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darylbae · 9 days

Note

I LOVE YOUR DARYL ONESHOTSSS AAHHHHH

i wanna request another vampire Daryl x fem reader pretty pleaseee

I would write this myself but I do not trust my writing skills LOL. A basic summary would be a lone reader who kinda just travels around, and one night when seeking shelter from a thunderstorm she finds this guy named Daryl, barely alive, and nurses him back to health (as much as she can by feeding him rabbit and meat barely cooked per his request), before realizing that Daryl is a vampire but couldn't really care less ("There's dead people walking around and you think a guy sucking blood and being deathly allergic to garlic will astonish me?").

Maybe for some backstory the reader is looking for their dad (or something like that) who got taken by raiders, so she's traveling around trying to find him and killing anyone who gets in her way, so by the end Daryl and the reader make a deal that Daryl will help her, and she just has to provide the corpses.

Ofc, don't feel obligated to write this, I'm sure you get so many requests anyway 😭😭 Again, love your fics!

sweet thing — daryl dixon

in which you meet you make a deal with vamp!daryl, hoping to benefit each other

note: i hope this is what you wanted anon, and u are too kind! i am so grateful for every lovely comment i get, it really keeps me motivated to write.

The rain was pricking at your cold skin, eyes almost closed to keep the droplets from invading your sight, and there wasn't an end in sight. You had to find him. Your dad, the only familiar sight left in this damned world, was gone. You'd sat around a fire one night, sharing a can of beans, giggling about another guess the song game you'd been playing. Then you'd woken up, and he was gone. You knew he'd been taken, it wasn't hard to realize, his stuff still surrounded you as you cried into his jacket that morning. There had been raiders on your trail for a while, it was actually a group you'd split away from a while ago. Looking to drag you back in. Why hadn't they taken you too? You wondered every day since, all thoughts leading to you feeling too useless to anyone. So now you wander, hoping to find a lead to get you back on track to finding your dad again. You'd spotted a metal panel propped between two trees, it had almost resembled a hut, and it seemed the only shelter for miles. It'll do for tonight.

You'd lost count of the days now, it all consisted of walking, stopping to eat and drink, kill walkers. Still in the same God forsaken woods that you lost your dad in. The raiders typically stayed in wooded areas, easier to conceal themselves, which was proving to be true. Leaning against the coarse bark of the tree beside you, you'd sighed deeply and readjusted the gun on your hip. Another stolen prize from the raiders which had helped you immensely in escaping. It was time to search for a place to stay. It had started raining again, however much worse than it had last time. Thunder was booming around you, the rain quick to soak your clothes and your hair becoming stuck to your skin. In the distance you could see a shed, or what looked like a small house. Your brain had squeezed onto the hope of shelter, picking up the pace as you broke free of the woods. It was, in fact, a small home. A bungalow of sorts, good enough for you for a few nights. It didn't seem occupied, but you were still cautious, so you'd equipped your blade and held it up as you breached the door. It was worn down, seemingly vacant since outbreak. But in the corner, by a fireplace, you had spotted a shadow. A moving shadow. You hadn't thought it through, you just rushed over to the person, in hopes it would have been your dad. It wasn't. But it was a man, who seemed to be on Death's door. Wheezing in and out, shivering as his coat laid over his body, ghastly pale. You'd thrown your bag off your shoulder, ripping it open to find your makeshift First Aid kit. "Hey, you still awake over there?" You asked, incredibly surprised at your confidence around a stranger. A wounded stranger. He grumbled, giving you enough confirmation to keep administering First Aid. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Turns out he'd been stabbed, too weak to patch himself up. These were all just guesses, as he'd remained silent in the corner ever since you'd gotten here. However, he stayed. Even as you went out to find some dry firewood, after the rain had stopped, he was still sprawled out in the corner of the room. You'd started a fire, and sat comfortably in front of it as you let your food cook and clothes dry. "Do you have a name?" You asked, glancing over to the man. He met your eyes for one second, pulling them away from yours in the next. He remained quiet. "If we're going to inhabit the same home for a while then the least I expect is some information." You spoke, stabbing the bits of rabbit with a stick on your improvised grill made of wire and clothing hangers. "Daryl." He mumbled, taking the coat down from his face and sitting up. It was nice to see more of his face now, and strands of his hair stuck on his face. His voice was smoky, gruff, kinda hot. You hadn't thought about someone like that since before the world ended. It had just been you and your dad, except for the group of raiders you'd abandoned. You smiled into the fire, happy you were making progress. "Want some rabbit?" You offered, waving the end of the stick over at him with a cooked chunk of rabbit meat. He shook his head. "I'll find my own food." "Come on," you huffed, "eat some damn food. You need it if you want to heal." "I like it rare." "How rare?" You asked, ready to chuck some more on the grill. "Not touched the fire kinda rare." You grimaced, gesturing towards the cut up meat on the floor next to you. He leaned forward, wincing as he held his stitches, and stole a few pieces for himself. It didn't satisfy him like you probably would, but this was unbeknownst to you, he had to sit in the corner and control himself. You'd been nice enough to keep him alive, so he owed you that much. "So why do you eat raw meat? Won't you get sick from that?" You questioned, done with your food for the night and just using the fire for warmth. He shook his head. Guess that was too far. Silence lay heavily on the pair of you, Daryl too interested in a crack on the wall, and you watching the flames dance in front of you. It was you making all the conversation, so you had assumed that was it for the night. You'd climbed onto the couch, laying as comfortably as you could, and closing your eyes, hoping to have a dreamless night. "Ya won't believe me. You'll run." You heard, and you'd sat up, facing Daryl who was now sat up, arms resting on his knees with his head dipped down slightly. "Why?" You asked. "Why would I run?" Daryl paused. He didn't want to be alone again. As new as you were to his life, he liked company above all else. Even if you were pushy. "I prefer humans." "You're a cannibal?" You shivered, sat up properly now, ready to make a run for it. "NO." Daryl answered, "well, kinda." "Vampire?" You asked. Judging by his silence, you were right. And it shocked you how... normal you were about it. "Okay." You laid back down, clothes still damp and uncomfortable. But sleep was catching up quick. "Ya ain't gonna run?" He asked, and there was a hint of innocence you could hear. Like a child that had been walked out on one too many times. "No," you answered, still laid down but eyes open and looking at him, "the world has ended, the dead are alive, and you think a guy sucking blood and being deathly allergic to garlic will astonish me?" "Myth." You smiled, happy to close your eyes again. "You gonna suck my blood?" He wanted to, so bad. He wanted to taste that sweet blood pumping around that pretty body. "No. Don't wanna hurt ya." Your heart quickened, and you were embarrassed how much of an effect this stranger was having on you. You needed some action. Bad.

The fire was out when you'd woken up, and the man in the corner, Daryl, was gone. You lifted your head, noticing the coat that had once covered him, was now covering you. Your cheeks tinged pink at the sentiment, as you'd sat up fully now, still keeping the coat nicely snug around you. He hadn't left, surely? You'd made your way outside, the heavy thud of your boots alerting him of your presence, as you'd found him on the porch smoking. "So you can still smoke, huh?" You asked, sitting down next to him and observing his demeanor. Even the way he moved was hot. "Same as you are, just different diet." "Guess that answers my question of how you're in the sunlight." You giggled, and you could almost see a smirk threatening to show on his face. "Want your coat back?" "Nah," he croaked, mid-inhale, "looks better on ya." You couldn't quite believe your life had come to flirting with a vampire in the apocalypse. "Going somewhere?" He asked, and he was a lot more talkative than yesterday. You shook your head. "All I've done is wander the woods for God only knows how long, I plan on staying for a while." Daryl knew it was a topic for another night. So he stayed silent. "Gonna find some dinner. Stay inside." He instructed, standing up and stubbing the end of his smoke. You nodded your head at him, planning on making this home a bit more homely.

Daryl had been gone a while, and you'd cleaned up the place a bit. Making it look not-so-run-down. And you'd even found a book, to accompany you as you waited on dinner. He'd returned back after sunset, having been gone all day. And you were becoming ravenously hungry. "Took you a while." You commented, slamming the book closed and getting up to get the fire lit. "Yeah, sorry," he grumbled, "see ya kept ya'self busy." He looked around at the space you were sharing, seeing it didn't look nearly as bad as it did when he found it. You had only just looked up at him, seeing a sleeveless shirt and being more interested in that than the deer slung around his neck. His toned arms, patches of blood and debris from hunting all day, it was enough to drive you mad. "Hey," he clicked at you, and you felt shameful, "eyes are up here." He joked, and you smiled awkwardly at him. "Ready to eat?"

