and jake, she continued to comb through your hair.

“nga lu… brushing? my nikre?” (you are… brushing? my hair?) you sounded out.

“close.” neytiri said. gently tugging your head back to look at your face, she smiled. “good job.”

you beamed up at her. “irayo nga, sa'nok.” (thank you, mother.)

she paused, peering down at you before tilting your head down and resuming her work on your hair.

in theory, neytiri would’ve corrected you. but that would’ve meant there was something wrong with what you said.

“hey, things have calmed down around here. we can take y/n.” norm said over the phone.

jake glanced at neytiri, who was already watching him.

“they lie. leave this child in their irresponsible hands?” neytiri scoffed and hissed under breath. “she is better suited here with us.”

the knot in jake’s stomach dissipated. “yeah.” he grinned. then, turning back to the phone, “yeah, don’t worry about y/n. she’s good with us.”

neytiri fought back her own smile.

fast forward two years or so, you had a baby brother on the way.

more parts?? idk

© jsooly ‘25.

[foreverdolly]

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

pairings: feyd rautha x atreides!reader

status: ongoing

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

total word count: 25.1k

chapter index:

chapter one: the news of your approaching marriage is swift and brutal. there is no escaping your birth-right. what you don’t know is that feyd-rautha would never let you slip from his iron-like grip. you’re his after all.

chapter two: isolation. you feel as though your entire family is completely lost to you and it doesn’t help that the na-baron seems to enjoy playing with you. you’re in desperate need of some kind of a release and feyd is happy to oblige you. the two find yourselves face to face in a sparring match… a particularly heated one at that

chapter three: someone had gained access to your room, and now you were alone in the darkness, left to your own devices. you have a choice to make: fight for your life or let giedi prime swallow you whole. sadly, when placed in a life or death situation, your years of training completely evade you. thankfully you happen to have your very own vengeful demon, and he’s more than happy to behead those that hurt you.

chapter four: reeling after the shocking would-be assassination, you find it impossible to think of anything else- including feyd’s attempts to show you that he cares. having breakfast with the baron leaves you with more questions than you had before. with feyd’s mindset hurtling towards darker, more obsessive ways to show his affections, you’re in for quite the surprise. how else can he show that he loves you? it’s decided: blood will be spilled. . . and a lot of it.

chapter five: with your gift of "the voice" suddenly lost to you, the realization that you're as good as a sitting duck hits you hard. those who hold great power on giedi prime want you dead, and the last thing you want is to ask anyone you don't trust for help. you decide to take matters into your own hands so that you can confirm what you already think to be true. two suspicious guards, a horrifically tiny broom closet, and wandering hands. . . your "knight" in stark black armor always seems to show up right when you need him.

chapter six: the stress and paranoia has finally started to take its toll on your psyche, breaking you down until you're nothing but a shell of the person that you were before you had first landed on giedi prime. it seems as though feyd is always there, a constant pillar of strength and steel. he builds you back up again only to unravel you in a completely different way. these sensations and sins of the flesh are all new for you, but you finally settle with the realization: you want him. badly.

pinterest board and playlist coming soon.

[gay-dorito-dust]

One last one and this might be a little self projection because I hate this myself but;

Bob hates it when people enter his room unannounced, especially if they’ve got nothing to ask or say to him, like just coming into his room as if it wasn’t his room that he’s half tempted to fucking get a lock on it most days. John does this the most, and one time he might’ve been sent flying by a very agitated Bob, who might as well have been one breath away from letting the Void take over.

He likes to be left alone now and then, even more so if he’s spent most of the day with the team, going out or doing anything to preoccupy himself, then he’ll want to be left alone for the rest of the afternoon at the very least. It’s not a hard ask. He also hates it when people who’ve come into his room don’t shut the door, it grates on him and annoys him to the point where the lights will flicker as a reflection of his dwindling patience.

Thankfully most of the team respect privacy and leave him be, except John but John learns his lesson the second he got thrown out by an unseen force. Even if it’s the slightest bit ajar he’s huffy and irritated because it felt as though he had no privacy at all within the Tower.

You however have a pass because you’re Bob’s soft spot, know your boundaries with him and only ever come into his room when you’ve got something to give him or give back to him like a book. He’s much rather you stayed and keep him company, which you do now and then, but most of the time he’s happy to just be in your presence no matter how brief it might be.

Though then again you get a pass because it’s you -and sometimes his surrogate sister Yelena, who teases him for his obvious favouritism towards you- and half of the time when the door opens he hopes it’s you, only to be disheartened when it wasn’t as though he was a puppy waiting for its owner. Bob also dislikes it when it wasn’t just you and him in his room and people intrude on you both, giving them an unamused look from over your shoulder to tell them that they really shouldn’t have even opened the door. Three is a crowd as the saying goes.

He likes his alone time but he likes his alone time with you even more so, and so his mood spurs when the likes of Alexei keeps poking his head in to see if the ‘birds in love’ were doing anything worth spreading to the rest of the group. You could tell with how he breathed, his jaw tensing and his entire body language screamed to be left alone, so you have you shoo Alexei away before closing the door and let Bob bring himself back to calm.

‘I can leave if you need a minute.’ You tell him often, understanding that living with the team had it’s ups and downs for Bob, a man who was hyper independent through no fault of his own and was still taking time to adjust to living with others.

‘No.’ Bob says, grabbing your hand in his on impulse, intertwining your fingers. ‘They can leave, but you can stay here for as long as possible.’ You sit yourself back down on his bed, rest your head on his shoulder and allowed him to read his book aloud for you as peace washed over you both once more as the lights no longer flickered. It was golden.

[simp-ly-writes]

The Prophecy

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.2)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: Knee-deep in growing family tensions, you continue searching for the answers to your 'sleepwalking condition.' And in this search, you find yourself learning more about your ancestors, an uncle obsessed with his eldest niece, a king who struggles to be a father, and a young princess determined to invoke change.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, emotional hurt/comfort, protective!Daemon, angst, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,257 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: thank you all for the support on the first part, I hope you enjoy this next part! (I also used a translator for the high valyrian- so apologies for any inaccuracies).

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A DOZEN HUSHED WHISPERS SOUND FROM AROUND YOU YET YOU REMAIN FROZEN. You force your eyes closed- pretending to be asleep to try and focus on the words being spoken, "not ill... no symptoms... magic, sorcery..." you frown, I am most certainly ill if I am experiencing this, you think to yourself in yet another one of your dreams.

"...dreamer?" a whisperer asks before another confirms, "a dreamer, a seer, but how?- it has been decades..." And suddenly a frustrated whisper silences the room as you feel the bed dip by your knees, a hand picks up your own and holds it gently. "Mandia (older sister), do you hear me? Show me a sign that you are still with me like you promised me so," Rhaenyra calls out to you, head dipping to closely watch your face for any reaction- she gasps seeing your eyes fly open as you stare at the top of your canopy bed.

"Where am I? When is this?" your voice horse as you rub your eyes- thankful that your parents taught you the dying language of high valyrian back in your times.

"You are in the Red Keep and it is the year 104, your highness," a maester calls from the corner of the chamber, head dipping once meeting your gaze as yours soon widens at the sight of a much younger Princess Rhaenyra who sits by your side, she signals for a pitcher of water to be brought forward whist stacking a few pillows behind your back- helping you to sit upright before tiping the cup slowly against your lips.

You bring your hands forward, trying to take the cup from her yet her grip is strong for her small hands, "please, let me help you get better." And you can't help but comply in seeing her violet eyes turn a light shade of blue.

Setting the cup back down, Rhaenyra takes both of your hands in hers, placing them on her cheeks that silent tears stream down steadily. "Why must everyone be so sick? First you and then mother, is just not fair!" her head falls forwards and into your lap, "its just not fair..." her sorrows muffled into the bedding and as if on muscle memory you bring a hand to her head, threading your fingers gently through the knots and hum gently, unsure of how to answer her pleas.

You look up seeing as the maesters around you shuffle awkwardly, "you all are dismissed," your head tilting back in surprise for your own commanding tone watching as they hesitate for a moment before beginning to file out of the room, shutting the door softly behind themselves.

Rhaenyra's sniffles slowly fade as she looks up at you, "Kepus (uncle) was so worried for you, he always is and so was father... yet he was more worried that his brother would scare the maesters to death before they could treat you." She watches your eyes, trying to gage your reaction before you speak it, your heart aches seeing how earnestly she awaits your words- like they would soothe every ache in her mind.

"Kepus always needs a busy mind, Rhaenyra, worrying is just another distraction for he grows bored easily," you recite from one of the many records you read on the Rogue Prince while in school.

You watch as your supposed sister frowns at your words, eyebrows pinched together, "Don't let him hear you say that, Mandia, he may get offended." You snort before leaning in closer and whisper, "he is quick to offend." You laugh at Rhaenyra's short gasp before she giggles and shakes her head, pushing your face away.

"Is that laughter I hear? What are you two up to now?" a new voice calls from the doorframe that has you both freezing in your spot. Rhaenyra sits quickly upright as you force yourself not to bow at the sight of King Viserys, your supposed father. Gosh I need to wake up soon, you think to yourself.

"As you were," the King raises his hand, moving to stand at the foot of your bed. Hands gripping the footrest for support as he smiles down at you both, "you seem well," he acknowledges with a soft smile, "what did the Maesters do this time?" Viserys looks towards his youngest daughter expectantly who watched your whole procedure closely, she basks in her fathers attention.

"They used the same ointments as the last time but she woke up on her own again," Rhaenyra explains, quickly side eyeing you to agree in which you slowly nod, curious as to why she was not telling the full truth from what you briefly heard.

Viserys hums to himself while looking between you both before sighing and standing up straight, fixing the coat he wears like an anxious tick, "I'm sure your mother would be in better spirits if you both gave her a visit now that you are awake."

