I cant stop laughing at like the idea of Shiro’s parents bringing new born baby Keith home and all the adult are just hovering about the baby aweing and ooing about how cute he is. Shiro just being like 8 in the back ground glacing at him like “that red lump of fat has more wrinkles then Grandma’s bulldog? How is that cute? A gremlin is what he is”
◇ warnings: cursing, my first time posting on tumblr, generally horrible writing
“That’s not what I meant, Pea.”
My parents would have a heart attack if I brought you home. Simply a passing comment, maybe less light-hearted than intended, but it had a bad reaction all the same.
“Of course it’s not you meant,” he scoffed sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. He let out a humourless laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. “Of course it’s not. You North Siders have a strange sense of humour, huh, baby?"
"Don’t turn it into that.” Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare do that.”
“Do what?” He was testing your patience now. He leaned forward, across the rickety table that held your school books. His jaw clenched, eyes hard and body stiff. “Say what you’re thinking? ‘Cause I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking—"
“—'Shit, Pea’s figured it out. He knows I’m not joking. He knows I’ll never be able to let him meet my parents because what kind of North Sider wants their daughter to bring home a Serpent?’”
“Shut up!” You slammed the book in your hand down to the table, breathing heavily as though you had run a mile. If Pea wasn’t so angry he would’ve seen the tears brewing in your eyes, but that wasn’t the case. “What’s gotten into you? You - you—"
"I what?” He growled. “I’m dangerous? I get too angry too quickly? Sorry to tell you, sugar, but that’s who I am, and that’s what you signed up for when you became my girl. None of them North Sider boys could have prepared you.”
You stared at him for a few seconds.
“I’m not your girl,” you muttered spitefully to yourself, furiously blinking as you piled your books on top of each other. Sweet Pea’s brow raised. “Not anymore.”
"Yeah,” you finished. He barely moved as you whipped away whatever tears had escaped and stood tall, your increasing anger only giving you more confidence. “Yeah. I’m not your girl, not anymore, so screw you, Sweet Pea.”
Sweet Pea’s lip curled — somewhere in the back of his mind reminded him that he would regret this dearly, but he was clouded by his anger and pride. “You think I care? Leave, then."
You sniffled, shouldering your back pack. You didn’t dare meet his eyes, not while your tears flowed down your face and your heart pounded with the reality of what was happening — and then, without a second thought, you stormed out. He heard you apologising distantly to the librarian as you left.
A strangled grunt echoed through the corner he sat in, his hair pulled taut between his fingers. He had done it again — he had let his anger get the best of him with the one person who mattered the most to him. With furrowed brows and gritted teeth, he pulled his South Side Serpent’s jacket from his chair and slung it onto his body before leaving in as much of a rush as you did.
In all honesty, Sweet Pea knew that you were both doomed to fail from the very beginning. He wouldn’t be surprised if you knew, too. A South Side Serpent and a North Sider? Hell, he had no idea what he was thinking. He hated North Siders — hated their uppity attitudes, their fancy houses, the way they turned their noses up at those who lived on the other side of the tracks. But he didn’t hate you. No, he couldn’t.
You weren’t like the other North Siders. You didn’t look down on him, you didn’t pity him… you supported him. You understood when he told you about the struggle he had faced (and still faced) as a South Sider. You were his little slice of paradise, and he had let you slip between his fingers.
It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean what you said, and even if you did, could he blame you? No North Sider wanted their baby girl bringing home a Serpent. Hell, a lot of South Siders didn’t want it either. Maybe it was that truth that got to him, that made him lose his temper. What he wanted for you and what he would get were two different things and even though he knew you could never have a perfect life he didn’t like to be reminded. Fuck, he needed to talk to you.
“Sweet Pea!” A voice calls.
He looks up, plucking the cigarette from his mouth in the process. In the orange glow of streetlights, he could see Fangs and a few other Serpents looking at him — expectant, mischievous, and no doubt looking to him for trouble. “What?"
"We’re gonna hit up the quarry,” one says, already beginning to climb onto his motorcycle. The bar’s become lukewarm, then, and it’s time for them to move on to the next hot spot of the night. “You’re coming with, right?”