You'd eaten a good amount of meat, both of you now sharing the couch. Shoulders touching, thighs touching, your heart was beating loudly in your ears. "What's got ya out here?" He asked, his gruff voice sending goosebumps up your arms. But the question was something you didn't know if you were ready to share the answer to. But Daryl could help, he could get you closer to him. Finding your dad again was all that matters. "It's been me and my dad for the longest time. We'd met up with a group of raiders a while ago, who did things we just weren't okay with, so we up and left in the middle of the night." You sighed, heart aching for your dad and wherever he was. "They've been hunting us since. And we settled down one night, and when I woke up, he was gone. Taken. I've been trying to find him ever since." Daryl's hand found your thigh, and you almost jumped at the contact. "I'm sorry." He offered his condolences, and the feeling of his hand on your leg was starting to catch fire. "Not your fault, unless you were a raider." You turned to him, and he shook his head, that smirk appearing once more. "What's your plan next?" "I'm not sure, I just needed shelter for a few nights so I could conjure a plan, until I found you." You admitted, a sweet smile upon your lips and you looked at him. Friendships tended to form a lot faster in the apocalypse, but you weren't sure what this was. Daryl was silent for a moment. "You given up?" "No. Never." "Well let's look for him, together." He suggested. "I'll rip through that whole group if I have to." "You'd help me?" You asked in disbelief. "I like ya company," he confessed, like a dirty truth, "wanna keep ya around. Gotta help each other out." You were beaming on the inside, if this wasn't confirmation of a friendship, then you didn't know what was. "What do I do for you?" Daryl looked at you, your sweet, innocent features, eyes full of curiosity and hope. You'd seen things, but you were truly broken yet. "Help me find bodies, people, not worthy of life, and I'll help ya find ya dad." He demanded, but his voice was low. You found yourselves inching closer together, and Daryl's thumb delicately dragged over your cheekbone. "Sweet thing. I'll help ya."

#inbox 💌#daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon incorrect quotes #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon smut #twd daryl #daryl dixon blurb #daryl dixon imagines #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

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Kaz brekker with the Nightmares end eventually prompt? Male/gender neutral reader if possible and romantic! If you do it then thank you!

A/n: I always love my first fic for a new character, so thank you anon for putting Kaz Brekker on my list!! this is a tad cheesier than my normal fare but i think our brooding boy Kaz needs a little romance in his life, so here it is. Hope you love it<3

Nightmares Kaz Brekker X GN!Reader WC: 2,031 Content Warnings for: depictions of violence, dead bodies, gore; probably some non-canon details

Kaz’s legs grew heavy and stopped kicking, his back end sinking into the cold waters of Ketterdam’s harbor. Behind him, the rank stench of rotting corpses from the Reaper’s Barge hung like a cloud in the air. The lights of Ketterdam bobbed on the horizon ahead like a beacon, but it seemed with each moment Kaz was drifting further away from the shore. His fingers fumbling to grab hold of his dead brother’s jacket for flotation. He gulped at the night air in the rare moments where his head broke the surface of the waves. The salt water stung the open sores on his face and hands, his body weak from sickness and hunger. The only thought in his mind: swim.

Trying to stifle a wave of nausea, Kaz grabbed ahold of Jordie’s bobbing corpse and hauled himself as far upward above the waves as he could manage. Kaz let out a strangled sob as his brother’s dead-pale face sank an inch below the water, his lifeless eyes gaping up at the starless sky above.

“Jordie.”

Kaz choked on his brother’s name, grief and horror twining together in his chest like strangling vines. He tried to push away thoughts of giving up, of letting go of Jordie’s corpse and allowing the sea to take him.

But something deep within him burned hotter than the firepox that riddled his body. A drive to live, to fight, to survive. Kaz had always had it - he got it from Jordie, he knew. Jordie had taught him how to fight back when the world threatened to crush you. Kaz heard his older brother’s voice echo in his mind: swim, Kaz.

His vision swam with white dots, but he forced himself to kick his legs, though they felt heavy like anchors.

Swim, Kaz. Swim. The feel of his brother’s unnaturally stiff, cold skin beneath the thin, water-logged linen shirt seared itself into Kaz’s memory.

Swim. Kick. Breath. Swim. Kick. Breath.

The lights of Ketterdam drew closer.

Kick. Kick. Swim.

The faint sounds of the docks tickled his ears. Kaz’s lungs were burning, the firepox that had weakened him and taken his brother’s life making one last, desperate attempt at his strength.

Breath. Kick. Breath. Kick.

Kaz felt his leg bounce off the ragged surface of a rock. The sounds of waves lapping on a rocky coast announced his arrival at the shores of Ketterdam.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

As soon as Kaz felt the pebbles scrape his stomach, he threw himself off his brother’s dead body and emptied his stomach in the sea foam. His head spun with exhaustion, fever, and terror. Next to him, he felt his brother’s body bob against him in the waves. Kaz scrambled away from the feeling, the terror reaching a fever pitch in his mind as he began to understand what he’d done.

He turned to look back at Jordie, now face-down in the ankle deep waters along Ketterdam’s warehouse district seawall. Jordie’s stiff body was so pale it seemed to shimmer with an unnatural, sickly glow. Kaz shivered violently as panic ripped through every inch of him. Mustering all his strength, he tipped his chin towards the sky and shrieked. He screamed for everything in his life he’d once thought would keep him safe: for Jordie, for his parents, for the world he thought he knew. The shriek felt like it would tear him in half, and Kaz let himself empty the pain he felt inside into the raw dark night. When the scream finally died on his lips with a strangled sob, what was left of the boy that had been Kaz Rietveld knew he would never be the same again…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kaz felt himself rear up out of bed, his heart racing and that shriek from so many years before fading like an echo in his ears. He was panting, his body soaked with sweat. He swiped back the stray strands of hair plastered to his flushed forehead with a gloved hand.

“Kaz?”

A familiar voice drifted through the barely open door to his private quarters above the Crow Club. Kaz felt the knot of panic in his chest loosen slightly at the sound.

“Kaz, are you alright?”

Ever respectful, you didn’t barge through the door to check on him, although Kaz could hear the tense itch of concern in your voice. Kaz let his eyes close as he tried to clamp down the lid on his memories.

“I’m fine,” he called back, although his voice wavered pathetically. There was a split second of quiet before you replied.

“Nightmares, boss?”

The question was so quiet Kaz almost didn’t hear you. He let out a shaky exhale through lips that quivered ever so slightly. A gentle tap on the door: a question.

“Come in, y/n.”

Kaz wasn’t used to letting people into his quarters. Even Inej and Jesper, his closest friends - if Kaz Brekker could be said to have such relationships - were rare guests. Kaz didn’t like that he let you in, but you felt like a tonic. It wasn’t a coincidence that Kaz had asked you to take night watches for him. Your presence seemed to ease a pain Kaz had felt for so long he’d forgotten he had it. And on nights like this one - nights where Kaz’s dreams swallowed him whole and spat him back out - he needed you close. He’d never admit it aloud, although he didn’t need to. There was an understanding between you two, a tacit agreement. You’d stay close to him, he’d look after you.

You opened the door and slipped in, a momentary brightening from the hallway lights followed by the return of darkness to Kaz’s quarters.

“They were bad tonight.” Not a question, but an observation. Kaz looked over in your direction as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could barely make out your silhouette, although he could see the moonlight from his open window dancing in your large, thoughtful eyes. Damn those eyes, Kaz cursed to himself silently. They would be his undoing.

“Yes.”

Kaz never talked much about his dreams, even to you. He was grateful that you were content with what little information he did give. He had a feeling that you recognized just how difficult it was for him to tolerate the miniscule amounts of vulnerability he allowed you to see.

From the doorway, you nodded. You didn’t move to come closer to Kaz, and he didn’t motion for you to. You were close enough for Kaz to hear your even, steady breathing. He focused on that sound and tried to slow his own inhales and exhales to match. Even though it violated every instinct he had, Kaz let his eyelids flutter close. You hung back next to the door. The sounds of the sleeping city outside filled the quiet. Minutes passed, and Kaz let his mind loosen its grip on the fear that his nightmare had awoken.

