a-small-batch-of-dragons

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

prompt idea, if you are accepting them:

each Creativity has some amount of control over/insight into their constructs. so if they want ones that will act "independently", they need to make them for each other.

Roman and Remus each make a pet for each other for when they can't be there. when they feel alone or scared or sad, they can go to their rooms and hug and play with the silly, affectionate critter their brother made for them.

i'm so so sorry this was meant to go up last night i just completely lost track of time

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

For You, Only You

prompt idea, if you are accepting them: each Creativity has some amount of control over/insight into their constructs. so if they want ones that will act "independently", they need to make them for each other. Roman and Remus each make a pet for each other for when they can't be there. when they feel alone or scared or sad, they can go to their rooms and hug and play with the silly, affectionate critter their brother made for them. – doteddestroyer

I'm so sorry this was supposed to go up yesterday i just completely didn't realize what day it was til i looked at my phone this morning.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 1192

The twins Create for each other before anyone else.

Roman Creates a bear cub for Remus.

A small, scrappy little thing no larger than a hunting dog, at least at first. Its fur is a little patchy in places, a little rough, a little unkempt, but as the cub peers up at Remus with wide brown eyes, he can't help but grin. The cub's nose is a jet black boop button and it whuffs happily as Remus throws his arms around its neck, smiling into its slightly damp coat.

At first, he hadn't known what to expect when Roman dropped off a box in front of his door with the simple note: when you need a traveling companion. He'd opened it with no small amount of suspicion—being on better terms with his brother meant prank wars were very much back on the table—only to see a teddy bear. He'd carefully lifted it from the box, the plush fur weathered and smushed from years of hard cuddles and nightmare soothing. As he'd run his fingers over the embroidered eyes, he'd felt a pang that he hadn't been able to be there for Roman when he'd so obviously needed this bear.

That on its own had been enough for Remus to snuggle his face into the bear's soft tummy as he went to sleep that night, but when he woke in his astral form to find a bear cub eagerly sniffing his clothes in the damp mist of the dream forest, he'd nearly squealed in delight.

The cub is adorable. Bumbling around a little when it gets comfortable, sniffing berry bushes and climbing over logs to find caches of sweet honey and fallen fruits. It sticks close to Remus as they explore the forests, growling low in question when it doesn't understand something. Even when Remus has to venture to other realms of Dream and Nightmare, it sticks right by his side. In his boat, following his mule, even climbing onto the rickety platforms and primitive elevators outside the Dark Tower. It bats away the gremlins that scamper along the walls and snaps up any pesky biters that try and nip at their ankles.

Then, of course, the cub reveals that it is very much capable of growing to the size of a full Cave Bear and Remus…well, Remus might be a little too enthusiastic about tackling Roman in a hug the next day. They're deep in the caves outside the Shadow Mountains when a drake the size of a tank thinks they're getting a little too close to its territory, and the cub roars as it grows large enough to bat the drake's jaws away with a single paw. It locks its own jaws around the drake's scaly throat, tossing it back into the depths with a mighty groan before seizing Remus—gently!—and running back to safety. As it shrank back to its normal size, whuffing and whimpering as though Remus was hurt, Remus throws his arms around its neck and cuddles it close.

Your protector, Roman explains when they're sitting on his bed later, the teddy curled up in Remus's lap, when I can't be there for you.

The cub is there whenever Remus needs to go into the Imagination, whenever the intrusive thoughts get a little too loud, or if he just needs something to lovingly crush his soul back into his body. Janus snickers at him when he sees the teddy bear on his bed and Remus pays him absolutely no mind. That's his baby bear, thank you very much.

Remus Creates a fox for Roman.

Like any good fairytale, the fox sits waiting outside the palace steps when Roman arrives one day, its coat gleaming copper in the sunlight, its head tilted just so. And Roman, being the prince he is, can't help but drop to one knee and offer his hand for it to sniff. It licks his fingers delicately, pushing its head into his palm to seek affection, revealing the thin piece of twine around its neck. He frees it, unrolling the paper tucked into the knot, chuckling when he sees Remus's scrawl.

Hi! I'm your new friend!

Roman's new friend trots at his heels as he makes his way throughout the castle. The steward laughs in greeting, playfully asks if he's mistaken it for one of the hounds. The tailor promptly offers to make any manner of dress befitting the royal's new companion, to which the fox quickly hides between Roman's legs, making them both laugh. It sits primly atop Roman's desk, filled with paperwork he does actually have to do, refusing to budge no matter how he tries to bribe or scold it until he offers to show it the gardens as soon as he's finished. Then it hops down with a gleeful snort and sprawls across his feet until he's ready to make good on his promise.