It’s phrased as a question but nobody expects him to answer because they all expect him to say the same thing: yes.
Everybody freezes for a second. Fangs looks over his shoulder, face the epitome of disbelief. “You’re not coming? Why?"
"No, I got shit to do,” Sweet Pea said, eyes narrowing. He didn’t like when people questioned what he said. “Do I have to say it again, dim wit?”
“Alright.” Fangs shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, climbing onto his own bike, just as the others did, before he made up his mind and confirmed what he was about to do.
In your relationship, Sweet Pea tended to be the less emotional one. You couldn’t help it — you cried at everything, be it movies, stubbing your toe, getting too scared… Arguments were the common cause of it, though, which explains just why you were in the position you were in now; eyes bloodshot and tired, passed 1 AM and still awake, playing sad songs on the radio. Part of you thought about what Sweet Pea was doing — whether he was having as hard a time as you were, whether your fight even had an effect on him. The other part of you chastised yourself for even thinking about him.
God, could you ever stop thinking about him? About his stupid hair or his eyes or the way he smelled or how warm his jacket was when he put it around your shoulders. Stupid mundane things that shouldn’t make your heart lurch but did anyway because you loved him and now everything was horrible because of a misunderstanding on both of your parts.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
At first you think that the tapping at your window is just a distance sound — a tree, or a neighbourhood dog, or something other than what it actually is. A few minutes pass, though, and as your annoyance builds and your tiredness decreases, you realise that it’s coming from your window — and like the idiotic protagonist of a 60s Slasher movie, you go closer to investigate.
“P-Pea?” You stuttered in confusion. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him, standing beneath your window just like he always did when you would sneak him in. “What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk,” he called up. He glanced around at the surrounding houses uncomfortably, before readjusting his jacket. “It’s cold as fuck out here, can I come in?"
"You know the way.” You gestured to the tree outside your window invitingly, before opening your window wider and stepping back. As soon as you were out if sight you were a flustered mess, checking your hair and trying to make your eyes less red. By time he clambered through your window you had made your bed and tidied yourself up. Feeling much too awkward in your own room, you lingered by your bed while Sweet Pea climbed in.
Minutes passed in heavy, awkward silence. You fiddled with your hands, occasionally glancing up at his face, only to avert your eyes when you saw he was already looking at you. Memories of your fight clouded your mind but every time you opened your mouth to speak no words came out. Thus, you were left in silence. That was, until—
“I knew you didn’t mean what you said.”
You looked to him in confusion.
“I knew that you didn’t mean it,” he sighed, shrugging, “but I still got angry because I knew that it was true—”
“I don’t want you to sugar coat it,” he interrupted. He pushed off from your desk, making his way to where you stood. “We both know it’s true. I didn’t want to be reminded of what we can’t have because the truth is that I want everything for us. You deserve that — me? Not so much. I’m an asshole.”
“I know,” you breathed. “My asshole, but an asshole nonetheless.”
“And I don’t know how to…” He made a twisted face— “…Express what I’m feeling properly, so don’t kill me. Even talking about it now is hard—”
“I appreciate what you’re doing, Pea,” you whispered, smiling gratefully as you placed your hands on his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Anything for my girl.” His smirk returned, only growing wider as he dipped his head and let your lips brush. And there he was again: your confident, cocky, asshole of a boyfriend — but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
A concept - Victor one day brings home three baby poodles, and Yuri rushes over from the kitchen and lifts one from Victors arms and reenacts the Lion King scene with it, while Victor's trying to keep the other two in his arms
Prompt! Can we see Supercorp but one where Kara rescues a baby and brings them home and Lena doesn’t wanna get her hopes up about adoption because she doesn’t want Kara to have to outlive her AND a child (Pref a fluffy ending but up to you?)
“Kara, honey, are you home yet?” Lena called out as she kicked off her heels and balanced the bags of take out in her arms.
The quiet of the penthouse greeted her as she hurried toward the kitchen. As she turned on the lights, the city outside disappeared from the large windows. Their home became its own universe, with just the faintest bit of galaxy outside.