When he opened his eyes, he found you exactly where he’d left you. Leaned against the wall, your kind eyes still trained on him. Kaz scooted up to lean back against the headboard, his bare chest now rising and falling in time with your own breathing.

“You have nightmares too, if I remember?”

Kaz caught the flicker of surprise in your gaze. Kaz usually never talked on nights like this, not unless you asked him something. Not only was he speaking, he was asking about you. Surprise gave way to a tender smirk, and you nodded.

“I did. Still do, but they’re less now.” Flickers of moments from your past that plagued your dreams danced in your head. A field of charred bodies… your sister in her favorite day dress lying face down in the blood-soaked mud next to the smoking remnants of your house… the way the smoke from your burned-out village blotted out of the sun…

You shook the images away like gnats, bringing yourself back to the moment, back to Kaz.

He was watching you intently. His dark hair was deliciously disheveled, and you could see the smooth planes of his stomach peeking out above the bedsheets.

“How did you do it?” he asked quietly. You forced yourself away from his body and tried to focus on his words, realizing you’d lost track of the conversation. You cocked an eyebrow at him, unsure of his meaning.

“How did you cope with them, I mean,” Kaz clarified. “How did you get them to go away?” A gentle night breeze fluttered the gauzy curtains by the window next to his bedside.

You turned Kaz’s question over in your head, wondering where to start.

“They never really went away,” you confessed, chewing on your lip. You’d resigned yourself long ago that you’d live the rest of your life with memories of the day your family was taken from you carved into your soul. It wasn’t something you would escape or ever come to terms with. It simply was.

You tried to say as much, but the words that dangled on the edge of your tongue felt all wrong. Your mouth opened and closed with a heavy sigh.

Kaz’s lips quirked up at the sound. He turned to look out into Ketterdam’s streets, the moonlight casting his handsome face in a gentle glow.

“That’s not a fair question,” he mused with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m sorry to bother you, y/n. I’m fine. You can go back to your post.”

You felt a twinge of disappointment at Kaz’s words, although they were less of a dismissal and more of a question. You turned to leave, but hesitated as your hand touched the doorknob.

When you turned back to him, he was staring at you with something that looked like hope in his eyes. It made your heart leap in your chest.

“One thing I learned about nightmares, boss. Even nightmares end eventually.”

Kaz considered your words thoughtfully. You held his gaze as you kept talking.

“The things that gave us our nightmares ended, too. It doesn’t mean we forget them, it doesn’t mean we move on. But it does mean that we aren’t prisoners forever. The dreams, the memories… they’re with us, but they don’t control us. They teach us things, but they don’t command us.”

Kaz drank in your every word, watching the way your expression glazed over as whatever memories haunted you swam just beneath the surface of your eyes. He knew that look: he’d seen it in himself many times before. The way you wore it though was different. He marveled at the realization that he’d never really seen you before. He’d felt you, felt the calming effect that your presence had on him. But now he could see why: you understood him. As much as anyone could. Kaz had always liked to think that others only knew him as much as he let them know him. You were proof that that wasn’t true. It both frightened him and delighted him.

“Sorry… that didn’t make much sense.” You let your eyes drop to the ground, suddenly embarrassed by your outburst. You turned to the door, eager to make your escape from the awkward moment.

“It makes perfect sense, actually,” he interjected quickly. You hesitated, halfway out the door into the dimly lit hallway. With the aid of the lamps from the hall, Kaz could see you more clearly. He thought he detected a faint flush on your cheeks, and he had to bite down a smirk at the sight. He was glad the light didn’t reach him, because you’d see a similar heat on his face. He’d taken a big step with you tonight, but he wasn’t ready to show you how he felt. Not yet.

“Thank you, y/n,” he called after you.

You turned halfway back to him, not meeting his eyes. From your profile, Kaz could see the faint hints of a smile.

“You’re welcome, Kaz.”

You left him alone with a quiet click of his door. Kaz hated how much he loved the way his name sounded in your voice.

This time when Kaz fell asleep, it wasn’t his past that swirled in his dreams, but hopes for the future.

#kaz rietveld #kaz brekker #kaz x reader #kaz x y/n #kaz imagine #kaz shadow and bone #bastard of the barrel #kaz dirtyhands brekker #six of crows imagine #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #freddy carter #freddy carter x reader #freddy carter x y/n #freddy carter imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker imagine

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jamiedc-they-them · 1 month

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A Knight in not so Shining Armour

Requested Prompt: I'm BEGGING you for some sort of sweet, fluffy Maximus (fallout) fic because istg he's so forgotten and it makes me so sad because he's such a cutie patootie and arq3hrjdiwkejdnfnfieoej!!!! Just something sweet, like maybe him finding reader in the wasteland, or reader getting caught trying to scavenge his suit?? Tysm 🙏🙏🙏

Note: This one is a bit shorter, and is more of a light-hearted one to fit the prompt. I hope you enjoy anon!

Summary: At deaths door due to poor luck, you find someone who might just help turn it around.

So, because you're you, you've managed to not only have stairs you were on collapse, you've also got your foot caught in it as raiders run after you.

You fire you gun, hitting some but not everyone, before the inevitable gun click occurs. Out of ammo.

In a last ditch effort, you throw it as hard as you can. It actually hits a Raider in the face. You let out a childish 'ha!' at him, only for him to quickly regain his balance and run at you again.

"Oh, for fuck -"

You can never finish your words, as something crashes through a wall and slams into the Raider, tossing him into the air, before grabbing him and slamming him down onto the floor.

Your hear all of this, as you're too busy flaling limbs about trying to get any splinters or dust in your wounds.

"Woo!" you hear in a low, obviously pitched voice, and more movements. You open your eyes, seeing the...well, a brotherhood of steel member dancing????

"HEY!" you cry out. He stops, and stares at you. You clear your throat, calming yourself down, "help, please?"

"Oh..." he says, "sorry."

You lift up your arms, gesturing for him to pick you up. He does so, and its surprisingly gently given the big fuck-off suit he's in. He puts you back down on the floor.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, citizen."

You roll your eyes, before doing some stretches. He just watches you.

"What?"

"Are you from the Brotherhood?"

Another eye roll, "no. Not everyone who does stretches are apart of it."

"Oh..." he seems like genuinley sort of surprised. He even looks around, "was this your house?"

You finish your streches, and start looting the corpses - you can feel the judgmental stare from him - "nope. Though, I don't really think any house is anyone's anymore. Besides," you say, finding some caps on a raider, "this," you say, holding up the single cap, "is not mine. Finders keepers and all that."

He just stares at you again, "oh, don't get all judgy," you say, waving off your 'crime', "you bashed through a wall. If we ever do rebuild the world, I'll make sure you rebuild that wall, personally."

He looks to the broken wall. He looks at the stairs that collapsed, and then back to you, "only if you fix the stairs."

You look to them, then back to him. Funny fucker. You snort.

"Alrighty, then, Mr Knight," you say, holding your hand out, "it's a deal."

He shakes it. You then nod, "I'm guessing this is just like a patrol thing?"

He stands up straighter, as if you sparked something, "oh, no. No," he says to you, "I'm on a mission. I need to get to find someone, to save the world."

You raise an eyebrow, "you're gonna save the world?"

"Yes we - hey!" he says, actually offended.

"Can you lift your foot up for a sec?" he does so, and moves it back, "that, is what used to be, my weapon."

"Oh..." he looks at it, before back to you, "sorry."

You just put your head in your hands, you cannot believe this day so far, "whatever, I'll just find a new one --"

"I can be a weapon," he continues when you don't response, "travelling alone is dangerous. I mean, you got defeated by some stairs -"

"That's not nice," you pout.

You hear what you assume is a laugh, "you handled yourself pretty well," he admits, "but, especially without a weapon, you're not gonna last long."

"Thanks," you say, arms folded with eyebrows raised again.

He gestures for you to follow him. You do, and he goes outside the house.

"I can fly us there."

"Don't know if you noticed pal, but I can't exactly fly."

"Yes you can," he assures, "I'll hold you."

You're at a standstill. Don't get yourself wrong, you're thankful for this help. But this? This is a step too far.