Rhaenyra jumps up, hand extending to help you up, frowning when you don't budge, "I am in my sleeping clothes, sister," you explain, "let me get dressed and then I shall meet you in the hall," you compromise and then you are finally alone.

Falling back onto the covers you bite your lip before looking out to your balcony, the doors are slightly open, a warm breeze drifts in carrying the sheer curtains with it that wave to you in greeting like the world is teasing you, withholding the very answers you desire so you curse the air, standing and heading towards your wardrobe. Let's hope those historical fashion classes were worth the money.

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You were out of breath by the time you were finished lacing up your garments, no wonder they needed a second army to get ready, you scoff before starting to twist the door handle and become startled as it seemingly twists itself in your hand and flys wide open.

Hands find your hips that pull you close to a broad frame draped in black robes, a silver dragon rides across their chest- its head framing their shoulder. Next you feel as their forehead knocks against your own, their breaths hot and heavy against your nose that you crinkle in confusion before seeing the light scaring on pale skin and a flash of silver hair reflecting in the sunlight, Daemon.

"I thought you had died when I saw the maesters dart out of the room," his whisper is like sandpaper to your ears, coarse and rough from unshed emotion, "like they were running from their fate by my hand." You hesitate on how to respond, unlike when Rhaenyra looked for your comfort- you didn't know what to do with your uncle so you mirrored his hold with your hands slowly moving to circle his hips- pulling yourselves closer together and in for a hug.

His arms are like a weighted blanket around your frame, you can feel his long stuttering sigh in relief as every muscle relaxes knowing you are in his arms. You flush, feeling flattered before rubbing circles with your palm against his back and wait for him to pull away yet he squeezes you closer, resting his chip to the top of your head, you feel as his fingers play with a loose thread of your dress, curling it around his finger before letting it fall.

Footsteps soon echo from down the hall, you try to shuffle away yet Daemon continues to hold you, squeezing his eyes shut to savour the moment as long as he can before the footsteps near and he pulls away and leaves a lingering palm that rests against your lower back.

A young guard stops before you both, his eyes sneak a glance at you before casting forwards, looking to an invisible point on the wall between your heads. Your uncle catches the stolen glance with a scowl, his hand rests upon the hilt of dark sister as he takes a step forwards, mouth opening to make a comment before you silence him with a smile and touch to his arm, a sudden rush of confidence clouding your better judgement.

His head tilts back, eyes in a silent demand to let me do this, for you, yet you shake your head firmly to vanquish his actions, "do you have a message?" The guards eyes go wide in remembrance, "y-yes, your highnesses. One reminder for the princess from the Queen. She requests your immediate presence in her drawing room."

You raise your hand, dismissing the guard while not meeting Daemon's accusatory stare, "he should be taught a lesson for his actions."

You feel the air shift in the corridor as he takes a confrontational step forwards- trying to sway your answer yet your feet remain planted in spot- not meeting his eyes that try and connect with your own, "what if I said I didn't mind his eyes, Kepus?" You drag out the title- choosing then to raise your chin, clashing violet with violet. You smirk upon seeing his nose flair- eyes sharpening to slits.

"Iksā daor olvie funny, Qēlītsos, (you are not very funny, little star)," his words are spoken in a cold charismatic poise, a double-edge sword of playful commentary and threat that has your adrenaline spiking with a desire to drink in more of his bubbling rage that warms you from within.

"Gaoman daor pirtiapos, nyke nūmāzma ñuha udra, (I do not joke, I mean my words)," you speak with determination and take a half step forwards, placing your hands behind your back as you lean forwards, enunciating every word, drinking in every minute reaction his chiselled features provide you, a seemingly endless entertainment as you stand toe-to-toe.

Daemon growls, his head tilts, peering down at your amusement that irks him beyond belief, "Yn ao sōpagon rȳ issa protection? (but you laugh at my protection?)."

Your smile softens to something bittersweet as you know the fate for this body like all the other women of your current position throughout history; having to face the looks in order to gain a marriage for the betterment of the throne, "sir gaoman yn issa ñuha future se konir sagon mirros ao daor keligon, (now I do but it is my future and that is something you cannot stop)."

"ao doubt ñuha kostion? (you doubt my ability?)," Daemon confidently poses his shoulders back and tone teasing. Accepting yet another challenge to keep himself amused with, you think to yourself with a shake to your head, "daor, Kepus, nyke sepār daor skorkydoso ra mōris, (no, uncle, I just know how things end)."

You gently knock your arm into his own as you pass him in the narrow corridor. Daemon does not answer nor move, brows furrowed as he contemplates your words. He turns and opens his mouth to speak only to find you already gone.

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After a few wrong turns and directions from servants and guards alike, you arrive in the Queen's drawing room where your sister sits opposite of your mother. A set of tea is set at the centre of the table, an assortment of fruit displayed in a bowl just beside as you take your seat, a servant rushes forwards to fill you a cup in which you politely take with a soft thank you for their service.

"It is good to see you alive and well, dear," Queen Aemma Arryn smiles at you, yet her eyes are filled with hurt, raising her cup to chime against your own, and it is then when you realize the Queen is pregnant.

"I am...." you pause before remembering you are not who you are in this body, "...glad to be back, I have missed you both without knowing I was in the first place." And then a knowing smile raises the corners of Rhaenyra's lips.

"You took some time to get here, sister... was there anyone-" she clears her throat, "anything that kept your attention?" You shoot your sister a glare that has her smile turning into a grin, troublemaker, you shake your head, cheeks warming. Aemma leans forwards, grabbing a grape while looking between the two of you expectantly.

"I sense a silent conversation that I don't understand the language to, do let me be a part of the talk," your mother chimes in. You and Rhaenyra share a look, go on, her eyes say and you sigh, finishing your cup of tea before placing it on the table and smoothing out your skirts.

"Kepus kept me from coming right away, I apologize," you state, pleased now? Rhaenyra nods enthusiastically, looking for the Queen's reaction that looks nothing but pleased as she looks you over.

"He cares for you more than his own lady wife, I think your uncle needs a reminder of his position- don't you think so, dear?" the once affectionate term now sounds like an insult as you swallow deeply and lower your head, a pain shoots through your chest that you choose to silence, "yes, mother-"

Yet Rhaenyra chimes in before you can finish your sentence, setting down her empty cup, "but he has always cared long since before I could remember, he is only trying to be a good uncle, why-"

"You have not matured enough to see my reasoning, Rhaenyra," Amma shuts down your sister, "what he thinks to be protection borders on obsession, it is not a good look for either of them."

Rhaenyra looks towards you yet you solemnly nod, agreeing with your mothers words. She appears more saddened by the words than you do, "but wouldn't Kepus get even more mad?"

"He can get mad all he wants sister but there is little he can do," you refill everyone's cups with a heavy sigh, "there is little any of us can do." You look towards your mother and down towards her stomach, a sickening feeling sits deep within you already knowing their fate.

But your words seem to spark something in the young girl as she stands, tipping her head down to you both as she moves to exit yet stops just before the doors, "then I will do something about it."

But seeing as one door closes, another opens as King Viserys walks over and grabs the Queen's hand, sharing a look before they both regard you, "with my new heir on the way, you must marry to ensure an alliance to strengthen the throne," Viserys says to you not from a position of your father, but as your king and so you bow your head, "I understand, father."

While in reality you did not, in all your studies you never read anywhere of a second princess, an older one nonetheless... your look of contemplation your parents take as devotion, smiling down upon your determined self.

"May you find a good husband," your mother wishes, placing her hand atop your fathers. "For the betterment of the seven kingdoms," your father adds, extending his other hand for you to grab and hold, "for the betterment of the seven kingdoms," you echo, squeezing his hand, "I will do my best," you promise equally yourself to finding answers and to your father.

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Night falls upon the castle as you walk the halls, studying the various tapestries hung underneath candlelight, no matter so little survived, you think to yourself before pausing in front of one detailing Aegon the Conqueror's invasion of Westeros that spans the entire length of the dining hall.

The vividness of the full spanning narrative is breathtaking from the little remnants you remember viewing in the museums of your time, you feel blessed by the gods in being able to see the real work so closely and without damage. Your hand gently taps one of the tassels at the corner of the work, watching as it swings before taking a step back and into someone.

You quickly try and turn around, apologizing for your lack of sense yet their arms wrap around your front, a chin rests upon your shoulder, "Aegon the first had two sister-wives as he was taking over Westeros." You place your hands atop of Daemons, "yet they were not treated equally," you counter, trying to pull his arm away yet they remain locked in place, "I am not some doll, Uncle Daemon, I am allowed to move on my own terms-"

"Then move," he deadpans, watching as you move your head to look up at him, "I am trying to," you growl, twisting and turning with a huff.

"You must try harder, fight, Zaldrītsos (little dragon), I promise you won't hurt me-" you force your elbow straight in between his ribs, winding your uncle as he staggers backwards. You dart forwards, grabbing the swords from one of the guards hips, your arms shake at the weight of the steel that you point at his heart with a scowl as he claps slowly at your outburst.

"So you can protect yourself... but you still will need for me," he quickly unsheathes dark sister, tipping the top of your sword that bends your wrist and forces you to yield. He kicks your sword back towards the guard, you listen as it screeches against the stone floors before stopping and all that is to be heard are your heavy breaths and the flickering of flames coming from the dozens of  torches within the hall. 

“Skoro syt gaomagon ao worry sīr olviem kepus? (why do you worry so much, uncle?),” you whisper, eyes trailing up from his boots till your meet eyes. You see as he hesitates to respond, teeth gritted in an internal battle, his words are spoken with careful precision as the back of his hand caresses your cheek before he kisses the top of your head, “Kesrio syt iksā se mērī run nyke refuse naejot ojughagon, (because you are the only thing I refuse to lose).” 