He can't help but wonder why Remus chose a fox. Is he referencing something? Is it a comment on Roman, what Roman needs or what he cannot deny he is? Is it what Remus thinks of his own presence in Roman's life, or his role in the Imagination? The fox is whip-smart, stealing weapons from bandits before they even have a chance to draw them, revealing spies and traitors before Roman has a chance to stumble into their traps, even bringing him hidden trinkets and treasures on their many explorations of the kingdom. Such intelligence also allows it to get into a fair amount of mischief, though nothing that can't be laughed about when all is said and done. He asks Remus about it one day when it manages to eat half of their dinner before they even make it back to Roman's chambers. Remus just throws a bread roll at him and grins.

Does there have to be a reason? Maybe it's just a fox, Roro.

The fox brings Roman a sense of comfort he could never get from somewhere else, other than Remus. Sometimes things don't have a deeper meaning, sometimes there's not a lesson he needs to learn, sometimes things just are what they are. The fox is just a fox, there's no sneaky trick, no hidden message, no punishment waiting should the other shoe drop. It steals food with a grin on its face, it yips to warn him of things that would wish him ill, and it snuggles protectively into his side to lick his tears away. Logan raises an eye when he sees that Roman's companion is a fox, several barbs ready on his tongue, but the fox makes him laugh by jumping on Roman's shoulders and they all fizzle into the soft morning light.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Maybe it’s while Atreus is gone and he’s feeling admittedly lonely, but Kratos begins to spend more times with the wolves.

It started because Freya said their fur was matted and how that could lead to disease and he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t make them suffer like that nor would he fail his son like that. So, he begins to brush them with a comb he saw Atreus use for them once.

At first the two girls seem confused, Speki not all that happy with how rough he was at first but forgiving him quickly when he used more caution. She was as well behaved as ever after that, if not testing the man with her numerous licks.

Svanna refused to roll onto her back the first time, still not to sure on her masters father, but after feeling his gentle hands cup her maw and give a sound border lining on a coo upon her whining, she gave in. He wouldn’t approve of such sounds when they were ‘working’ but seemed to find them amusing otherwise. So, upon him bringing out the brush she would roll right over and from then on actually refused to not be that way.

Kratos also learns that Svanna prefers chicken while Speki likes deer and starts to make sure they get what they both prefer. The one time he mixed it up they both looked at him with such sad little eyes it reminded him of his son and he gave them double of their preferred meat.

Mimir would have loved to make fun of his friend when he first let the wolves into the house, breaking his own rule, but that night wasn’t the time. Kratos had awoken from a night mare with fear in his eyes and stormed out, coming back just moments later with the wolves at his side. They slept next to him on the floor and waited until he was ‘asleep’ and then jumped to cuddle up with him.

Mimir waited until a week later and it happened again, this time with him letting them have dinner isnide because it was ‘too hot for their fur outside’. Only then did he tease his brother, acting like he didn’t see him clutching the wolves fur as if it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Fur, that he also noted, was much cleaner and fluffier than it had been even before Atreus left.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

— So this Draupnir spear... you are prepared to use it? — To protect Atreus. I am no one's champion but his.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

If a new God of war game comes out you'll find me on the front lines defending Atreus

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

I would apologize for the god of war spam but no I won’t

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Old fanart I never posted of this series/fanfic by @a-small-batch-of-dragons

I love how protective Black is of Purple. Reluctant Caretaker, my beloved. I highly recommend reading the alternative series where Cyan is also a stowaway kiddo. So much hurt/comfort, my heart.

Ignore the fact that Purple has a helmet on when they very much hate having helmets on in the fic.

Edit: the patch on Purple is the purple flower they're holding <3

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

GOD OF WAR: RAGNARÖK

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Fate Breaker = The best armor

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

The Bear Scene ™ has been in my head for weeks.

Kratos has spent the past 14+ years struggling to move past the tragedy in Greece and his guilt over killing his first wife and daughter, whose ashes he now wears on his skin. The whole reason why Kratos was so distant with Atreus was because he felt unworthy of his child’s love and admiration, being the monster he thought he was. Furthermore, it’s not so great a leap to understand that Kratos was scared of loving a child again. He’d lost one already. By distancing himself from Atreus, he could protect both himself and his boy.

But now, during Ragnarok, Kratos has allowed himself to love again, and in doing so, they are closer than ever. So when the bear that Kratos nearly kills transforms into his son, covered in blood and bruises – which Kratos inflicted – and not opening his eyes, I can only imagine the horror. The panic. The self hatred boiling in his gut. It’s happened again. I’ve killed my son. 