He seems to understand, and his helmet opens. He smiles at you, "look," he says, voice sounding natural, not as deep as before, "I can understand the hesitancy. You've just met me, I've accidentally broken your gun, and that is understandable. But, I promise you I won't hurt you."

You don't really have many options, but he is at least giving one to you. That, and he has literally opened up to you. So, he may have a point.

"Fine," you relent, and move to him as he secures you, "but I swear if I'm sick, I ain't apologising."

His helmet shuts, "understandable," he says, before taking off."

The scream you let out may alert anyone around to you, but maybe he's right. Maybe it is better to travel with someone else.

#maximus fallout #maximus imagine #maximus x reader #fallout #fallout imagine #fallout x reader #fallout x you #maximus x you

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rubysunnday · 2 years

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I'll look after you (but I won't stop complaining about it)

requested by anon: Hi I love your Bridgerton sister fics! They got me to finally watch the show. Can I request an Anthony x Bridgerton!reader fic where it’s “4 times Anthony protects the reader and 1 time she protects him”?

requested by anon: Okay but, a twist to the story and instead of the typicall bridgerton!sister being stung by the bee, what if it’s Anthony, and everyone worries about him because of what happened to their father, and it’s specially the youngest bridgerton!sister who has a reaction like him in the show out of fear of losing her brother/father figure?

requested by anon: anthony x bridgerton sis where reader is around 15 and she has a really big fight with colin or eloise and she goes on a walk to calm herself down, falls down a hill and anthony finds her after looking for her for a while? but like fluffy pls

summary: four times Anthony protected his sister and the one time she protected him (albeit it was from the ton)

After Edmund Bridgerton, the 8th Viscount Bridgerton, died, his son, Anthony, made a promise. He sat at his father's death bed, staring down at the cold corpse that had once been his beloved father, and promised to look after his siblings - all eight of them - and to try, in any way possible, to guide them as an elder brother and as a father figure.

Whilst his siblings did not make this promise an easy one to keep Anthony kept trying. But right now, at this exact moment in time, Anthony wanted to throttle his sisters.

He vaguely wondered if anyone would find their bodies at the bottom of the lake, only to be yanked out of the thought by a pillow smacking him in the chest, the intended target oblivious as she glared at her twin.

"What is so wrong with wanting marriage?" Y/N yelled, throwing her hands up at her sister.

"It shackles you for life!" Eloise yelled back. "It silences you and your dreams."

"Oh, not this conversation again," Y/N groaned. "El, not everyone wants the same things as you. Is it so wrong for me to want to be married and happy? There are plenty of things you can still do when married."

"Not if you marry some old man who treats his women like objects!"

"Nope, absolutely not," Y/N said, getting up from the sofa, throwing the cushion she'd been hugging at Eloise, "I am not having this conversation again. Marry, do not marry, I do not care. But I am not going to sit here and listen to you call me an unintelligent woman simply because I dream of being married one day."

The door to the drawing room slammed shut. Eloise huffed, sitting back down on the sofa, crossing her arms.

Anthony pulled back a page of his newspaper, eyeing Eloise. "Is it so wrong for your sister to want marriage?"

"She does not understand what it can do to a woman, brother," Eloise replied. "The consequences, the silencing..."

"It can be a positive thing, El -"

"I have heard far too many horror stories of women being treated like cattle to view it as a positive thing. We all saw what nearly happened to Daphne when she came out."

"That was entirely my own doing -"

"This is what I mean!" Eloise exclaimed, sitting forward. "We do not get to choose our husbands. Our husbands choose us or our fathers and brothers choose them for us. Not once does a woman get a say in who she marries."

Anthony exhaled through his nose, seeing that he clearly wasn't going to get anywhere with Eloise. He folded his newspaper shut, setting it down on the coffee table beside him.

"I'm going to go check on Y/N," he muttered, standing up from the sofa.

Whilst Anthony knew Y/N and Eloise were devoted to one another, he also knew that when they argued, it got mean, very quickly. The marriage argument had been one they'd had many times before and it never ended well.

Eloise could never quite seem to understand why any woman would want to willingly be married. Y/N never quite understood why Eloise was so opposed to even the idea of marriage. What was so wrong with wanting a future for herself where she was ostracized to the edge of society?

It took him fifteen minutes and five servants to work out where Y/N had gone. As much as he adored Aubery Hall, he did curse its extensive grounds, especially when his siblings ran off.

Another ten minutes later and Anthony was finally down in the woods of the grounds, walking through patches of bluebells and snowdrops, peering behind trees and bushes.

He looked behind a fairly large oak tree and stopped, casting his eyes down. Y/N looked back up at him, her face blotchy from her tears.

She didn't say anything, turning her head away and looking straight ahead at where the river cut through their lands.

Anthony crossed his arms, leaning against the tree. "This is an argument you have had before. We all know how it goes."

"I know. Does not stop it from upsetting me or being infuriating."

"It reminds me of the argument I so often have with Colin about travelling," Anthony replied. "If he had it his way, he would be gallivanting around every corner of this world, spending as much money as he likes. I am the one who has to bring him back down and tell him that whilst we have money, we do not have enough money for that."

Y/N gave him a small smile. "It is utterly exhausting. I have tried to explain to her multiple times that marriage can be a good thing. If you find the right person."

"I can attest to that."

"Five words I never thought you would say, brother," Y/N said, looking up at him.

"This argument is not worth your tears, Y/N."

"Oh, I am aware, I was not crying about that." She looked a little sheepishly at Anthony's raised eyebrow. "I was so angry I did not look where I was going and I twisted my ankle, falling down a rabbit burrow."

Anthony stared at her for a moment. Then, he burst out laughing, leaning back, putting a hand on his chest.

"Yes, yes, laugh away," Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"No! I fell down a rabbit burrow!"

Anthony snorted. Y/N reached over and pushed her brother's leg, knocking him off balance. He stumbled to the side, catching himself.

"Are you going to just stand there and laugh or will you help me up and back to the house?"

"Alright, come on then."

Anthony held his hands out to Y/N and she placed her hands in his, letting him help her up to her feet, hopping awkwardly. She put her foot down and winced, pain shooting up from her ankle.

Without uttering a word, Anthony turned around. Y/N, snorted but climbed onto his back, using her good foot to propel herself up.

"I feel like I'm ten again," Y/N said as Anthony gripped her legs.

"I don't," he grunted. "When did you get so heavy?"

"Don't be rude. Come along then," she said, nudging him with her foot.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "If I fall down a rabbit burrow, it'll be your fault."

"Bloody hell."

Daphne whacked her sister with her blue mallet. "Language."

Y/N shot her a withering look. "It's just family, we are quite safe." She tilted her head up, looking at the tree. "How on earth are we to get that out?"

It was a well-known fact that Y/N Bridgerton did not know what gently meant. Especially when it came to pall mall. One well-aimed hit later, her purple ball was stuck up in the tree, nestled amongst the branches.

"We'll have to climb."

"No, Y/N, do not -"

Daphne trailed off as Y/N dropped her mallet and put her booted foot on a stump next to the tree. She pushed herself up, pulling her dress up over her knee and climbing up onto the lowest branch.

She could see the purple ball wedged between the fork of two branches. If she climbed up another branch and crawled forward, she could definitely grab it.

The panting of breaths came from below as Colin, Benedict and Anthony rushed up to Daphne, all looking up at the tree.

"Is she climbing the tree?!" Colin exclaimed, both delighted and slightly concerned.

"Of course she is!" Anthony snapped. "Y/N, get down at once!"

"Let one of the boys get it, Y/N," Daphne added.

"I'm up here now!" Y/N yelled down, climbing onto the second branch. "I might as well get it!"

Y/N crawled forward again, the leaves shaking at the sudden movement.

"Someone should get her down," Benedict muttered, following Y/N's movements. "Knowing our dear sister, she will fall down. She's not exactly gentle."

"Y/N!" Anthony yelled, moving to the bottom of the tree trunk. "Mother will kill me if you fall!"

"I've almost got it!"

Y/N leant forward, her fingers brushing against the purple ball. Instead of the ball falling into her grip, she lost her balance entirely and teetered forward and off the branch.

Her arms flailed as she struggled to find anything to grip on, her sibling's yells of panic from below silencing her own yelp of surprise.