You watch as he quickly drops his touch as if you burned him, pain shoots through his eyes before he turns and storms out the room leaving you under the watchful eyes of Aemond the Conqueror once more. If the Rogue Prince cared so deeply for this Princess… then why was she not kept on any records, you think to yourself, turning back to the tapestries and watching as Dragons fly high over the burning rubble of cities below and the mangled corpses of hundreds of thousands that lay in the foreground only to end with the missing image of your time; a still of Aemond being crowned in front of his men and wives. 

His stitched eyes bore into your own, the flickering light of the flames makes his appearance appear animated before you, his mouth moving to read the faint inscription that circles his head, The Song of Ice and Fire, the prophecy you had read and seen played out before you in textbooks but the next words were new and uncharted, is the equal dream and fate I see across conquered lands. Silver must sit upon swords by the guidence of another conqueror- a dreamer, or all shall eternally sleep. 

Your head spins at this information, a voice calls to you, their presence close yet you feel so far. Your feet waver as you reach forwards to stabilize yourself, unknowingly grasping the tapestry and pulling it down alongside you towards the floor. A sudden heat rushes across your skin, a torch must have fallen as you smell the smoke and feel the flames surrounding you as shouts echo through the hall yet you do not scream in pain, allowing the fire to encapsulate you as sleep closely follows.

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PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: I would be passin' out too if I read that, all we wanted to do was look at cool old stuff! lol

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[skaldish]

Alright folks. Here it is, my theory of what Ragnarok actually represents. It is very messy and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to actually convey my understanding clearly like I try with most things, because genuinely this is shit I would write a doctorate-level thesis on.

But we're going to try anyway.

So. After doing a lot to try to replicate animistic thinking, as well as taking a VERY deep read of the Norse myths, my theory is that Ragnarok is specifically allegory for societal collapse—the "end of the world" imagery and such is meant to convey what this feels like.

Recall what Odin says in Grimnismal. It goes something like this, since I can't be arsed to find the exact quote:

Huginn and Muninn fly over the world every day; while I fear Huginn ("thought") may not return, I fear Muninn's ("memory's") absence most.

When a society collapses, so does it's memory. It loses its technology, its methodologies, its paradigms, and everything it has learned about the world up to that point. Gone. Entire chapters of history erased.

What causes societal collapse is not always a conquering force, but is oftentimes the result of circumstances that a society orchestrates for itself. Think Rome.

People who have gone through societal collapse will probably develop an invested interest in figuring out how to prevent it entirely, so they don't have to start society all over again.

It's one thing to preserve the memory of "things collapsed and here's why" using a story. But it's another thing to do what apparently the Norse people did, which is cultivate a methodology for cognitively hardening their own society against collapse, using stories as a way to do it.

Like...I'm not kidding when I say they legitimately knew how the human mind works, and then built an entire system of stories and narratives that intentionally support the mind's freedom, cultivation, and agency. I can only convey a fraction of how this works in this post because the rest requires a deep-dive into behavioral psychology and neurological development.

All the tales leading to Ragnarok demonstrate various instances where the gods choose to follow their own agendas at the expense of the real people and forces in the world. All of these little things contribute to the magnitude of the event that is Ragnarok.

The tales represent these transgressions using allegories rather than literal events. This is because these stories were designed for children, who don't process information through a prefrontal cortex like we do as adults. They don't have them yet. But this gives kids an intuitive understanding for how circumstances of collapse feel, so they can recognize them in all their forms.

Loki is an allegory for the mischief we feel as children, and for the behaviors we demonstrate before we get to the age where we start valuing cooperation. In the myths, every time Loki causes mischief in ways that creates problems, the gods get mad at him and threaten Loki's life until he fixes his mess. Loki eventually becomes vindictive, kills Baldr in a jealous fit, and then is punished by being bound and buried beneath the ground, only to fight against the gods in Ragnarok.

The surface-level takeaway is a lesson in parenting: If we punish kids for their mischief, they're going to become vindictive adults, and these adults are going to have it out for the rest of society because they've been disenfranchised.

But it doesn't just end here. Consider how we punish ourselves for our own sense of mischief, beating ourselves up for having "problematic" thoughts and trying to bind and bury those thoughts in the depths of our mind.

These thoughts come from a place our mind known as the limbic system, which is focused on avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and—most importantly—does not understand the world or make decisions using logic and reason, but in terms of what feels enjoyable and what doesn't.

We tend to call this system our inner child.

When we punish our inner child, that child starts doing exactly what Loki does and resorts to malicious and petty tricks. We can hold this behavior at bay until something causes us to "snap" (like Jörmungandr's tail does) and out comes the malice of the disenfranchised inner child, which creates a terrible cascade of social consequences for us.

Now, if we were to listen to these stories as kids, we would naturally be very upset whenever Loki was threatened of punished, because we think out of the limbic system at that age and Loki is meant to represent us—specifically, the state of being a kid. We would see what comes to pass, with Loki being imprisoned and fighting the gods against Ragnarok, and it would become clear to us that there's consequences for punishing mischief AND also causing too much of it.

Now I don't know about you, but I was very motivated by a sense of justice as a kid. Hearing Loki's arc would have inspired me to learn how to be friends with my sense of mischief while also learning to use it in ways that were cooperative and social, because this would have been how I could right the wrong I felt was done to Loki. It would also mean my own limbic system will not fight against me in the future, but be a modality of thought I can always access. (This is the beauty of the way the Norse myths are crafted; they are designed to instill knowledge of the world using mechanisms that reinforce one's own sense of agency and competency, so rather than being told the moral of this tale, it sets me up to run right into the conclusion it wants me to draw, but in a way that makes me feel smart and therefore inspires me to value it.)

The binding of Fenrir serves a similar allegory. When we become explosively angry in the way that Fenrir represents, it consumes our wisemind the same way Fenrir consumes Odin during Ragnarok. But this only happens if we bind Fenrir/our anger. By demonizing this nature of ours simply for existing, it will not only refuse to listen to us, but also turn against us. Remember that Fenrir was willing to socialize and cooperate with the gods before his betrayal.

(Honestly, I believe this is why ulfheiðnar existed the way they did. Even though the animalistic rage of ulfheiðnar was too terrible for domestic society, it was not demonized, but instead given a social function. People would learn to understand and partner with their own sense of rage, and I'm guessing this is also how they were able to keep their sense of reason and priorities straight even while going berserk from psychoactives.)

These two examples serve to illustrate how societal collapse stems from binding or punishing our own natures. But also fearing our own nature as mortals factors into it.

For example, Naglfar. This is a ship constructed of dead people's fingernails, and its completion is part of what signals the beginning of Ragnarok. But as the story goes, we can delay Naglfar's construction by trimming the nails of the dead before we bury them.

Naglfar represents "neglect for the dead," and this is significant because the act of no longer viewing the dead as people is sort of like the canary in the coal mine for no longer view each other as people...and no longer seeing people as people is what defines Ragnarok.

A society is at peace when its people have no fear of death, and having no fear of death comes only by incorporating death as a normal and familiar part of life, just like we do with birth. Our relationship with death is a litmus test for our relationship with our own humanity—if we fear the dead and cannot see them as human beings, then we are always going to fear a part of our own humanity, and be at war with it. The simple act of keeping the nails of the dead well-groomed because it stalls Naglfar's construction was a way to remind people why such a simple act was profoundly important.

And these are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head that are the most obvious examples. There are—and I shit you not—multitudes of these things laced within the Norse myths.

(I haven't even gotten to the part about how the Norse creation myth uses what the womb feels like to characterize it. Telling this story to very little children helps them establish a sense of familiarity, belonging, and secure attachment with the entire world from the get-go. If they learn the world is everything they've already experienced, then their bodies will never be afraid of it, because nothing about it will feel unknown or unknowable. Like, how fucking dope can you get.)

So here's where we get to the really dense irony of all this: Why we don't pick up on all these nuances as Westerners and have so far missed this entirely.

It is for two reasons.

The first is because our society values the things that the Norse people identified as contributing to societal collapse—namely, the act of conquering/competing against other forces and conquering/competing against our own natures. The transgressions of the Aesir are not things we register as problematic because to us they're normal.

The second is that we don't think animistically. The way we are taught to convey, interpret, and transmit information is designed PURELY by and for the prefrontal cortex, with neglect to everything else (if you ever wonder why Americans look weird in how we behave, this is why). But because we only prioritize communicating this way, we're missing out on all the context added within the Norse myths. These myths function the same way Old Norse kennings did, in that they are designed to speak to ALL areas of the brain at once and in tandem, but if we only engage with it using one part of the brain, we're only going to get a small piece of the picture and the rest is going to look weird.

(Little experiment for you: Try to logic something out in your mind or think through a complex problem without using words or sentences to do it. Use any other kind of thought-process besides language. I promise you that not only is this possible, but it yields a completely different kind of experience and conclusion than you might otherwise reach.)

Honestly, I don't even think Snorri himself fully understood what he was looking at when he was recording the Norse myths. I think he was just writing them down according to how they were told, word-for-word. But his cluelessness is our good fortune now, because he not only preserved the cultural stories, but also what I consider an entire cognitive technology.

And every time I look at it, I can't help but think about the generations of people who sat around the fire in the dead of winter, weaving, crafting, and figuring out better ways to fortify their society, raise kids so they became fine and truly fearless people, and conserve information. This is, as far as I'm concerned, real magic.

They knew some shit.