It’s the risk Kratos has taken by finally drawing close to Atreus. It is his greatest fear come to life before his eyes. We know throughout the game that Atreus is Kratos’s whole world; he has said again and again that, if necessary, he would readily die so that Atreus could live.

So when Atreus finally opens his eyes, I can only imagine Kratos’s relief. To me, it’s heartwarming, in an odd way, seeing Kratos so earnestly care about his son. But it is an important scene because here is where we see Kratos’s motivation to remain put and not involve himself in another war. Because entering another war puts him at risk of becoming the God of War once again – vengeful, full of rage and hate, and lacking self control. Entering another war puts him at risk of falling back into his old ways. Old ways that might include familiar tragedies. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mimir is top tier side character

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

I don’t think you guys understand how much I adore this cute video of Atreus sliding on ice, just acting like a kid. I love him so so much he was such a baby back then (still is lol) 🥺

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Atreus: I know Odin's plans! We can defeat him!

Kratos: You know his plans because you spied on him?

Atreus: No, because he accidentally added me to his group chat.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Ragnarok in a nutshell

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

More Leon/Gwaine 🥺

oh, with the big eyes

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Almost There | Close, Now

More Leon/Gwaine 🥺 – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: drunken gwaine, also sort of implied he got drugged

Pairings: leon/gwaine

Word Count: 1631

"A little further now," comes the low, coaxing voice in his ear, "that's it, you're doing very well."

If you had told Gwaine he would be helped from a tavern brawl by a man with a gentle voice, he might have smirked and asked you where he might find such a man. But he has no more bravado tonight, not after running those disgusting men out of the tavern, out of the city, hopefully, and instead the man is no more likely a conquest than he is to leave him here.

"That's it," Leon says again when Gwaine grunts over a loose cobble, "just lean on me if you have to. We're almost there, I swear it."

The ringing of metal on metal still clashes in his ears, the one drink he had managed to take swirling ominously in his gut. Part of him wonders if he should be ashamed; a practiced drinker like him, all woozy from barely a decent start into an evening? And beat to hell too—though that one might rough up against his status as a knight. Still, he cannot bring himself to regret it. No such men should ever set foot in Camelot, much less enjoy a drink at a place known for its popularity with the knights. The ache in his knuckles blooms anew as he grabs onto a door to steady himself. Leon's hand is firm and warm under his arm, soothing the worst of his aching ribs.

"Gwaine? Can you keep going?"

He grunts more than answers but rallies himself. He can get to his chambers. He has done so in much worse a state than this. He sets his jaw and puts one foot doggedly in front of the other, relying on Leon to steer him through the swaying lights and moving walls. They must have put something in his drink. There isn't any way that he's this out of it from less than one tankard. And this tankard is one he plucked from the nervous eyes of a nearby barmaid—oh, the anger swirls up in his gut anew, he should go and make sure they've left the walls of the—

Leon barely gets him over the bucket before he's on his hands and knees. He hears a wince of sympathy before gentle hands are sweeping his hair back from his sweaty forehead, holding it out of the way as the vile concoction burns its way back up his throat. Definitely something in the drink. Gods, and what fate might have befallen whoever was unlucky enough to drink it…the barmaid? Another unsuspecting victim? It's enough to bring him to his knees and he's a large man. He has the protection of his friends, the other knights, his brothers, and he was able to break a few noses before it really took effect—just the thought is strong enough to summon up another wave.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, better out than in," Leon's soothing, one hand warm and strong in the space between his shoulder blades, "someone ran ahead and let Gaius know—Merlin's brought up something to help."

The cold floor underneath his palms is a comfort on its own; the shock of the chill against flushed and feverish skin does wonders to pull his head from the ale-soaked memories and drunken cuts still sluggishly weeping. Slowly, other scents begin to waft around. The chilled night air from the cracked window, the slightly spiced scent from whatever Merlin's brought, placed conveniently at Leon's side, and the smell of—

"Is that bread?"

Leon chuckles, fingers carding through Gwaine's hair. "Yes, that's bread. Brought fresh from the kitchens—seems Malwen's made a late-night serving for you. Come, look at me for a moment…"

Gentle fingers take hold of his jaw and turn him. A cool, damp cloth makes him shudder, eyes falling shut as it cleans the sick from his dry lips and wobbling chin. Leon sets it aside with a soft hum, hands cupping the back of his head and shoulders.

