cannibalisticwhistler:
Four years old. Yondu doesn’t have any children of his own– none that he’s been AROUND for, anyway– but he’s known a few kids in his time. Trafficked some for Ego, met a few others during his travels. He’ll never admit it, but he likes kids– and the thought of little Kamaria hurts him in a way he can’t quite define.
“If she had HALF your fight she’d still have been the toughest goddamn thing this side a’ the galaxy.”
It’s a strange comfort to offer, but to an extent, Yondu understands Drax. They’re warriors, the both of them. Drax would have taught his daughter to fight in order to protect her– just as Yondu has with Peter. It’s not a tender childhood, but it breeds SURVIVORS.
And in a galaxy slowly falling to Thanos, that’s becoming increasingly important.
He smiles at that— it’s small and barely there, lost in a memory, but he smiles nonetheless. He lifts his hand and leans back, chest lifting just so, to press his fingers against the smallest of two skulls near his heart as he gazes down at it.
“I like to picture how she might’ve grown— she would’ve had her first kill by now, and the first of many markings.”
Here is where his smile fades and his hand drops away.
“I will avenge her and Hovat, by killing Thanos.”