Y/N was falling until she wasn't. Arms wrapped around her just before she hit the ground, her body smacking into Anthony's. The force knocked them both to the floor, Anthony taking down Benedict at the same time.

The three siblings hit the ground, hard. Anthony's head smacked against Benedict's chest as Y/N knocked her own head into her older brother's chin.

"Oh, my go - are you three ok?" Daphne exclaimed, crouching down beside Y/N and helping her sit up, a concerned hand on her back.

Y/N rolled off her elder brother and to the side, coughing slightly, winded from her collision with her brother.

"Anthony get off me," Benedict grunted, pushing his brother off him.

Anthony stumbled to his feet, swaying just a bit. "I'm fine," he muttered, dusting his jacket down. "Just another victim of Y/N Bridgerton."

Something landed on top of Anthony's head with a fairly loud thud. It rolled off him and bounced onto the floor, rolling down to Y/N's feet.

"Oh!" She said, bending down and picking it up. "I did get my ball after all!."

Y/N looked behind her frantically, desperately trying to find an escape as Cressida Cowper walked towards her, her friends walking alongside her.

She was not having a good day and she did not need Cressida Cowper to make it any worse.

"Y/N!"

Bloody hell. "Cressida," Y/N said, curtseying politely.

"You look beautiful. As ever," Cressida added snidely. "Anyone asked you for a dance yet?"

Y/N gritted her teeth. "No, not yet."

"Oh, shame. Mr Patrick, Sir Carter and Mr Norris have all written their names in my dance card."

"Well, I hope you enjoy all your dances."

"Hmm, I suppose I will."

Cressida brushed past Y/N, tipping her glass of lemonade onto her dress and down her chest. Y/N gasped, the cold liquid startling her. Cressida sniggered and sauntered off to another corner of the ballroom.

Y/N inhaled shakily, closing her eyes. She turned her back to the rest of the room, feeling her throat closing as the tears threatened to fall all over again.

A jacket sleeve brushed against her arm and Y/N knew instantly it was Anthony. He shielded her from the rest of the room as he unbuttoned his jacket and put it around her shoulders, handing her his handkerchief.

"Come on," he said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her along with him.

Anthony walked out into the corridor outside the ballroom and then into another empty room. He shut the door behind them and Y/N sat down heavily on the sofas, hanging her head low.

"I have half a mind to go yell at Miss Cowper," Anthony muttered, walking over to her.

"Not that it would solve anything," Y/N replied, straightening up. She dabbed under her eyes with her fingers, shaking her head. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"Getting me out of there before I made a scene."

Anthony smiled softly. "If anyone made a scene, it was Cressida." He sat down next to her on the sofa. "We do not have to go back. We can leave."

Y/N shook her head, pulling Anthony's jacket tighter around her shoulders. "No. I do not want her to win. Give me five minutes and I'll be fine."

"Very well, then."

Y/N dropped her head to Anthony's shoulder, closing her eyes momentarily. "Thank you, brother."

Anthony kissed her forehead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Anytime."

The rain lashed against the windows. A loud boom of thunder sounded from directly overhead and Y/N flinched, digging her nails into the leather of the chair she was sat in.

She didn't know what it was about storms that frightened her so much - whether it was the loud noises, the bright flashes of lighting, the sound of trees being felled - but this was the worst one they had had in years.

Anthony glanced up at his sister, pausing his writing. "Alright?"

Y/N nodded tightly, clutching her book in one hand. "Fine."

Another boom of thunder and she closed her eyes, jumping in her seat. Anthony set his pen down and pushed his chair back, walking over to his sister. He snatched up her book, putting his thumb on the page she was on, and closing it to look at the cover.

Pride and Prejudice was written on the front, each letter covered in gold foil. "Would you like me to read to you?"

"If it means distracting me from this god-awful storm, yes."

Anthony smiled, sitting down in the chair opposite his sister. He opened the book again and found the start of the new chapter. "Colonel Fitzwilliam's were very much admired at the Parsonage, and the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasure of their engagements at Rosings."

Y/N leant back in her chair, closing her eyes. Anthony's voice was calm and didn't flinch once, even when lighting struck almost outside his study window. His mere presence had calmed her down from the panic building inside her.

As Anthony reached the end of the chapter, he glanced over at his sister. He smiled softly upon seeing that she was fast asleep, her head drooping to one side. He concluded the chapter, gently tucking a piece of paper in between the pages and closing the book.

It had been many years since he'd last carried anyone other than Hyacinth and Gregory to bed. Even then, they were beginning to get a bit too big and a bit too old.

Anthony gently lifted Y/N up into his arms and crept through the corridors of Bridgerton House. He laid her down on her bed and pulled back the blankets and duvet, placing them on top of her, smoothing the edge down.

"Night, Y/N," he whispered, standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

Anthony did not regret marrying Kate Bridgerton neé Sharma one bit.

He just regretted his mother's penchant for big ball's and extravagant celebrations. Anthony had hardly had time to take in his new wife and admire her as viscountess - it felt as if the entire ton had been invited to the ball.

Almost an hour later, Anthony finally found his wife again, walking up to her and taking her hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

"I missed you," he murmured, leaning into her neck and sniffing.

Kate shoved him gently. "Anthony, behave."

"Apologies."

"Your mother seems very determined to introduce me to every member of the ton tonight."

"Again, apologies."

Kate chuckled, smiling widely. "I forgive you, my lord."

The string quartet began readying themselves for another dance, couples moving into position on the floor with practised ease. Anthony held his hand out to his wife, smiling.

"Care for a dance, Viscountess Bridgerton?"

"I would adore one, Viscount Bridgerton."

They danced three times in a row. Which was preposterous for any courting couple but unheard of for a married couple. But Anthony and Kate were so in love with one another, that no one seemed to really mind.

In fact, both were so enamoured with one another, that they did not seem to realise the line of people wanting to talk to them slowly dwindling down to nothing.

"Is it me," Kate said quietly, "or has no one been over to talk at us for a while?"

Anthony sipped on his lemonade and looked around, raising his eyebrows. "No, I do believe you are correct in that statement."

It was suspicious, Anthony thought, that they had been left alone for as long as they had. His eyes scanned the ballroom - he spotted Daphne and Simon, both pretending to look interested in a conversation with the Cowpers, and suddenly realised.

"I do believe my siblings are deflecting anyone that comes our way," Anthony murmured to his wife.

"Whatever do you mean?"

He pointed over to Daphne and Simon. Then he guided Kate's eyes to the left, where Colin and Eloise were listening to Lady Trowbridge.

"Oh," Kate said, understanding. She looked around the room, her eyes latching on to one Bridgerton in particular.

Y/N stood with Mr Dorset, pretending to be engrossed in Lord Lumley's conversation. She was surrounded by numerous other gentlemen, all waiting for her attention.

"Oh, Lord Bridgerton!" Portia Featherington crowed.

"I knew it couldn't last," Anthony muttered, turning his back.

"Lady Featherington!" Y/N exclaimed, pulling Mr Dorset with her as they walked over to the lady. "I have been meaning to ask you all night about your stunning dress."

"Oh, really? It's new in from Paris -"

And just like that, Portia Featherington forget entirely about the newlywed couple she'd been marching towards.

Kate caught Y/N's eye as she walked back to the wall. She mouthed a thank you to the younger girl, smiling when Y/N winked back at her, blowing her sister-in-law a kiss.

"I do believe, we have Y/N to thank for a bit of peace," Kate said, leaning into her husband. "She seems to have gathered an army to distract the ton."

Anthony looked over at her, a fond smile taking over his face. "Of course she did," he muttered. "Well, I suppose, annoyingly, I'm in her debt now."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Kate asked, letting Anthony wrap his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

"No," He replied, sniffing Kate's scent and pressing a kiss to her bare skin, "no, it is not."