Hey so I've loved your Retold Fairytales for some time but I just binged your entire Gods and Monsters and I??? love Styx. A lot. And I'm curious about Hephaestus and Styx growing up as best friends in the Underworld. If you could work your magic when you have the time, I'd love to see a story about them!
Styx does not have a home
in the underworld, not really. She has a room in Hades’s palace, of course, and
a nook in Hecate’s house. Charon has a
cottage by her river, a humble thing for a being of such great power, and she’s
shoved her way onto his narrow bed and curled into the warmth of his chest more
than once. She darts through the horrors of Tartarus, and plays in the Elysium
All of the underworld is open to her, and she’s lived here
the entirety of her existence. But she’s yet to find a piece of it that feels
as if it belongs to her, that doesn’t
Hecate brings home a baby with no legs beneath the knee and
wide, curious eyes.
Styx adores him instantly.
Hecate is a busy woman – her duties in the underworld keep
her constantly moving, and she spends much of her time shrouded in her secrets.
She is the goddess of magic, and there are things that only she can do, things
that other people can’t even know about. She is not a person with much time to
spare, and babies take a lot of time.
Hades watches him often, directing the traffic of souls and
overseeing construction with the child held to his chest. Charon fashions a
sling, and the baby sleeps against his back while Charon ferries souls across
Time passes. The baby is not like her.
The baby grows.
Hephaestus is a child, and he lives in a dangerous place.
His aunt raises him, and she is a busy woman who does important things, and it
seems to him like nothing in their home is safe to touch, that it is all cursed
or corrosive or even, at time, sentient.
The palace is not much better. Hades always welcomes him,
has a warm smile for him, but is too busy to linger. He walks on wobbly legs of
glass that Aunt Hecate fashioned for him, and they allow him to walk, but they
pain him too. He cannot run or jump, he cannot explore the edges of the underworld
like he so desperately wants to because his legs are delicate, clumsy things.
They are glass, and they shatter too easily.
“Don’t be sad,” a voice says in his ear, and he’s grinning
before he even turns around. Lady Styx is there, smiling at him. She looks to
be his age, although she is much older, and she has black skin and grey hair
and eyes. Her skin is the color of her river’s water, and her hair and eyes the
color of the foam when it rushes too fast. For as long as he can remember, she
has always had kindness to spare.
“I’m not sad,” he says stubbornly. “Aren’t you busy?” She is
a goddess, one as powerful and important as his aunt or Hades. He wants to grow
up to be just like her.
She shrugs, “My river knows what to do. Do you want to go on
“Yes,” he says instantly. The only time he’s allowed to
explore is when Styx is with him. If his glass legs break, she can carry him,
and if anything tries to attack or hurt them, she can stop it.
She grabs his hand, smiling. It’s cold. She’s always cold,
the same icy temperature as her river. “There are volcanos in Tartarus. Have I
taken you there before?”
He shakes his head, and in the next instant they’re gone.
Styx and Hephaestus manage to get in all manner of trouble,
including, but not limited to: accidentally giving Cerberus two extra heads,
devising and implementing a manner of torture for Tantalus that is so brilliant
Hades can’t even get mad at them for it, and figuring out it is possible to surf of Styx’s rough
waters with glass legs, but only if you’re very, very stupid and have the
goddess in question by your side and laughing so hard she forgets that her
primary job here is to prevent you from dying.
When he’d found them, Hades had given them the worst
admonishment he knew how to give: a disappointed frown. Hecate had laughed and
told them to be careful of his legs.
Hephaestus’s childhood had its bright spots. Almost all of
those bright spots included Styx.
Hephaestus looks older than her now, a young man when she
is, as always, a child. He’s gotten quieter as he ages, his dark eyes
“You shouldn’t come here without me,” she scolds, sitting
down beside him. He doesn’t respond, swinging his hammer down on glowing metal
with a boom loud enough that the volcano shakes with it. “You know Hecate
doesn’t like you going into Tartarus alone.”
“You were busy,” he says, not accusatory, just a statement
of fact. “Here, cool this for me.”
She sighs, but cool water rushes from her hands and onto the
superheated metal. It hisses and steams, but when the air clears Hephaestus
holds it up and appears to be satisfied. “Must it be in a volcano? We can make
you a forge in safer part of the underworld.”