[hitoshiyoshi]

birds of a feather | takami keigo

synopsis ↬ keigo adores your wings

warnings ↬ none ! a short idea of hawks and a winged reader, a few swear words

pairings ↬ takami keigo x winged!vigilante!reader

word count ↬ 4.5k

Working in Kyushu, Keigo was not a stranger to the impressive and unique quirks possessed by its citizens. Some strange and practically useless while others seemed to the epitome of wasted potential. He learned this all from observing the bustling city while perched at the highest points of skyscrapers. Staring down with his golden orbs, hidden from the view of cameras and nosy civilians. It felt refreshing to take a break. To exhale the stresses of the day and reminisce on his failures while hoping that tomorrow would be better. His red wings, although covered under the dark night sky, seemed to glow as they tucked into his body.

Keigo watched and waited for a call of despair. Someone to bring him out of his thoughts as he swooped down to aid them. Yet it never came, and for one night he could rest peacefully.

The morning soon approached, and he found himself lounging in Endeavor’s office. For the first time, his heavy wings seemed reluctant to unfold and fly to his destination. He didn’t want to return to the headquarters of Commission, that could wait until later. Keigo’s role model didn’t seem too pleased with his sudden desire to distract himself from work. He would’ve forced the young hero out of his office, but knowing how persistent Keigo is, Endeavor allowed him to stay.

Until the flatscreen television hanging on the brown walls began flashing with breaking news:

‘School Attacked by a Lone Villain in Kyushu. Students And Nearby Residents Injured’

Keigo could feel the blazing heat erupting from the skin of the older hero as they both watched on, stunned. A chilling sense of guilt erupted through his spirit. While the town he swore to protect was crumbling, he was nowhere present. A news anchor reported that the heroes in the area were in need of assistance and the Number 2 hero was missing. Unlike his usual demeanor, Keigo was too transfixed on the bright screen to listen to his surroundings. The young hero that seemed to take life too 'fast' found his wings bound and stiff, scared yet unmotivated to move.

“Endeavor, the heroes in Kyushu are requesting back up!” A lime-green haired sidekick burst through the door unannounced. The flames on her head flickered in distress and anguish. “There are reports of more villains in the area!”

“Got it. Dispatch the other sidekicks to Kyushu.” Endeavor turned his head towards Keigo, who was surprisingly still resting in his office. “Hawks? Hawks...?”

Calling the avian hero’s name was a waste; the words went in one of his ears and out the other. Instead, his eyes were glued to the screen. As every second passed, there were new images and updates appearing. Keigo’s shattering heart failed to take notice of Endeavor’s presence. His wings began to seize up briefly; they weren't moving but felt as if they were constricting his lungs.

As he soon began to reawaken from his thoughts of self-loathing, a picture emerged on the television that regained his attention — even making the flame hero next to him stare on in curiosity:

There you were, arms full and clutching numerous children as you escaped the burning school behind them. Each of them clung to your body in desperation as if it would be their last day. You pulled them closer to you in a painfully tight embrace while shielding them from the explosion behind, too scared that they would somehow injure themselves. As the image zoomed out, he felt his heart jitter at the sight of falling feathers coming off your back.

Your wings expanded and stretched out covering the students in your arms. The size could easily compete with his own; Keigo was certain that you surpassed him in width. You were holding them mid-flight, suspended in the air and fleeing from chaos. He didn’t understand why your face filled with an expression of pain until he noticed orange patches of flames cover some of your feathers. He knew from his own experience that they would eventually turn to ashes, but you didn’t seem to care.

In the photo, your face was covered by the dust and rubble of exploding debris. Your head tilted downwards, only displaying a large frown and gritted teeth. Some wounds on your body gushed with blood — a sharp contrast to the children who were unscathed under the shield of your wings. Only your body, which unnaturally contorted in an oddly graceful position, could be seen clearly. Your clothing was a cheaply made costume. It was quite obvious that you weren't a professional or well-known, but your movements showed nothing but pure skill.

The news aired more videos of the attack, your wings were the center of attention for Keigo's eyes. After rescuing the children in your arms, you immediately flew back into the school. Moving too fast for the camera, too fast for Keigo to see your face and majestic movements. Only a blur of your wings was captured by the cameras. You kept going, although your body ached. While the heroes in Kyushu were too busy keeping the villains at bay, your prime focus became saving the lives of the children.

Endeavor's fingers wrapped tightly around Keigo's arm before shaking him violently to pull him out of his trance. He shouted at the younger man and dragged him from his seat to accompany the rest of his sidekicks on their quick trip to Kyushu.

As his wings braced the harsh sky, they flew with an unknown sense of vigor. Soaring past tall skyscrapers that blocked his route to your destination. A glimmer of red was the only thing caught by the eyes of passersby. Keigo desperately wanted to know your identity and see you flying in person.

When he landed on the scene, one of the first heroes to arrive, the cries of some injured civilians first caught his attention. Red feathers plucked from his wings hooked under each person, raising them off the ground, and taking them to safety. Endeavor, his sidekicks, and other heroes dealt with the villains causing terror while Keigo and a few others prioritized rescue. Bustling to try and aid every wounded person, he couldn’t help but search for your majestic wings in the process.

You were no where to be found.

Vanishing into the cloudy sky once you finished your duties of the day. You made sure every single student was cared for and taken out of the building to a safe location. As if his luck was nonexistent, you took off just as he landed. If his gaze was focused on the clouds, he would’ve seen you floating above them like an angel.

The rescue finished with ease and all of the villains responsible were captured. Another routine day on the job for the others, but not for Keigo. The image of your expanded wings covering the children replayed in his mind over again, making a chill run down his spine and causing his wings to shudder. Of course, he wasn’t the only being mesmerized by your heroic performance.

From the media, to hero agencies looking to scout you, and to the parents of the students you saved wanting to thank you; everyone was transfixed on learning about the new avian hero. You were the first to arrive before anyone else, faster than Keigo who received harsh criticism for his disappearance. There was no hero name assigned to you and every single picture of you in action had your blurred your face.

The headlines of the news for the following days of the attack only focused on you:

‘Unknown Hero Bravely Rescues Students from Blazing Building’

‘Has A New Avian Hero Appeared? Shocking Details Emerge of Kyushu’s Next Hero Who Saved Children Resulting in No Casualties’

‘Is The New Winged-Hero Related to Hawks? Reports From Kyushu Believe That They Will Become His Replacement’

Of course, you were now obviously linked with Keigo. His coincidental arrival after your departure only caused these rumors to spread like wildfire. Various ones suggesting that you two were siblings or even married. Neither was true. You’d never met him before, only seeing him on television a few times just like he saw you.

Upon arriving to Commission’s headquarters, Keigo demanded a search for you. At first, they seemed reluctant but seeing his frantic state, they obliged. After extensive searching, finally they managed to retrieve a profile of someone who matched your details to a perfection. The giveaway being your stunning wings outstretched for a mandatory photo displaying your quirk.

Your name, address, age, and birthplace were all accessible for him to see. To his surprise, you weren’t from Kyushu — only passing through the town briefly. Your movements were always sporadic, a new town every few days and rarely captured on camera. Apparently, there were other sightings of your wings during minor altercations with villains or civilians in danger. Yet, you constantly wore a mask that covered your entire face. Then, Keigo realized…

You were a vigilante.

Unlicensed 'heroes' that acted without focusing on the law; no wonder Commission tried to keep you a secret from him. Although you wanted to stay hidden, they managed to collect vast amounts of information about you. Every single detail they could get their hands on. Apparently, they wanted to offer you a position as a hero under them, just like Keigo. To train and mold you under his wing; each display of your actions made them more interested in you.

In exchange, any pending charges on you for your illegal hero work would be erased. There was no way you could refuse, and even if you did, they would keep pressing. You were an opportunity that no one wanted to waste.

Commission last captured you entering a small clinic in Kyushu. Keigo figured you were still in the area, the burns to your wings were too severe for you to ignore. You weren’t seen leaving any exit of the clinic; it was only a matter of time before you flew off into the clouds again.

His wings moved before his mind was set. Unsure of where you were, Keigo knew he had to find you before you disappeared again. It wasn’t possible for you to go far, he thought. The burns on your wings made him wince; it was the enemy of your kind. Flying past the tall skyscrapers and through the dark sky clouding over Kyushu. Keigo’s flaw was being fast, just ‘too fast’. Not even his own sidekicks could keep up.

The clinic was in his view, right under him. A few of his usual fan girls screamed out his name once they saw him land. The Commission would be on him any minute if they knew what he did — a quick greeting before brushing past the eager fans wanting pictures and autographs.

There was no time, you had to be here. Just as he came to the front door, Keigo was spotted by another fan working inside.

“Hawks!? What are you doing here?” A receptionist asked, nearly spilling her drink. “Do you need help?”

“No, no… I’m looking for someone.” Keigo proceeded to tell her about you, your appearance, and the majestic wings that took his breath away.

“They were just here a minute ago. You’re too late. They wanted treatment for their wounds but refused to give identification.”

Too late. The first time he’s ever heard those words used in the same sentence as his name.

“Shit.” The receptionist kept pressing him, but Keigo was already behind. “Thanks, but I need to go.”

As soon as the cold night’s air hit his face, he was in the air. Extending his crimson wings at their full length as he entered the sky. Keigo scanned every corner and rooftop he could. You needed medication for your wings, so you most likely couldn’t fly. It shouldn’t be hard to spot you, if that was the case. The blinding lights of Kyushu strained his tired eyes, he wouldn't have a problem with that on a usual workday.

Where could you be? Always just a few seconds faster than he was, but he couldn't seem to catch up. Keigo pushed through his aching eyes; surely there was no way he would miss you again.

The glimmer of your wings caught his attention first, and then he saw you. They were tightly bandaged together, along with a few scars presumably from when you rescued those kids. You walked down a dark alley between some rundown buildings. Keigo took a chance, swooping down right into the alley with you.

"Hey," You heard Keigo land with a gust of wind sweeping under your feet. He didn't seem to appreciate your refusal to acknowledge him.