#bridgerton!sis #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton sister #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton sis #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x platonic!reader

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vampyan · 4 months

Text

blog & request rules ⨟

minors and ageless blogs do not interact! you will be blocked on sight.

this blog is dom!reader x sub!yandere!character only. you can find sub!reader everywhere else so don’t come looking for it here.

all gender identities are welcome but this blog mainly caters to fem/afab!readers.

this blog is yandere-centric and will be littered with dark content, though all of these things will be tagged.

anon hate & rude asks will be ignored & deleted on sight cus idc.

this is a sideblog and i’ll mostly be posting fic here, so it won’t be nearly as active as my main -> @vampcubus

characters i write for ⨟

-> kimetsu no yaiba

kyojuro rengoku ; obanai iguro ; tengen uzui & wives ; shinobu kocho ; sanemi shinazugawa ; shinjuro rengoku ; zenitsu agatsuma ; inosuke hashibira ; tanjiro kamado ; genya shinazugawa ; muzan kibutsuji ; akaza ; gyutaro ; gyokko ; hantengu clones (sekido & urogi preferred) ;

-> telltale batman

john doe / joker ; edward nygma / riddler ; harvey dent / two-face ; harley quinn ;

-> my hero academia

cathleen bate / star and stripe ; toshinori yagi / all might ;

-> helluva boss

blitzø ; fizzarolli ; asmodeus ; mammon ;

-> the arcana

lucio ; muriel ; asra ; vulgora ;

-> dragon ball

goku ; vegeta ; gohan ; broly ; frieza ; frost ; beerus ; android 17 ; android 18 ; zamasu ; goku black ; jiren ;

-> miscellaneous fandom yanderes

mizu (blue eye samurai) ; sidon (loz botw & totk) ; john doe (visual novel) ; victor van dort (corpse bride) ;

-> original yandere characters

coming soon!

request rules ⨟

requests aren't guaranteed and might take me a while (especially since i run another blog as well) but i'll try to finish as many as i can >:3

yandere!character is the main focus of this blog, but yandere!reader is also acceptable!

all characters aged up to 18+ if applicable

please be specific and have a concept instead of sending something like ‘kyojuro x reader smut’ i’ll be more likely to write it if you know exactly what you want :)

will write ⨟

fics, headcanons, and quick thirsts/drabbles.

dom!reader x sub!yandere!character. (top! or bottom!reader so long as they are dominant)

fem or afab!reader for nsfw. will do fem or gender-neutral reader for sfw. (pls specify if you’d prefer a gn!reader)

non-sexual non-con, dub-con, non-con touching/affection, stalking, controlling behavior, kidnapping, manipulation, blood & gore.

polyamory, threesomes, and harems (ex: uzuren x reader, obamitsu x reader, inotan x reader, kamaboko trio x reader, fizzmodeus x reader)

a/b/o dynamics. alpha!reader x omega!character preferred, but will write for dominant omega readers (ex: prime omega!reader)

monsterfucking/teratophilia, monster/cryptid au yanderes (ex: cryptid!kyojuro, werewolf!sanemi, eldritch horror!yandere)

kny demon pet au (@/invertedphantasmagoria, @/phantasmiafxndom), hybrid au, catboys, puppyboys, bunnyboys etc...

won’t write ⨟

sub!reader x dom!character

male or amab!readers.

kink no-no’s: sexual non-con, incest/stepcest, daddy kink, piss play/watersports/omorashi, foot fetish, maledom.

forced pregnancy, miscarriages.

#🦠.navigation #.request rules #.blog rules #.byf #dom!reader #dom reader #sub!character #sub!yandere

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egrets-not-regrets · 1 month

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Guesthouse of the (Lost) Astartes: To Render Aid (3)

Erriox and Lenora provide aid to a lost chaos space marine and his young bonded human.

Dialogue spoken in the Gothic language are bolded and italicized.

Author's Note: This is part 3 in a multi-part story: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

It is not the end yet. 😅 We get to meet some more characters though!

This story focuses on the relationship of a chaos space marine who is intensely bonded to his human and touches upon the issue with Black Templars bonding with humans.

Also, Erriox is a responsible space marine and does responsible things. And no, he definitely does not do it for his bonded human's approval.

Thank you @squishyowl for making the fic dividers! Also thanks @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Sirass.

Tagged:

@kit-williams, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @shadowfirecat, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan,

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bispecsual

Tunes from the radio played quietly in the truck while Lenora drove through the snowy landscape. Her eyes scanned for signs of their bonded Astartes occasionally. They should be halfway there, she thought, judging from the familiar landmarks they passed by. Once they hit the S-curve in the road, the next turn at the intersection would be a clear shot straight to the base. And that was a well-built road too.

“Do you think my mom would still want me back?” Ben asked, forlorn and unsure.

Lenora eyed her passenger strangely, “Now why would you think that?”

“She stopped showing up a month ago. It’s like she disappeared!”

Ben continued, “I don’t know how to contact her. My friends tried to help me find her online, but someone snitched to my dad.” He ended with a growl.

“Ben, do not believe for a second that your mom doesn’t want you!” Lenora replied, feeling a wave of protectiveness well up inside, “She tried to meet you before, right?”

“Yeah…” Ben nodded, his voice quiet, “She used to wait for me after school before my dad came to pick me up.”

“Did she say where she was living?” Lenora pressed on.

“She said something about outside the Fortress? Something about where the kingfisher lives?”

Where the kingfisher lives? Huh… Lenora thought, trying to piece together the clues. She knew several locations where kingfishers nested outside of Steelix Fortress, but those are still multiple areas to narrow down. Maybe Ben’s mom meant that figuratively…

A knock on her window drew her attention. She looked and breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar figure running next to them. Erriox signalled for her to keep going. She smiled and nodded, putting her foot to the pedal to speed up.

*********

Elsewhere, the snowstorm died down as Malaran ran westward from the trail end. It wasn’t long before he heard the familiar heavy footfalls of another Astartes following him. He knew it was the Black Templar. At least this meant their plan had worked for now. He easily crossed the trenches following the Iron Warrior’s instructions and pressed on. It was tempting to turn around and fight the Black Templar, but his need to reunite with his bonded youngling weighed heavier on his mind. Malaran chuckled when he heard a stumble and fall behind him.

He was about to turn to follow the southwest road when he dodged to one side, a bolter shot just grazing his armour. Malaran turned around, firing back at the offending Astartes.

“Return the boy, chaos scum!” Came the Black Templar’s voice.

The Black Legionnaire snorted as he hurled the bundle he held at the other space marine. The templar rushed forward to catch the bundle only to watch the backpack and heat packs fall to the ground as the cape unravelled in the air. He roared, unsheathing his power sword, “You… and the Iron traitor! Where did you hide the boy?!”

“You don’t deserve to know, corpse worshipper!” Malaran bellowed as he clashed with the Templar, his chain axe revving. He couldn’t resist the Khornate pull for an exhilarating battle. His blood sang savagery and bloodthirst into his ears. It was a good night for a fight.

***********

It was uneventful as Erriox followed Lenora’s truck for the first hour or so. On the one hand, he was thankful that it had been uneventful as Lenora and Ben were able to safely drive through the snowstorm, but now that the storm died down… it was too quiet.

Erriox knew that something went awry. His feeling was only confirmed when heard the footsteps of the Black Templar running toward them. He quickly turned and ran towards the other Astartes to cut him off. Alarms raised in his head when he saw the raised bolter. Erriox fired a shot, hitting the Templar’s gun, throwing off his aim and drawing his attention to him instead.

*************

Lenora pressed her truck to speed forward, trying hard to ignore the sounds of the gunfire and Ben’s whimpers. Then it went quiet. Fear gripped her heart, what if Erriox… Ben looked at the side view mirror and yelled, startling Lenora out of her thoughts, “It’s the asshole!”

At any other time, Lenora would have laughed at that sudden statement. She glanced at her rear view mirror and felt the cold rush of dread down her spine. It was the Black Templar. Despite what looked like obvious injuries, he was gaining on them. Fast.

The S-curve was coming up soon.

With a surprising burst of speed, the Black Templar pounced on them. Ben screamed.

“Hang on!” Lenora shouted as she accelerated and steered into the sharp turn, swinging the truck end just out of the templar’s reach, drifting the curve of the road, and counter steering the other way to straighten out the truck again.

Erriox’s hearts nearly froze at the sight of the truck careening out of control on the snow-covered road before correcting its course. He raced towards the templar again, seeing his arm about to throw his combat blade, tackling him just in time to throw off its trajectory.

“Dagger!” Ben screamed as he saw the glint of the weapon leaving the templar’s hand.

“Head down!” she yelled back.

Can’t worry about that now! Lenora thought, gritting her teeth as she desperately focused on making it through the next turn at high speed. Both her and Ben screamed as the blade thunked into the truck, embedding deep into the truck chassis.