“Volcanos are useful,” he says, the same answer he always
gives her. “I have more of these to do if you want to stick around.”
Helping him build whatever he’s currently working on is
pretty boring. But he’s her friend, and it must be important if he’s risking
his life by going into Tartarus on his glass legs to do it. “Sure,” she sighs
slumping down to sit crosslegged next to him. He pats her on the head, which
she’s all prepared to be insulted by - she’s a kid, but she’s not a kid – when she sees his lips curled up around
the corners of his mouth. He’s making fun of her on purpose, which is still
annoying, but is less hurtful than him treating her like a kid just because he
The first set of legs that Hephaestus makes for himself are
made of iron. They’re not as pretty as he’d like them to be, but that’s all
right. He can run in these legs, jump in them, fight in them. He is no longer a
being made of glass, no longer someone who can be easily broken.
Styx is the first person he shows them to. He leaps and
somersaults in them, something he could never do before. She’s delighted at
first, smiling and clapping, but by the time he finishes, arms out-thrown and
beaming, she’s wilted. She sits hunched and tries to keep her smile in place,
but it’s trembling.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of her. “I
thought you would be happy for me.”
“I am!” she hiccups, and now she’s crying, big fat tears
that he wants to wipe away but can’t. She cries the water of her river. If he
touches them, he’ll burn. “I am happy!’
He risks it, tugging the end of his sleeve down to quickly
wipe her left cheek, then ripping it and throwing the cloth away as it burns.
“You don’t look happy.”
“You’re going to leave,” she says, and he goes cold. “You
have legs, and now you’re going to leave, and I’m not. I am the Goddess of the
River Styx, I must stay with my river. But you’re going to leave.”
His heart breaks seeing Styx cry. He loves Hecate, loves
Charon, loves Hades. But if there is one person in this realm he can truly call
family, it is her. They share no blood, but she’s the only sister he’s ever
known. “I’ll visit! You can visit me too. I wasn’t born here, Styx. Hecate
isn’t my mom. I was born on Olympus, and I can’t hide in the underworld from
Hera forever. I don’t want to
“I know!” she says, her breath coming in stuttering gasps as
she tries and fails to stop crying. “You’re so smart, and all the things you
make are amazing. You need to go out there, so other gods can see you, so that
people can see you. I just – I’m going to miss you.”
He’s a god – a little river water won’t kill him. He pulls
Styx into his arms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as her tears burn through
his skin. She resists for a moment, then goes slack, throwing her arms around
his neck. He says, “I’m going to miss you too.”
Hephaestus does not want to cause an uproar. He’s had
fantasies of storming Mount Olympus, of confronting Hera, of doing any number
of foolish, stupid things. But he is not a foolish, stupid man.
Hecate has picked out a volcano for him already, one she
tells fits all his requirements and is not in the domain of any other god, even
the lesser ones. He will go slow. He will build, and improve the lives of the
mortals. Temples will be erected in his honor, tributes placed at his feet, his
name on all their lips. He’ll build his power the hard way, until they can
ignore him no longer, until Hera and Zeus have no choice but to offer him a
place at their table on Olympus.
But not yet.
For now, he builds something else, something even more
“Can I open my eyes yet?” Styx asks, pouting.
Hephaestus’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing her
She scowls. She can tell they’re by her river, in a bend
where no one travels through, but that’s it. Her knowledge of the geography of
the underworld is always in relation to her river. “What about now?”
“Yes,” he says.
She wasn’t expecting it, so it takes her a moment to blink
her eyes open. “Did you make this?”
“Hecate helped,” he admits, “I wasn’t sure what to do for
things like curtains and windchimes. Do you like it?”
It’s a house. A small one, not much bigger than Charon’s.