"What?" Every time you turned on the television or opened your phone, you saw him. Of course, you knew who he was.

"Gosh, do you know how hard it was to find you, baby bird? You could at least give me a warmer welcome." Keigo smirked up at you with his hand outstretched. Don't tell me he wants a hug or something, you thought.

"What do you want?" The answer to that... he wasn't sure.

"Jus' wanna have a talk with you," He points out to your wounds. "What happened to those pretty wings of yours?"

"Why do you need to know?"

Truthfully, you had no intention being rude to him, but the entire encounter made you feel odd. The flashy heroes like Hawks were the ones you disliked the most. Sure, you could respect them for their dedication and diligence, but something about it was off-putting. You didn't want to sound like Stain — you didn't think they should be killed for it — the legitimacy of their work frustrated you the most.

"I'm sure your aware of the villain attack at the school that occurred a few days ago." His tone changed, no longer sounding as friendly as he did in the beginning. "You were there, weren't you?"

"I was." Those damn reporters and their cameras. Trying to cover your face during the entire time was enough of a problem.

"Then I'm sure your aware vigilantism is illegal."

"I know. I'm willing to take that risk."

"Then let's make this easy for ourselves. I don't want to report you." Feathers fall from his wings, pointed directly at you and ready to act.

"You're really gonna fight me?"

Now, you realize why you have a disdain for heroes like him. They always acted like puppets for the law, who didn't really have a care in the world for them. To risk your life in such a pointless way. Rules are rules, fine. But how could you agree to those regulations when they impeded your morality?

"If I don't have to, I won't." If he tried, it would be over quickly. Your wings can't do much in attack, only for rescues and fleeing. They are bound to your back and if you ran, he would surely catch you.

"Seriously? I don't believe you."

"Why would I try anything? You and I are the same." Keigo didn't want to hurt you, but his job left no choice if you resisted. "I don't believe in kicking a dead man down."

It's not often that he sees someone with the same quirk as him. Keigo won't let such a pretty bird like you slip under his fingers again, just like in the past. He has you here now, and he refuses to let you out of his sight — no matter what happens.

"Then? How do you suggest we solve this?"

"Those wings won't heal if you keep them like that. I know you're trying to treat them on your own." His feathers return to his wings, and he stretches his arms out in a welcoming manner. "If you come with me, I can help heal them."

"No thanks, I'm not stupid enough to fall for that." You start to turn away from him, but he calls for you.

"I'd never tell a lie to you, birdie. I can take you to my house and give you any medicine I have. If you change your mind, just tell me and I'll let you go."

On a normal day, you would've gone home and treated yourself, but these burns were taking forever to heal. It could easily become an infection if you weren't careful. You sighed, bracing yourself for your arrest and the end of your career as a vigilante. Keigo wouldn't let his happiness slip out as you reluctantly nodded along to his agreement.

In a swift move, he lifts you up bridal-style off the ground and takes off into the night again. It's been too long since you had flown, Keigo has pity on you. Although, this was your first time being carried in this way. He was gentle and soared slow enough for you to take in the beauty of the city at night; you've always been 'too fast for your own good'.

Seeing your eyes fill with wonder at the sight of the city, Keigo says, "I take it you don't fly here often?"

"Usually, I don't. I try not to get spotted. Can't really stay in one place for a long time."

"It's a shame, pretty bird. I'm not sure what I would do if I lost my wings like that."

"Whatever, they'll grow back."

"That's not what I mean," He dips down, expanding his wings for a soft landing. "Those who can fly, should fly. We shouldn't keep ourselves trapped to the ground."

Keigo sets you down carefully. He lands just outside a small building in a region of Kyushu that you haven’t explored yet. Scanning the environment, it’s quiet here; the noise of traffic is faint and hardly any citizens walk freely. You can hear the soft sounds of crickets chirping nearby. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing environment, but it was suitable for the peace Keigo needed.

He leads you to the front door, you two walk to the side of the building. The entrance is tucked away, out of the view of any passersby — although there seemed to be none. Keigo briefly thought about bringing you back to the ‘fake’ apartment Commission gave him when he first started working for them, but the idea was quickly shot down. Who knows if that place had been bugged?

The flights of stairs downwards and the maze of hallways makes your head spin. Ah, fuck. He was probably taking you to some secret place where the police would ambush you or some shit. If it wasn’t obvious to you now, it was certainly over.

When you reach the entrance of his apartment, he fumbles in his pockets for the keys. After unlocking the door, Keigo motions for you to go in first — he was trying to be a gentleman of course. You refused to move though, and he couldn’t blame you. He would be on the edge too if he were you.

He took the first step inside his apartment. The familiar scent of his surroundings made his mind ease, but only for a second.

There were no other people inside, as you previously thought. It didn’t take much to realize this, anyways. The whole apartment lacked something essential, furniture. For such a flashy hero, you were shocked. Surely this wasn’t his. The living room only contained a rug, a small desk on top of it, and a singular cushion for him to sit.

You peek around the corner to find the kitchen, the only appliances are an electric tea kettle and a microwave. There was no need for you to look through his other rooms; you already had an idea of what they might look like.

“Jus’ let me grab my first-aid kit first.” He ushers you to sit down on the soft cushion.

There’s a small night table in the corner of the room. The lamp on the table and ceiling light were the only sources of light in the whole room. His home is located underground, there are no windows. It didn’t seem real at first, you thought he was lying to you.

Keigo opens the drawer and pulls out a first-aid kit. Most of the items have been used, but thankfully you don't need those. Commission purposefully included medication that was needed to help manage his wings.

"It feels like an asylum in here." You manage to say, trying to feel at ease in the cramped space.

"I don't spend much time in here, so I never felt the need to decorate." Keigo walks to you, holding a jar of ointment in his hand.

Carefully, you remove the bandages — some are completely red and damp with blood. When did it get this bad? You were used to enduring the pain, but maybe you took it too far?

"Doesn't it feel lonely in here?"

"Well, not if I've been working all day." Keigo tries to apply the substance to your wings, but he pauses at the sight. It was hard to believe that the once grandiose wings that protected those victims, could get ruined like this. "Dove, you haven't taken good care of yourself..."

His voice sounds... disappointed. You haven't dealt with an injury like this before and your friends, who were also vigilantes, had no idea how to care for you. That was how rare bird-types like you and Hawks were. A once in a lifetime encounter, especially in Kyushu.

"I realize that now..."

"This might hurt a little. I'm all out of painkillers." He really doesn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice. "There's too much blood. They didn't heal properly." A sharp stinging pain erupts in all the places he's plucked your feathers. Keigo places them in a small pile on the ground.

Finally, he can some flesh that's been hiding under your feathers. Raw and charred from the fire. Keigo applies the ointment on his fingertips before massaging it into your skin, gently. Your body tenses up at the uncomfortable feeling, but it isn't anything that you aren't used to. Once he's finished, he wraps the wounded areas in new bandages while allowing for some to breathe.

"Thanks..." You rest on the floor for a while. Keigo puts away all his materials back to their spot.

A few minutes pass; you two have started a new conversation now. He tries to ask more about your personal life, but you gave vague answers. Despite the fact that he was kind enough to heal you, you still couldn't trust him. Keigo makes his home more welcoming for you; there's no need for you to worry about the Commission or police, they don't know about the secret home he's made for himself. In fact, you were the first guest to enter — not even brief hookups or close friends knew.

Keigo was aware that it was wrong. If Commission learned that he allowed a vigilante to become this close to him, they would light a fire under his ass. Yet, he got rush from it all. This whole time, he was worried about his impression on you, but could he even trust you? It wouldn't be a smart choice for you to deceive him under these circumstances. There was something about you that he found exciting — the fact that you were not caged.

Free to stretch your wings as far as they could go without being held back by any institution, Keigo was jealous. Not a care in the world; nothing to hold you back from helping those in need.

Simply being near you gave Keigo a surge of adrenaline that he wanted to be high on, forever. He's already decided that he wants to keep you. After all, he can't help but get what he wants.

When you were finally ready to leave in the morning, he just couldn't accept that. Following you around on his free time like a lost fawn. Didn't he have work to do? He tells you it's all assigned to his sidekicks and someone name Tsukuyomi, there's no need for you to worry. You aren't interested in a friendship. Well, you might’ve considered if he hadn't been so pushy. At first, Keigo claimed it was just a way for him to monitor your progress with healing. But as your feathers grew back over the next few days, fuller than before, he wouldn't budge.

Of course, Commission has kept their eyes on him. It's against the code of conduct for a hero to be aware of a vigilante, but refuse to turn them in. Whichever way he wanted to look at it, the entire relationship shouldn't have gone this far. Surely, he would've been scolded by the Commission at some point. Keigo came up with the perfect lie:

"It's just for work and nothin' else. We could make a great team. It's a good opportunity now that we have been trying to scout them for so long..."

It was true; Commission had their eyes on you for a while now, even willing to overlook your lack of licensing. They were capable of pulling a few strings, just for you. Even considering forging documents and finding loopholes in the system to exploit and have you on their team. Each time, you declined. Keigo had respect for you. He didn't have much of a choice on his outcome in life. He gave you praises for being firm.

All he needed to do was win you over.

His detective skills were immaculate. After you completely healed your wings, you went back to your vigilante work. Thankfully, your schedules were too conflicting for him to keep up. As he was making progress with the League of Villains, he had less time dedicated to you. That took a while, you thought. Now it was all over...

Hawks was one persistent fucker. What he wants, he gets. That was certainly a strong motto to live by. It didn't take long for him to hear news of villain attacks. He always learns of it first; news travels fast, just like him. They all happened to be villains you were fighting and investigating — he really went out of his way to screw up your work. You couldn't do anything with all these heroes around!