The Iron Warrior saw red, how dare this Imperial Fist knock-off try to kill his bonded! He stabbed his chain sword into the templar’s body, hearing the satisfying grunt of pain as his blade cracked through the armour bit into flesh. The power sword flashed as the Black Templar swung down. Erriox dodged, but not before the sword left a deep score in his pauldron. Both Astartes stood and charged at each other again, their blades clashing.

“Iron traitor! You and your brother will pay for your sins! He was not yours to take!” The Black Templar accusation was laden with ire and venom,

“It was none of our business until they made it so! This would not have happened if you treated the boy better!” Erriox reproached him.

“This one is mine!” The Black Templar suddenly turned as Malaran’s roaring dark form came swinging down with his axe, crashing against the power sword.

**********

“It’s Orca!” Ben exclaimed, his excitement soon waning to worry as he noticed the slightly unbalanced movements of his bonded Astartes.

Lenora glanced at the rearview mirror at the three battling titans as the truck sped forward. It was easy to forget how dangerous space marines actually were with how gently Erriox treated her in the time they’ve been together. Moments like these served a stark reminder at how vulnerable humans were compared to the Astartes. Like great predators in a sea of fish. She shivered, her hands white-knuckling onto the steering wheel. Hopefully the Black Templar was the only one they had to worry about.

“Will they be ok?” Ben’s worried voice piped up.

Lenora gave him a strained smile, “They will be.” They have to be, she prayed to whatever gods that were out there.

It was tense and silent as they turned onto the road leading to Steelix Fortress.

“One day, I’m going to be strong like Orca. Then I can help him fight the bad guys too.” Ben vowed, his voice quiet and resolute.

Lenora laughed uneasily at his naive declaration, “Well, focus on getting stronger first.”

**********

They soon arrived at the fortress gates, smoothly proceeding through to the vehicle bay.

Lenora parked and shut off the truck. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she slumped into her seat, letting out a breath of relief. Soreness slowly creeping up her arms after gripping the steering wheel too tightly for so long.

“Ms. Lenora?” Ben asked timidly.

She hummed in question, not bothering to correct him.

“Sorry for giving you guys so much trouble.” His voice was morose and full of regret.

Lenora chuckled and reached over to give the boy a reassuring hug, “Don’t feel bad now, we’re here right? We’re safe here and you’re going to see your mom, and Orca and Erriox are on their way. Everything will be okay.” Ben hugged her back.

“Besides, that was a good test for this truck and my driving skills.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “It was pretty fun drifting around those curves like that.”

Ben laughed, feeling more at ease, “Yeah, that was like the Fast and the Furious movie!”

A knock at her window startled her. Laughing at her own reaction, Lenora turned to see the face of Sirass peering in. They both hopped out of her truck and she turned to greet the Iron Warrior.

“Hello, Sirass! It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He gently clapped against her shoulder in greeting, “Erriox is still out there?”

She patted his armoured gauntlet affectionately, but her eyes couldn’t meet his gaze, “He and Malaran were still fighting the Black Templar when we left.”

“Brother Alcyon is on his way to meet them.” He replied, easing her worries. She smiled wanly at him, “That’s good. Give him my thanks.”

Sirass went and pulled out the combat knife embedded in the truck chassis, “I’ll hand this over to Erriox once he arrives and see to patching this hole before you leave.”

“Thank you, Sirass. It is much appreciated.” Lenora replied gratefully as she left her truck key on the dash before closing the door.

“I’m ready, Ms. Lenora.” Ben chirped.

The boy smelt familiar, Sirass noted “So you’re Amelia’s son. Ben, correct?”

Ben nodded, reaching a hand to him, “Yes, sir.”

The Astartes chuckled and gently shook his hand, “I am Brother Sirass and I will be guiding you to the medical wing.”

As they walked to the medical wing, Sirass idly asked Lenora, “Did Erriox tell you about the cookies?”

She laughed, “No, he didn’t! Other issues were more pressing at the time. Did you like them?”

He grinned, “They were very good. He said you will bring more next time.”

“Which ones did you like?” She asked.

“The ones with the chocolate pieces on them.”

The oatmeal chocolate chip cookies… never could go wrong with that recipe, she thought. Lenora smiled at him, “I will bring more of those cookies next time. Good thing you told me.”

Sirass dropped them off at the doors of the medical wing, waving goodbye before parting. Lenora and Ben went inside, making their way to where there was a young man in scrubs manning the administrative desk. He looked up, recognizing Lenora.

“Hey! Long time no see!”

“Hey Eric! It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

Eric waved his hand nonchalantly, “You know, the usual. Always learning. Coffee’s my savior.” Lenora laughed.

Standing up, the medical technician finally got a good look at Ben, who’s hair just crested the top of the desk and had been silent up until now, “Hey! You’re Amelia’s son! You are so much taller than I expected. She talks a lot about you, you know!” He cheerfully greeted him, “Apothecary Osteron is expecting you guys. Room One, if you please. Lenora, you can go with him.”

“Thanks Eric.” Lenora nodded as she directed Ben to the appointed room.

Apothecary Osteron was an imposing Astartes, what with the various medical implements attached to the mechanical arms on his armour and all; that and being one of the few marines that towered a foot above most Astartes at the base. For an Iron Warrior apothecary though, he had surprisingly good bedside manners with baseline humans. Thus, treating humans at the base tended to fall on him.

Ben shuffled in closely behind Lenora, using her body as a shield of sorts.

“Lenora.” His sonorous voice greeted her.

She dipped her head respectfully, smiling, “Apothecary Osteron, it’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you in good health. I see you brought the boy.” He looked over at Lenora at Ben peeking out from behind her.

She nudged the teen, encouraging him to move out into the open, “Hey, it’s alright. Apothecary Osteron is a lovely man, he’s the doctor that takes care of the humans at the base. Don’t be scared.”

Osteron chuckled. He recognized Ben’s scent, “He certainly is Amelia’s boy. She was such a shy thing when we first met too.”

Lenora grinned wryly, “To be fair, you are rather intimidating at first meeting.” The apothecary laughed at that.

“You know my mom?” Ben asked curiously.

“Indeed, youngling. She works with Eric here.” Osteron answered patiently, “Get on the bed, and I will check you over. Erriox said you caught hypothermia?”

Ben shrugged, “Lenora said I had frostnip.”

Lenora answered Osteron, her voice clinical, “Ben was cold and barely awake when he got to us, so we suspected hypothermia. Thankfully, he seems to have recovered once we warmed him up. I checked on his digits thinking there may be frostbite, but it only looks like frostnip instead. We thought it would be better for a doctor to check him over just in case.”

The apothecary nodded, scanning Ben for other injuries once he did his initial check, “The ends of toes are still red, but it is on its way to recovery. The boy is slightly dehydrated as well, but is otherwise fine, he just needs good meals and rest.”

Osteron addressed Ben, “Your toes will be sore for a few days, but as long as you get rest and sufficient food and water, you will be fine. If you feel your toes swelling or you start to feel ill, make sure to come back here, alright?”

The teen nodded, “Okay.”

Satisfied, Osteron patted his head and led them out the examination room, “Good lad. You can wait in the hall for your mother to arrive. If you need anything, just ask Eric.”

Lenora paused as she remembered something, “Osteron, do you know who Amelia is bonded to? Erriox didn’t mention it before we left. I only know that he is one of the chaos Iron Warriors.”

“Brother Alcyon is her bonded.”

She hummed thoughtfully as Osteron left them with Eric.

“My mom! She’s here, right?” Ben asked, his voice hopeful and excited.

The teen deflated at Eric’s answer, “Sorry, Ben. She’s not here yet, but she’s on her way.”

Lenora gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, “Hey now, you’ve come so far. You only need to be patient and wait a little longer. Your mum’s coming, and Malaran is on his way. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll join you soon.” Pouting, Ben went and slouched onto one of the Astartes-sized chairs, looking comically small.

Lenora covered her smile at the cuteness. The medical tech gave her a clipboard with some forms to fill out, with a chuckle, “Cute kid. Here's some forms. Just fill out what you can and the rest we can hand it over to Amelia to finish. I’ll have you know, she works with me in the medical ward here. Lovely woman. She misses him. A lot.”

Lenora smiled sadly, glancing at the teen before grabbing a pen from the container, “He missed her very much too.”