"Can you stand?"

"Why?"

Another chuckle. "I figured you might like to get out of the sodden tunic and trousers, that's all."

He blinks, Leon's kind expression fading in and out with the flickering candlelight. He swallows, throat still beaten and worn. Something in Leon's face flickers and he quickly reaches for the spicy-smelling thing, carefully holding it to Gwaine's lips. He opens his mouth and drinks, letting out a startled noise at the…intensity of the flavor.

"What is that?"

"Something to help purge the remnants of that—" Leon indicates the bucket— "from your system. Believe me, I have no idea what's in it either."

Gwaine makes a face that must look like a child's pout for he's indulged with a it'll be better once it's over before the cup is once more at his lips. Still, the burning mixture of spices is better than the hazy drunken stupor, so he diligently drinks the lot, wincing at the aftertaste. Leon winces in sympathy, the hand in his hair still scratching delicately at his scalp. He sighs, the last of the haze vanishing into the cloud of genuine exhaustion. The rush of it leaves him shaky and shivering on the cold floor, his clothes clinging to him. His ribs ache. His knuckles ache.

Unbidden, his mind fills with the shout and roar of battle. Of the clash and sting of steel as his ribs creak with the weight of his heart trying to keep him alive. Of the blood rushing under his skin, to his face, to his muscles, trying, trying to do something only to come away in pain regardless of victory. He loses himself in the memory of it, the adrenaline of it. The fear that no man can eliminate entirely, only suppress and bury under years of training, of practice, of—

"Gwaine? Gwaine, look at me, look at me please." Leon's hand is on his face again, thumb smoothing over damp cheekbone. "Come back to me."

He blinks. He breathes. He might sob. He's not quite sure. Leon lets out a soft noise and coaxes him up, up, over by the fire—when did that get lit? He's deposited onto a soft surface—blanket, his tired mind suggests, rug, pillows?—and bid to raise his arms. Leon's touch is gentle and sure as it pulls the remnants of the fight away from him, replacing it with the warm air from the fire and the worried touch of another knight. He's still lost in it, at least a little, his chest keeps hitching and his eyes are watering, though from the memories or the fire he's not quite sure. What he does know is eventually he's clothed in a softer tunic, softer trousers, his hands cradling a warm piece of bread as Leon lowers himself to the ground at his side.

"Talk to me if you wish," he says, his own bread roll in his hands, "I've never seen you cry like that."

"Not very befitting of a man like me, is it?"

He frowns. "You are a human, first and foremost. It is the best thing for an overwhelmed human to cry. I would never judge you for it."

His relieved laugh is another almost-sob. "I get lost. In the—the memories of my body. It hurts. I don't—I can't always stop them."

Leon rests his hand on his shoulder. The touch is nearly unbearable in its softness. He leans into it, his head coming to rest again Leon's. They breathe together in the firelight for long moments. Slowly, the touch drifts along his shoulders, sending shivers down his spine, until it cups its opposite, pulling him close. Leon's nose brushes his temple, ginger curls mingling with his own dark hair.

"Can we give you a place to go that is safe, when you lose yourself?" His voice is hushed, only for his ears. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Give me these," he rasps, "give me these quiet moments that I can try and find."

"That is no hardship at all." Leon's hands, weathered and callused like his own, trail down his shoulder, his arm, to cup his elbow and draw him close until their sides are pressed together. "How do I make this moment good for you? Do I hold you? Do I speak?"

"You are you, whatever that means."

"How flattering." And here he tilts his head, offering the broad plane of his own shoulder. "Rest your head on me, Gwaine, let me hold you."

"You would still hold me after a fight like that," he tries to joke, failing as it emerges a plea, "after you have held my hair back as I've been sick all over the floor?"

"You doubt your own aim, the only victim of your sick is the bucket."

"Really? I must be getting more practice."

The shoulder under his cheek rumbles with Leon's gentle laugh, his breath warming the shell of his ear. "You are indeed adept at whatever you set your mind to."

The fire crackles. A quiet breeze blows in from the window. The rest of the castle grows hushed under the cloak of darkness, creating a pocket of intimacy for them and them alone. Gwaine lets his eyes slip shut, basking in the warmth. The bread falls to his lap as his fingers ease their strain.

"And yes," Leon murmurs, "I would still hold you. There is very little you could do, Gwaine, that would make me not. No, no—don't rouse yourself just to argue with me, there will be plenty of time for that in the morning. For now, you have done enough tonight. It is time for quiet, for rest. Just let me hold you."

Rest…yes. Resting is what he needs now.