Each time, he soared with you in his arms. Pretending as if it was the first time he'd ever flown with you. He knew you could handle yourself at this point, but he just wouldn't let go this time. Scooping you up like a damsel in distress. You tried to slap his arms away, but he wouldn't budge. Even if it was difficult for him to fly with your heavy wings taking most of the space, Keigo didn't mind. Fed up, you slapped his chest and ordered him to put you down:

"Hawks! Put me down! God, why can't you leave me alone?" This time, you yell into his chest as he pulls you tighter to him.

"There's a simple answer for that, dove. I want to say that we're the same. But that's just not true, you're more resilient than me." Keigo slows down and lands on top of the highest point of a tall, skyscraper. He won't give up and release you, though. "Birds of a feather, gotta stick together, right?"

[hknightdai]

(REQUEST) A Targaryen Teaching Method - House of the Dragon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Younger Brother!Male Reader

Tags: Anal, Rough Sex

Request: Can I request Jacaerys Velaryon x younger brother where as Jacaerys is learning Valyrian by him self at the painted table his younger brother fucks him roughly while bending him across the table and everytime he has a word wrong the fucking gets more brutal

XXX

“Ugh!...Drāñot (M-Mouth),” Jace groans, gripping the painted table as you thrust into him.

“Sȳz (Good,) Jace. You remembered the word for mouth,” You say.

Turning his head to look back, you thumb his parted lips, “Maybe tolī īlon’ll dīnagon aōha relgos naejot sȳz gaomagon. (Maybe later we’ll put your mouth to good use.)”

The table makes a sound from your older brother's grip tightening. You only smirk as you tighten your own on his hip.

“Now,” You start, pulling your hips back and making him tremble. “What's the word for “fly?”

Jacaerys lets out a breathy chuckle as you sink back into him, “Sōvēs. A-are you even tryi-AH!”

You yank his head back and slam into him, the sound echoing throughout the room. His heat tightens around your cock as you hiss into his ear.

“I was being nice, Lēkia (Brother). Now, how about “Dragonglass?”

The slight shaking of his head makes you grin. Jace tries to concentrate but you give him no reprieve from your cock. His breath stutters as you tug on his hair and proceed to ram into his tight hole.

Jace groans, choking out a response, “Zīr-Zīrtyss! Zīr-!”

“What's wrong, Jace? You don't. Know. The word!” You grunt, slamming into him.

“Fine!” You grab his throat. “How about “attack?”

Your hips smack against your brother's ass, leaving him gasping as your cock repeatedly hits just the right spot. Jace grits his teeth and his eyelids flutter as he tries to fight against the pressure.

“Dra-dracary-”

You cut him off, slamming him down against the table, its old wood digging into his cheek as you bark, “Pirta (Wrong)! You're so used to only using fire, you don't even know something simple!”

His hair fills one hand as the other moves to his back, keeping him pressed against the table as you fucking into him. Stretching him open, you discipline your brother for not studying. Though that is partially your fault, wanting his lips around your cock so often leaves only one of you free to speak High Valyrian.

You chuckle, watching Jace come undone beneath you, gasping and clawing at the table.

“Careful, jorrāelagon lēkia (Dear Brother). Ao might henujagon nykeā mark (You might leave a mark),” You tease.

Had it been some other time Jace would have fumed, currently however, he is only able to clutch onto one of the table's crevices as he suffers your onslaught.

Leaning down, your chest against his back, you breathe against his neck, “How about you tell me the word I use for you?”

Jace bites his lip and tries turning his head against the table, but you yank him back, forcing a loud moan from his lips.

“Speak!” You hiss.

“Dohaerās (Serve)!” Jace lets out.

“Issa (Yes).” And you bite his neck.

Jace's eyes screw shut before letting out a choked moan and cumming. Feeling him tighten once more, you follow suit, painting his insides white.

You both lay there on the once grand painted table, now only another place you two've fucked.

Catching your breath, you pull out of Jace before tucking yourself away. Your brother takes a moment longer to push himself up and turn around, using the table to keep himself upright.

“So?” He asks, still a bit breathless.

You shrug, “I'd say you did better. You actually managed to speak this time, so that's an improvement.”

You run off laughing when Jace tries to hit you, only managing to trip on his pants.

[saturnniidae]

Interesting and, in my opinion, often overlooked thing about Hiccup is how he's like, not really a compassionate person by default. It was learned, not an innate trait like it seemingly was with Valka.

From things said in the first movie, we can presume he's always had a fairly intense interest in dragons, but it was solely with the intention of killing them – and very stubbornly his way at that, considering he hadn't even read the Book of Dragons yet – and it kind of makes sense considering, he's likely desensitized to violence with how often their village was repeatedly burnt to the ground then rebuilt. Like he got excited there was a raid, completely one-track minded on his plans to shoot something down for his own benefit with no regard for the danger everyone (and himself) was in (and yes! This is somewhat selfish, but he was also a child.) Again, a lot of people overlook the fact that while he was insecure about it, alienated by his peers, and looked down upon by adults, Hiccup is still a viking – or at least was raised as one. He still very much held the same, core dragon killing beliefs every one else on Berk did. The only thing that set him apart was his inability to follow directions due to his unwavering obstinacy when it came to doing things his way.

He had every intention of killing Toothless upon finding him, only changing his mind after seeing the dragons fear and realizing they're both trapped by circumstances outside of their control, and even then had no plans of seeing Toothless again after freeing him. He thought he lost his chance at killing a dragon, after uaving the realization he just didn't have the heart to look an animal in the eyes and take its life, he was fully prepared to return to his mundane routine of ignoring what adults want him to do in favor of his own, ironic and futile attempts at making his father proud.

He's never had any kind of 'natrual' connection with dragons, it was something he stubbornly worked towards. Like I said before; he was as set on killing one as any other person on Berk, I just think he had an easier time accepting they were wrong due to spending most of his life as an outcast.

He only went back to find Toothless after his first attempt at dragon training, it was with no intention to get closer, more of an almost childish curiosity, a fascination that grew out of hand, especially after Astrid yelled at him and forced him to confront what he was doing with the question: 'Whose side are you on?"

I know Forbidden Friendship is the moment we all talk about, but I don't think Hiccup and Toothless had any kind of solidified bond until they flew together, and from Toothless' point of view, the realization that Hiccup had now gone beyond just brief fascination and was actually invested enough to help him fly again.

And even then it wasn't until he met that Terror he realized that Toothless wasn't just a one off thing, that most dragons won't attack pointlessly unless pushed to. And even then his relationship with them is still very flawed, and remains that for a long time; I know we're mostly talking about movie Hiccup here, but would the 'do-no-wrong dragon whisperer' that some people act like he is really have trapped that Skrill in a glacier because it was the easy way out? (In his defense he was like sixteen and at least realizes it was pretty fucked up when he was older and did his best to fix things)

It took time for him to get to be the so called 'peace keeper' he is as an adult (though he always seems to prioritize dragons over people, especially Toothless which is a really interesting and fitting flaw but I digress).

tldr; Hiccup was kind of a selfish, maybe even insensitive kid in the beginning, his compassion took time to develop. I feel like people too often forget that, one of his best traits wasn't an innate thing; it was something he worked for.

[rose24207]

Lando dating a princess for a while and they love each other alot and when it's brought to Landos attention by a friend like an off hand comment about how if he married into the family he might not be able to be an f1 driver, he panics. Because he loves f1 and loves his princess girlfriend as well. And when he brings it up to her reader says she can talk to her dad, but a few days later lando is still panicking and he says hurtful things about how he can't give up his biggest dream for her. So the reader breaks up with him and tells him he doesn't have to worry about it anymore. And Lando feels awful and to make it worse he gets a letter from her actual father saying how if they did ever marry that he can continue his career and that he's happy his daughter is happy with him and that he makes her happy. And it makes Lando resize the huge mistake he made and goes and wins his girl back. 💕

Racing hearts

Summary: Lando panics over the fear of losing his F1 career if he marries his princess girlfriend, says hurtful things, loses her, and later learns from her father that his fears were unfounded, prompting him to win her back and reconcile.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: breakup, doubts

A/N: it’s been a while!! Okay so I have like so many requests ready to post and I thinking do it through the week because I have my German exam tmr 🫡 wish me luck!!

English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando had never imagined his life could look like this. Fast cars, roaring crowds, and champagne-soaked podiums had always been the dream. But now, amidst the whirlwind of his racing career, he had something he’d never expected: love.

And not just any love—he was dating a princess.

You were nothing like he thought royalty would be. Grounded, kind, and utterly devoted to making the world a better place, you brought balance to Lando’s life in a way he hadn’t known he needed. You also fit seamlessly into his chaotic world of Formula 1. At races, you stood quietly in the background, proud and supportive. You didn’t mind the hours he spent on the simulator or the late nights studying data. You understood his passion because you had your own—a commitment to your people and your duties.

For a while, everything felt perfect.

It was during a casual dinner with some friends—Max Fewtrell among them—that things started to unravel. The group was laughing, trading jokes and stories, when someone tossed out a comment.

“Lando, you know if you marry her, you might have to quit F1, right? I mean, can you really imagine a prince flying around the world chasing lap times?”

The table erupted in laughter, but Lando froze. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“You’re joking, right?” he said, forcing a laugh.

“Maybe,” Max replied with a shrug. “But royal life has its rules, mate. They probably wouldn’t want you risking your neck in a car every weekend.”

Lando’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Would he really have to give up racing? Could he? Racing wasn’t just his career—it was his identity, his purpose. But then there was you, the woman he loved more than he thought possible. The idea of losing you was just as unbearable.

By the time he brought it up to you a few days later, the doubt had consumed him.

“Hey, love,” he said one evening, his voice hesitant. You looked up from the book you were reading, immediately noticing his unease.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Someone said something the other day, and I can’t stop thinking about it. If we, you know, got serious… married… would I have to stop racing?”