It’s made of obsidian, but not several pieces put together. It looks like the
whole things was carved out of one massive piece of obsidian. The walls are black
and smooth and shining. There’s a large, round bed in the center that’s a pale
blue, the chairs in a deep purple, and her curtains are a soft yellow. The
house is black, but Hephaestus has filled it with color, given her a rainbow
tucked in every space. Copper pots hang in the kitchen, and there are signs of
his forging everywhere – in the cabinets, the door knobs in the shape of flowers,
the singular windchime hanging in her open window, even though there is no wind
“Do you like it?” he repeats. “I know you tend to just – end
up wherever, but I thought you should have a place that was just yours. If you
want something different I can change it–”
“No.” She swallows and touches her wall, the silver design
in her walls that he must have inlaid himself. “It – it’s perfect.” Quieter
then, “You gave me a home.”
No place in the whole of the underworld has ever felt like
it belonged to her. This one does. It doesn’t feel borrowed.
Hephaestus ruffles her hair, “It seems only fair, since you
did the same for me. This realm wouldn’t have been my home without you.”
They’re smiling at each other, and the tension she’d been
carrying ever since she realized Hephaestus would be leaving drains out of her.
He’s older now, almost an adult, and he’s leaving the
underworld. But he’s not leaving her.
“You’re my best friend,” she tells him, in case he’s
“Good,” he tells her, “because you’re my best friend too.”
DA:I, companions and councillors reacting to the Inquisitor bringing home a crate fill of baby nugs, or mabaris, or your choice of small cutbaby animal. You guys do great work!
MABARI PUPPIES FOR ALL
Cassandra: “We don’t have time to…” She stops and stares at the yapping and waggling puppies, some of which are trying to reach her for attention. Her eyes widen, slightly, and she gingerly pulls one out of the box. After holding it for a moment, she sighs. “Alright, we can take them back to Skyhold to be given to some of Cullen’s men. This once.”
Blackwall: He lets out a hearty laugh and insists on carrying the crate. He plays with the puppies a lot, and is sad when they’re given up for adoption to other Inquisition members.
Iron Bull: “Oh, look at the little guys!” He grins and sits down, allowing the puppies to amble up to him, crawling up on him. “Look at them! Gonna grow up fierce as dragons!”
Sera: “PUPPIES!” she cries as she picks up a wiggling puppy to give it a hug and a kiss. “Look at their smooshy little faces! Can I have one?”
Varric: He grins. “Well, would you look at that?” He strokes their heads and watches them for awhile.
Cole: He loves them, because they’re happy and they make almost everyone who sees them happy. “They’re so happy. Everyone should have puppies. Maybe demons wouldn’t be demons if they had puppies.”
Dorian: He instantly smiles at the sight of them. “Well, what do we have here, Inquisitor? New recruits?” The puppies like him, a lot, much to his surprise.
Solas: He can’t help but crack a smile at the puppies. He can be found sitting and watching them with great interest.
Vivienne: She acts like she’s not interested, but the Inquisitor sees her eyes flicking over to them and her lips curling upward as they yap and just be adorable in general.
Josephine: She squeals in delight at the sight of them. “Ohhh, they’re so CUTE!” she exclaims as she hurries to greet them.
Leliana: She wishes she could spend all day with them, but she has to work. Later on, though, a scout finds her at her desk with a snoozing puppy on her lap.
Cullen: He’s at their side instantly, offering to help however they need. Dog food? A kennel? Anything so the puppies can stay. They seem to lessen the effects of his headaches.
((Some y’all said I should post this so that’s what I’m doing hope you like it??))
Airports were terrible. Airports are terrible. So many people bustling to and from, people sprinting to make their flights, people complaining loudly, a baby shrieking possibly solely for purpose of making everyone else want to commit either homicide or suicide. Keith couldn’t stand it, staring at the child with intense hatred knowing full well the only thing he’d accomplish is scaring it more. His dog lying under the bench he waited on did nothing to comfort him in his tired state, it only whined at the occasional pet that passed by. He almost regretted getting up so early, at 4AM, only to have the flight delayed by three hours. He’d already killed time wandering around, skimming through magazines at stands, half heartedly looking at the souvenirs for his home city, drinking more coffee than he, rationally speaking, should. There weren’t many places he could go with a dog and his car in airport valet, so he sat patiently. The large clock high on the wall struck 8, and he’d officially been waiting four hours. And now, his phone was dead. Wonderful. At least the baby was gone.