Your expression softened. “Oh, Lando,” you said gently. “We can talk to my father about it. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

But even your reassurance didn’t settle him.

Over the next few days, Lando spiraled. The idea of choosing between the two things he loved most—racing and you—consumed him. And when he finally couldn’t hold it in any longer, the conversation turned sour.

“I can’t do this,” he blurted one evening as you stood in the kitchen.

You blinked, startled. “Do what?”

“This… us,” he said, his voice shaking. “If being with you means giving up racing, I can’t do it. I can’t give up my dream for you.”

His words felt like a slap.

“I never asked you to,” you replied quietly, your voice trembling.

“But what if it comes to that? What if I have to choose? I don’t know if I can.”

You stared at him for a long moment, tears welling in your eyes. “Then I’ll make it easy for you,” you said, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to choose, Lando. It’s over.”

And with that, you walked away, leaving him standing there, hollow and stunned.

Days passed, but Lando felt no relief—only regret. He missed you with an ache he couldn’t ignore. Then, one morning, a letter arrived. The royal seal on the envelope made his heart race.

It was from your father.

Dear Lando,

I wanted to thank you for bringing so much happiness into my daughter’s life. She speaks of you with such pride and love.

I’ve heard there may be some concerns about how your career would fit into our family. Let me reassure you: should the two of you decide to marry, you would have our full support to continue racing. Your dedication and passion are qualities we admire deeply, and we would never want to stand in the way of your dreams.

Sincerely,

[Your Father’s Name]

Lando stared at the letter, guilt crashing over him. He had let fear drive him to hurt you, and he had been wrong—so wrong.

Lando didn’t waste another moment. He booked the next flight to your country, rehearsing what he would say a thousand times in his head. When he finally arrived at the palace, he was a nervous wreck, but determination pushed him forward.

You weren’t expecting him when he showed up at your door, looking disheveled and desperate.

“Lando,” you said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I messed up,” he said, his voice cracking. “I was scared and stupid, and I hurt you. I should have trusted you, trusted us. You mean everything to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

Tears filled your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“I got a letter from your dad,” he continued, pulling it out of his pocket. “He said I could keep racing. I didn’t have to choose. But even if I did… I should have chosen you. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, slowly, a small smile broke through your tears.

“Do you mean it?” you whispered.

“With everything I am,” he said.

And when you pulled him into a tight embrace, he knew he had finally crossed the finish line of the most important race of his life.

Months later, Lando stood on the podium, another trophy in hand. But as he looked out into the crowd, his eyes found you—his princess, the love of his life—cheering louder than anyone.

He had his dream, his career, and his girl. And for the first time, everything felt truly perfect.

Thank you for reading!

[angelremnants]

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SERIES

• A TALES OF...⠀— A collection of lore-bound but not necessarily sequential ficlets featuring our favorite Asgardian brothers, packed with action, magic, a lot of tension and, of course, romance.

• HIS FOR THE SEASON⠀— In which you once reigned at the pinnacle of Asgard’s elite, only to fall and leave behind nothing but hushed whispers and fading echoes of your name. Loki, the enigmatic prince, fared no better with his exile shrouded in scandal, reducing him to little more than a ghost haunting the opulent corridors of the court.

But as a new Courting Season begins, both of you return, bound by a fabricated betrothal with ambitions far greater than love. In this unlikely alliance, you seek not only to reclaim the splendor that was once yours but to restore the honor and wealth that fate so cruelly stole. And your ascent to glory begins with seizing the coveted title of Amber of the Season.

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FICS

• OF STORMBOUND HEARTS

"In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?"

• A CHRISTMAS TO CHERISH, A YULE TO REMEMBER — Loosely connected to the A Tales Of series' universe.

"When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only adds more tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist."

• SWEATER WEATHER

"Conveyed in a rented beach house stationed on the Californian west coast, a SHIELD mission brings Loki and you together. What starts as an investigation into strange energy spikes uncovers discoveries tied to the ocean—and to each other. As you work together, the line between professionalism and growing attraction blurs even more than before. Can your newfound connection withstand the tides of duty and desire, or is this still water before the tempest?"

• IN THE GRAVITY OF YOU

"You never expected to cross paths with a god, let alone have your destiny tangle with his. Tasked with retrieving the Tesseract for S.H.I.E.L.D., you quickly learn you're in over your head after getting extraordinary powers in an unfortunate occurrence. Your fate is no longer in your hands, and the stone, the source of your connection, seem to have sinister abilities. Its power will either bond you together... or tear you apart."

• BETWEEN STRENGTH & STYLE

"Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego.

Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control.

The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?"

PARTㅤ⠀ONE . TWO⠀(18+) . THREE⠀(18+) .

• GIRLS' NIGHT OUT, LOKI'S NIGHT IN⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"Girls’ night was going great—until Loki decided to make it his personal mission to ruin it, being hellbent on pulling you home. It’s a battle of wills, but let’s face it: the God of Mischief always gets his way."

• THE EMOJI CONUNDRUM — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"In the middle of a very serious meeting, Loki decides it’s the perfect time to attempt to seduce you with a series of cryptic emoji messages that, unsurprisingly, make no sense."

• YOU'RE BANNED !⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"After an ill-timed and highly inappropriate comment made during a meeting debrief, Loki finds himself slapped with the ultimate punishment—a strict sex ban put in place by you. And sadly for him, you’re enjoying his suffering way too much to free him from it."

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SERIES

• ROLL CALL

“The biting winters of 1943 paled in comparison to the frozen hearts of soldiers, weary and broken by the unrelenting call of war. For men burdened by despair, the burn of alcohol was the only warmth they knew.

Sergeant Barnes lived for one purpose: to stand by his best friend’s side, no matter where the battlefield led them. But a chance encounter at a dimly lit bar near the military camp changes everything. A young woman, bold yet gentle, awakens something in him—a spark long buried beneath years of frost and pain.”

CHAPTERㅤ⠀ONE . TWO . THREE . FOUR .

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FICS

• HEAT WAVES

"After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through."

PARTㅤ⠀ONE . TWO . THREE⠀(18+) .

• LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"It’s 3AM, you’re drunk and deep in Tony’s stash of expensive liquor. Naturally, the best course of action is to text Bucky—who, despite it all, always picks up."

• FLIRTING AFTER DARK — Social Media Alternate Universe, follow-up of Late Night Confessions.

"In the aftermath of the wild night, you're left dealing with the embarrassing fallout of your drunken behavior. You did your best to avoid facing it, but it seems that Bucky has other plans and refuses to let you forget the bold words you spoke."

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FICS

• AMERICAN WEDDING

“Steve Rogers is throwing himself into mission after mission, trying to outrun the weight of his past—his unresolved feelings for Sharon and the lingering memories of Peggy. But when his commanding officers force him to take a break, Steve ends up on a staycation in Barbados. What begins as a forced respite soon becomes a much-needed escape as he unexpectedly finds healing, peace, and even a connection in the warmth of the Caribbean sun. Steve learns to let go of the past and finally breathe again, even if it’s just for a short while.”

• CLASSIFIED DISTRACTION⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"Steve usually prides himself on his self-control—that is, until you decide to put it up to the test with a single and devastatingly timed picture of you in lingerie. Trapped in a government meeting, he’s forced to choose between professionalism and the growing need to grill you and put you back in your place. Spoiler alert: the meeting won’t last much longer."

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FICS

• STUCK WITH YOU

“The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in a room with a person you didn't know, much less be forced to team up with them. But thanks to your best friend's meddling, you now find yourself headed for a peculiar blind date, paired with someone who’s anything but a stranger. You swore you’d moved on. He said it was for the best. But maybe you were never meant to let each other go.”

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angelremnants ©️ 2024/2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[lheslie]

Mark Variants Vs Yuki Tsukumo Reader

"What's your type of woman?" - Yuki Tsukumo from Jujutsu Kaisen

Warning: A bit ooc Yuki Tsukumo Reader

- Main Mark

He idolizes you, his eyes shimmer whenever he sees you.

"Take a picture, it'll last long." You said as Mark grew flustered.

You were so Intelligent and Confident in your skills, he loves how you're creative when you use your skills against enemies.

He loves your initiative when making strategic plans.

You're also bold enough to express your thoughts and emotions.

When you two sparred, he was shocked when you landed heavy blows on his body, giving him a lot of bruises after a fight.

He wonders how your cursed technique works, and you were happy enough to teach him.

In the middle of a fight, he can see you leading the charge on the front lines, although you liked making a big entrance, where you land a huge blow on the enemy's leader.

You two team up a lot, as you found out that the enemies tend to target Mark a lot.

"Let's kick some ass!" You yelled.

- Omni Mark

He was hovering in the skies as you came into the fight on your motorcycle.

You parked your motorcycle on the side of the road and got out of it.

You took your goggles off and looked at him.

"Was I late to the fight?" You asked as you looked at him.

"They weren't even considered as warm-ups." He replied

"Cocky eh? Let's see you talk like that after I kick your ass." You provoked him.

"I've never encountered you from my dimension, let's see what you've got." He monotonously said

He flies to attack you, as you used your cursed technique, Star Rage, when you punch him, as he flew onto a building.

"Told ya I'd kick your ass." You smiled slyly.

He immediately got back up again.

"Don't be so smug, I haven't even started yet." He said brushing off dust on his suit.

- Target Mark

"Weak pests, all weak." He muttered as he kept stepping onto the graves of fallen heroes who tried to defend Earth with their lives.

"Well, aren't you childish?" You spoke as you removed your goggles.

"Think you could grow up? I heard punching a child is illegal." You mocked.

"Say, what's your type?" You asked as you blew him a kiss.

"You're dead." He shouted at you as you used Garuda like a soccer ball, kicking it on its way.

He was struck with an unknown heavy force that made him fly far away.

He was shaking as he stood up again.

"Looks like I'm going to have some fun after all." He smirked as he rushed again at you.

"Let's see how long you'll last." You smirked, kicking Garuda on his way again.

- Viltrum Mark

He was silently watching you as you got down from your motorcycle.

"I have never faced you in my dimension. Have you come to surrender?" He spoke quietly as he descended from his position.

"Over my dead body." You replied, smirking, looking at him.

His unphased look turned into a glare as he started to attack you with punches, and you returned them with a stronger blow.

His eyes widen with shock and amusement.

"What? Never saw a heavy dealer other than yourself?"

"I've killed beings above and below, you don't faze me." He retorted.

"Well, you haven't met me yet." You smirked as you used your cursed technique, giving him another heavy blow to the pavement.

- Shiesty Mark

"Fucking weaklings, this is no fun." He complained, smashing the streets with his super strength.

"Well, why don't you fight someone you're own size?" You laughed as Shiesty Mark looked at you.

"What's your type?" You winked and blew a kiss towards him, as he smirked behind his hooded mask.

"You, maybe?" He flirted.

"Of course you do." You replied, chuckling, combing your hand through your hair.

He then threw a car towards you as you punched it back to him.

"Hey! Learn some manners!" You yelled angrily as you kicked Garuda towards him.

- Sinister Mark

"Haven't seen someone like you from my dimension,  I wanna hear how you scream and beg for mercy." He said, wiping off blood from your attack.

"You talk like it'll happen, maybe you'll be the one screaming and begging for my mercy once I beat your ass up." You yelled, punching him again.

You used your reverse technique to heal yourself from the damage that he dealt to you.

"Hm? It seems you have more up your sleeve." He commented.

"Well, I can show you more about it!" You yelled, kicking him again.

As he caught your kick, slamming you to the ground.

You immediately used your reversed technique again, as you dodge his other attacks.

He was a bloodthirsty monster, you thought as you huffed, giving him another heavy blow.

- Prisoner Mark

He was busy destroying everything, he could as you jumped on him, kicking his face.

He didn't even move from his spot; only his face moved.

"You didn't even move!" You spoke, astonished at his strength.

"I've been through hell, this is nothing." He spoke with venom in his words.

"Well, you're about to go through another level of hell with me." You smirked, provoking him.

"We'll see about that." He retorted as he started to fly towards you.

- Mohawk Mark

He was hovering above the mass destruction he had caused, appreciating what he had done.

As something hit him behind his back, which made him fly back, but he still stayed in mid-air.

He looked at you and smirked

"Oh shit, a newbie. Never met you before, so what can you do other than throwing wrecking balls into someone's back?" He questioned and acted like nothing had happened.

"Come down so you could see it for yourself as I kick your ass out!!"You provoked.

"If you insist." As he flew down, crashing onto you.

You immediately punched him out as he stood up.

"You're strong, but let's see how strong you are." He said, picking off broken road rocks, throwing them towards you as you kick Garuda to deflect its damage.

"What's that flying thingy surrounding you?" He questioned.

"You ask too much!" You replied as you kicked Garuda towards him again, which he tried catching.

"Ughh, this shit is so heavy."He complained, so he stopped trying to catch it, he flew down again, and tried to throw a car towards you.

"Good luck blocking that without your flying snake." He chuckled.

- No goggles Mark

He was itching to fight stronger opponents, but then he saw you.

"Ooh~ and who are you? I've never met you before." He laughed as he launched an attack, punching you, as you swiftly avoided him, giving him an uppercut with your cursed technique that flew him through the roof.

"Wow, and I thought you were strong." You sighed, complaining as you started to walk away.

The moment you turned, you heard someone breathing on your neck as you suddenly flew into the wall.

"Ughh, fuck." You muttered, using your reverse technique.

"Don't die yet, we've just started having fun!" He pouted as you slowly got out of the wall.

"Well, aren't you a masochist?" You commented as you made Garuda into a sphere, kicking it towards him. He took the blow that hit him to the wall, and he immediately flew back up, rushing towards you.

"Domain Exapnsion, Celestial Star Forge." You spoke.

He was suddenly inside your domain, applying heavy force on his body that had him lying on the floor. Although the force was heavy, he still had the strength to look at you.

"You're so cool!" He smiled.

[homeboundmonsters]

Javert: Prison and Desire.

Struggling to formulate this but here it is anyway, a mini essay. This is a very abridged version of some ideas that have been percolating in my mind.

I think something not often discussed is the effect being born and raised in a prison would have on Javert’s understanding of affection and love. I think a lot of Javert’s confusion over his desire for Jean Valjean come from his early experiences and upbringing.

Javert’s desire for Jean Valjean is often expressed through violent imagery: tiger’s claws and teeth -leaping to bite; a spider catching a fly in its web; a cat toying with a mouse in its claws. Javert struggles to process desire as something that can be tender or intimate. He struggles with gentleness and affection. This can even be seen in how when he finally realises and recognises his own desire for Jean Valjean it is considered a form of destruction or forced change: claws being made to unclench, ice being melted; or as a form of submission: a dog submitting to a master. For Javert desire can only be expressed by violent taking or through complete submission of oneself to another. The roots of this can be found in his childhood.

We see the effect of prison on Jean Valjean: it takes a normal, loving family man and turns him into a man capable of murder, a man who interacts with society and processes his emotions through bouts of anger and violence. Javert has experienced what changed a grown man into a potential murderer in his most formative years. We know from his pre-suicide letter that Javert spent sometime in a woman’s prison witnessing the abuse of female prisoners who were given more space between bars most likely in order to facilitate sexual favours that would be coerced from them by guards. It is highly likely that during his developmental years he witnessed acts of sexual violence alongside acts of generalised violence. His small skull is associated, during the period Hugo was writing, with childhood neglect as it was caused by a baby being left too long lying on their back. This suggests that he lacked motherly attention or affection. Not to say that his mother did not love him, but it is highly likely that due to her circumstance she would not have been able to give him the input required. This was common for many children of the poor, but combined with growing up in a hostile environment surrounded by violence, sexual violence, and the removal of freedoms as a punishment for non-compliance we can begin to understand how Javert might grow up to associate violence with desire or love.

Javert’s natural submission to authority, his ability to disappear, his acute observational skills, his unwillingness to criticise those in power, the correlation he makes between destruction of identity (giving up his career and leaving into obscurity) and punishment can all be tracked to his experiences in childhood. Javert has spent his formative years living in fear, learning to make himself small and becoming hyper aware of what is around him at all times to avoid abuse. This has left him a damaged and vulnerable individual with no solid sense of internal security. He has never had love or stability, he has been deprived of affection, and has lived in an environment of constant physical and psychological abuse. We know from modern studies that these things quite literally change the brain anatomy of children growing up in these conditions. For a newborn baby the earliest form of love is being fed by their mother, and so food comes to be one of the earliest forms of comfort. Javert was no doubt seeing sex traded for food and for safety from physical violence, hence it would formulate in his mind not to equate to love or emotional intimacy but as a form of currency. Affection too, feigning love or preference, a tool for survival. How, in these conditions, can we expect him to develop into a psychosexually healthy individual? Hugo states that Javert is a virgin and, although we know Hugo did this because of his weird hang-up about virgin= good person, we can suppose that Javert’s virginity stems from a deep-seated trauma associated with his development within a sexually violent environment.  

Then, as young adult, Javert moved to working in male prisons. In France, during the 1800’s, prisons had some of the highest rates of recorded homosexuality in the country and it is likely that all throughout his career as a prison guard Javert was witnessing acts of sexual violence, or acts of consensual but unlikely to be safe sodomy. As he went through puberty he would have been only interacting with male/male acts of sexual violence. Whatever he might have felt would have been confused with fear and awareness of the inherent danger that existed within male/male sexual relationships in prison. Male/male sexual desire, although legal in France by the time of Les Mis, was still something considered morally reprehensible and as belonging in the underbelly of French social life. When Javert desires Jean Valjean, he desires him through the framework of violence because he has spent a lifetime witnessing sex as an act of violence or as a framework through which power and control can be expressed. He wants to have power over Jean Valjean- that is to say arrest him- and at the same time experiences this strange conflicting but also correlating desire to possess and ‘devour’ ‘his convict.’

When he finally recognises his desire for what it is, and detaches it from his desire to arrest Jean Valjean, his desire transmutes itself into a desire to submit. This is because, for Javert, submission has been his norm: one must submit to authority in order to survive it. When he sought to destroy Jean Valjean, he was secure in his understanding of male/male desire, when he realises what he desires is something more tender- a dog licking the intruders hand- he finds himself adrift unable to process his feelings. How can male/male desire be tender? How can it be loving? How can it mean devotion and choosing to submit in the understanding that you will be safe and unharmed? This is outside of Javert’s psychological vocabulary. This is also why Javert cannot understand Valjean’s freeing of him at the barricade: authority means violence. Valjean has authority and chooses mercy. Javert has no previous experience with or understanding of love and so has no groundwork on which he can build. Valjean at least had familial love in his sister/mother figure, his father, and the love of his nieces and nephews, but how does one begin to approach loving another human being when they have lacked even that? Love is not a natural occurrence it is a learnt behaviour and one Javert has never been taught.

I think this is part of what I find so interesting about Javert, so often he is criticised for not living up to modern moral expectations and yet so little consideration is given to the traumatic circumstances that existed throughout his childhood and which formulated his rigid perspective of the world. How can one who has never experienced mercy be expected to know how to give it? How can one who has never been loved be able to offer it? Javert has lacked the basic structure of society and has learned to survive under tyrannical rule, that is not something so easily shucked off in adulthood. Despite leaving prison, prison never left Javert and it shapes every decision, every flaw and every fault he struggles with throughout his life.