Welcome Back to the Story! If You’re Missing a Chapter, Catch Up HERE! Just a Quick Note– I think it is fairly obvious that Tony doesn’t really cope with tragedy well, internalizing his feelings and trying to distract from them with work and alcohol. So this update is exactly that. It was hard to write, and even though I hope it’s not hard to read, I do hope his grief and grieving comes through in my writing.
To: Bucky –I’m going to pretend like I’m not freaking out over you being MIA because me panicking won’t solve anything. So I’m just going to talk about regular things, because writing to you makes me feel somewhat connected. –re:super soldier program. I have been working on designing prosthetics for the program. The below knee leg prosthetic is actually showing great promise. Reinforcing it to be borderline lethal when kicked out has been an interesting experiment. The balance between heavy enough to hurt but not too heavy to move is a hard one to achieve. I’m worried that the metal limb will actually have to be wired into the nerves of the thigh to be anything more than a battering ram. Of course that involves messing with soldiers brains and I just don’t know how I feel about that. Working on an arm as well right now, and I know without even starting that I’d have to Hotwire a Brain to make sure the arm is fully functioning. Scary stuff. The idea that some scientist out there is working on something like this terrifies me. –I have to attend another charity dinner this evening. I feel like the last one we attended together was so much better than this one will be, but that’s mostly because i knew i was getting laid later that night. Tonight not so much. –show back up on base so steve and I will stop worrying –miss you
Request: bringing home newborn baby girl, cute cuddly daddy Bill ensues. Hope you like it! 💙
Bill’s got a particular way with children; they just naturally flock to him. You’re not sure whether it’s because he’s been around children for most of his life, but he exudes this natural ability to be at ease around them and they absolutely love it. So when you took that pregnancy test nine months ago (almost to the day) and a miniscule pink plus sign appeared amidst the sea of white, you honestly didn’t think you’d ever seen Bill happier. He peered down at that little window for what felt like hours, and when he lifted his green eyes to yours, they were glistening brightly. “It’s going to be a boy.” He had murmured excitedly. “You don’t know that for sure, my love.” You were about to home a person in your belly for the next nine and a half months, and the only thing you cared about was that it was healthy. Over the course of those months, Bill was the absolute best partner you could have ever asked for. Late night stops at the local grocery store for soda crackers and habanjero jelly, and even later nights running you scalding bubble baths at three in the morning. You had decided at the beginning not to know the gender of the baby, though Bill had held fast to the idea that there would be yet another heir to the Skarsgård throne. So it comes as a complete surprise to you both that when 5:47 am rolls around on September 24th, you have the most beautiful baby girl wedged within your grasp. A full head of bright blonde hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes. At five pounds six ounces, Bill is completely and totally head over heels for her. “You did so, so amazing baby.” He murmurs, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. Stepping into your home later that evening, with the baby carrier wedged in one hand, and Bill’s much larger hand closed around yours, you’re quite sure you’ve never felt happier. Bill disappears for a few minutes and when he comes back, it’s to tell you that there’s a candlelit bath waiting for you and to head straight to bed when you’re finished. You’re really in no position to argue so you plant a kiss to his cheek and make off in the direction of the washroom. When you emerge from your bedroom six hours later, it’s to the sound of complete and total silence. You pad your way through the house, stopping in the doorway of your baby daughters room. The lights are soft, a playlist of classical music plays quietly in the background and in the corner of the room, Bill sits fast asleep in the wooden rocking chair. Curled up sleeping, in the crook of his neck is your twentyfour hour old baby girl. He’s obviously dressed her for the day; she wears a pink satin headband around her head and a light pink snuggly. Wide open on his lap sits his favourite book as a child. He must have been in the middle of reading it to her when he fell asleep. You’re sure it didn’t take much longer for her to drop off either. You’re about to leave the room to let them be but Bill suddenly stirs and opens his eyes. It takes a moment to remember where he is and when he does he just closes his eyes and grins from ear to ear. He makes a move to get up with her. “Don’t move babe she’s sleeping!” You whisper. “I have to pee!” Bill whispers back. You watch tentatively as Bill slowly tries to lift her off of his shoulder, being as careful as possible not to wake her. He’s halfway to the wooden cradle when she opens her eyes, is silent for half a beat and then starts screaming. He brings her back to his shoulder and places a large hand over her back, rubbing it soothingly. “Shhh baby girl. It’s okay. It’s alright.” She cries a few seconds longer and you watch, transfixed, as she completely settles down again, cooing softly into his shoulder. “See?” Bill winks, turning to you. “I’m a natural.”
Volstagg, being much older than most of Thor’s friends, is a very young man – just into adulthood, really – during the war with the Frost Giants. He serves in Odin’s army, and Volstagg finds the baby in the temple of Jotunheim instead of Odin.
So of course, he brings the baby home – he and his fiancé have been talking about having all kinds of kids anyway once they get married after the war – and the two of them raise Loki as Loki Volstaggson, along with his many many younger siblings that follow.
Loki grows up with no expectation to be a prince. No scrutiny. No inheritance, beyond the expectation he might run the farm someday, though any of his siblings could do as much if he chose otherwise. He’s the eldest sibling, saddled with a lot of practical responsibility for wrangling and caring for all the little ones, but is surrounded by warmth and affection all the time. When he shows an aptitude for magic, it’s a bit of a surprise, but Volstagg works hard and pleads with the court to score him some lessons – if only so he doesn’t set the chicken coop on fire again. And Loki learns illusion spells that he uses to tease and delight all his little sisters, illustrating their bedtime stories with floating images of warriors and dragons made of light.
He has no reason to compare himself to the crown prince Thor. Though he’s honored when his father brings him along to join the warriors three and Thor and Sif on an adventure, and over time, as Volstagg gets older, Loki spends more time questing in his place (though Volstagg does pull Thor aside and is like, “I love you man, but if you get him killed…“ embarrassing the shit out of Loki in the process).
But yeah. Imagine Loki Volstaggson. With the big loving family and all the big ginger!dad hugs and no rivalry and just… being happy.
What she means: It doesn’t make any sense that after all we’d been led to understand about his character, Joxer wouldn’t have insisted on taking Xena’s baby. This is a character who only has 2 modes: utter nincompoop and stubbornly loyal friend. Whether or not he believed Xena and Gabrielle were dead. Whether or not Octavius offered to take Eve and give her an education, Joxer never would have let that baby be taken away from its FAMILY. Because that’s what Joxer considered himself, and that’s what he was. Joxer took XENA’S HORSE and gave it a home. He married a woman who looked just like Xena and made his tavern a shrine to his fallen friends. 25 years after Xena and Gabrielle’s disappearance, he spent his savings on a scroll of Gabrielle’s so that he could read his children the story of the beautiful warrior princess and her kind-hearted companion. His best friends. His family. AND YOU’RE TELLING ME that this man wouldn’t bring Xena and Gabby’s baby into his home and his heart and raise her to be a kind, funny, maybe slightly clumsy warrior?
If Joxer had taken Eve, she would never have grown to be cruel and never would have massacred hundreds of people. She would never have gotten involved with Ares. Xena never would have had to fight her.
If Joxer had taken Eve, he would have lived.
A/N: My (very late) entry for @howlingbarnes Languages of Love Challenge. (again, so sorry this was so late, but due to unexpected circumstances, i haven’t had wifi in a week and a half, and today was this first day i got away to post. sorry again!)
My word was Querencia, which is defined as a place we feel safe, a ‘home’ from which we draw our strength and inspiration.
**inspired by the lovely, wonderful, and gorgeous @bigbadfrank
Warnings: just fluff, like two curse words…some sappy Frank
A soft, high pitched noise slowly
pulls you out of a deep sleep, and you sigh.
Your phone must have ended up under the bed again, muffling your
alarm. You roll over and try to pry the
dead weight of Frank’s arm off of your body, but during the struggle you see
your phone on the nightstand, no alarm going off.
collapse back into Frank—who immediately makes a happy noise and drapes himself
back over you—and stare at your suspiciously silent phone, groaning when you
see the time on the alarm clock. So much
for sleeping in.
QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH QUEEN IN THE NORTH