“You were thinking about something earlier.” Eric asked thoughtfully, “Something about Brother Alcyon?”

“Yeah, something about his name sounds familiar, but I’m sure I’ve never heard his name outside today.” She replied then shrugged, waving the clipboard of forms, “I’ll hand it back once I’m done.” returning to sit next to Ben.

“You hungry?” Lenora asked the boy.

Ben blushed when his stomach growled, “Yeah, kinda.”

“No worries, you’ve only drank hot chocolate all day, but hadn’t eaten anything yet. Take a look inside your backpack, there should be food and water in there.”

Ben did as she instructed, “Woah! You didn’t have to put so much stuff in there!” he exclaimed. He pulled out a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a bottle of water.

Lenora laughed quietly, “I don’t know where you and Malaran planned to go after. Having some extra food and water is always good just in case of emergencies. Don’t worry about it, I have enough at home.”

She urged him, “Eat up and make sure you drink some water too. You only had hot chocolate the entire day.” Ben didn’t argue and started on his sandwich.

Lenora looked through the intake forms, filling out the blank fields where she could. She paused when she got to the address field, “Hey Ben, where did your mum say she lived again?”

“Somewhere outside the Fortress.”

“And… where the kingfisher lived?” Lenora recalled. Ben hummed an affirmative, mouth full of sandwich. It was then it clicked in her mind. She grinned, “I think I know who the kingfisher is.”

Ben swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, finally satisfied, “Who?” he whispered.

“Alcyon, your mum’s Astartes.” she replied, her voice, equally as hushed.

The boy pursed his lips in confusion, “I don’t get it.”

Lenora chuckled, “Alcyon is the latin species name for the Belted Kingfisher. Though the word can just mean kingfisher in general.” She pulled up the belted kingfisher entry in one of her bird identification apps on her phone, “See?”

“Oh…” Ben took her phone, looking at the picture of the blue and white bird with fascination, then swiped to another bird, “Can I look through this?” He asked.

“Of course.” Lenora said warmly, showing Ben how to back out to the main list of bird species for him to browse. She went to return the forms to Eric while the boy was occupied.

“Where’s Erriox? He’s usually attached to you by the hip.” Eric asked.

Lenora laughed, “Oh come on! No he isn’t.”

The tech snorted, “Well, every time I see you, you’re always together.”

“We make that much of an impression, huh? Maybe it’s only when you see us.” She teased him, her voice then lowered with concern, “He’s out dealing with a Black Templar with Ben’s Astartes. I am worried that they’re not back yet, to be honest.”

Eric hummed thoughtfully, “They’re big tough boys. I’m sure they’ll be okay.”

Lenora gave him a smile, still worried, “I hope so.”

She returned to Ben’s side. The teen handed the phone back to her, “Is there something for fish and marine animals?” He asked.

“I’m not sure, I never used it so never looked for that kind of app.” Lenora replied, “I’m sure there should be something available out there. I can ask my friends if they know.”

“Your friends are marine biologists?” Ben’s voice was full of awe.

“Well… no, but they do know marine biologists.” Lenora laughed.

“Then what do you do?” He asked her.

She smiled, “I’m a wildlife biologist.”

“Like you work with tigers and bears?” Erriox was not far off…, she laughed to herself.

“I work with birds mostly and sometimes reptiles and amphibians, but we also have wildlife cameras to catch some of the bigger animals. Would you like to see?”

“Yeah!” Ben leaned against her as she swiped through the gallery of wildlife camera photos. He’s pretty clever, Lenora thought, listening to him point out the animals in the pictures.

He suddenly laughed, “Who is that?!”

Lenora looked at the image of a jovial Space Wolf grinning at the camera. She giggled, “Sometimes we get space marines passing through. Some of them like to have some fun, when they don’t destroy the camera.”

“Ben?” Both their heads turned at the sound of the voice.

“Mom!”

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #oc: ben #oc: malaran blackspike #oc: lenora #oc: erriox #iron warriors #black legion

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 12 days

Text

You're Special to Me

Can you write a fic where Remus keeps on comparing himself to roman (negatively) and the other sides also doing it, albeit unknowingly. It’s alright if you can’t, no pressure! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-esteem issues, self-doubt, remus has some abandonment issues

Pairings: platonic creativitwins

Word Count: 3761

The others have a nasty habit of comparing Roman and Remus. It starts to get grating after a while. Good thing Roman's always thought his brother was the best.

“Remus?”

Remus pokes his head out from under the whale carcass, adjusting the brim of his rain jacket to see Logan wading dubiously through the trail of viscera from here to the door. “Oh, hey, Pocket Protector, whattya need?”

“We had a brainstorm scheduled to start five minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah, I was wondering when you were gonna show up.”

“Yes, so if you wouldn’t mind—wait, ‘show up?’”

He tosses a chunk into the piranha tank and the water froths up. “Yeah. You asked to have a brainstorm with me, so I was waiting for you.”

“Ah, I see. Typically brainstorms are held in the study or the living room.”

“Yeah, Ro’s are.”

Logan blinks. “Hm?”

“ Roman’s brainstorms with you are in the living room or the study or whatever. That’s ‘cause he can do the whole write-stuff-down-talk-it-out thing. I gotta be doing something.”

Logan dodges a spray of…something Remus isn’t going to name but rhymes with a really frizzy hairstyle, clutching his notebook to his chest. “Would you opposed to having a brainstorm in one of those locations if you bring something to do?”

“Peachy keen, Lolo, but there’re rules about me bringing my projects to places.”

“That is true,” he mutters under his breath, “is—so I take it you would prefer to have the brainstorm here as you…work?”

“Yep.” When Logan doesn’t say anything for a moment, Remus lowers his bone saw and glances over at him. “Is…is that okay?”

“Well, I’m going to have to change my state of dress, and take audio recordings that I’ll have to transcribe later, but yes, I believe that is acceptable. You’ll have to give me a moment to change.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Logan nods and weaves his way carefully around the mounds of blubber starting to grow around Remus’s work station. Remus watches him go, a chunk falling slowly off of his shoulder, before he looks back at the carcass. He still has a few hours of work to properly strip it to where it’s usable, and this kind of work is nice for brainstorming ‘cause it’s mostly rote at this point, but there’s a sudden greyness to everything. Like if he raised his tools and tried to keep going the whale might turn to paper in front of him.

He sits there amidst his carnage, the faint sound of the piranhas nibbling away in the sloshing water behind him. He looks down at his hands, at the calluses and old scars. The bone saw lies limply across his knee.

Logan didn’t seem angry that he’d misunderstood what he wanted, but he did seem disappointed. Like he really wanted Remus to not be doing this and come to the study to do the brainstorm. Like Roman. But Roman’s process wasn’t Remus’s process and Logan had asked specifically to brainstorm with Remus.

The familiar sound of rain boots squishing through viscera brings him back, glancing over to see Logan wading through toward him with a recorder in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

“Whoa, cool jacket.”

“Thank you, I had Virgil help me design it after the one you made for him.” Logan brandishes the recorder and eyes the whale corpse. “Well, shall we get to it?”

“I’ve already got a few ideas.”

Remus bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, barely resisting the urge to flap his hands. This is it! He’s finally been allowed to join in on the communal baking day where everyone gets to make their own dessert for movie night. He stayed up late last night thinking of all the delicious things they could make and finally, finally got his list down to just five options. He’s really leaning toward the strawberry fruit tart but the lemon squares look so good but the pumpkin spice cookies would be so much fun to decorate—

Something shoves him gently into the wall and he grins as Roman ruffles his hair a little too hard.

“Roro!”

“Hey, Re, you look excited.” Roman chuckles as Remus chews excitedly on his costume collar. “You ready?”

“I’ve been waiting all day for this!”

“Roman? Is Remus there?”

“He’s all yours, Padre.” Roman winks and ruffles his hair again. “Go get ‘em.”

Remus bounds into the kitchen, startling Patton a little as he sets something on the counter. He reaches into his pocket for the piece of paper—he even wrote it on paper this time to make it easier—and opens his mouth to explain his options, when—

“Good, I wondered where you were. Could you go ahead and measure the white sugar out for me?”

Remus pauses. Patton looks at him expectantly, holding out the cup. He takes it slowly, glancing at the containers and bowls already amassed on the counter. “Uh—what?”

“The white sugar. Granulated sugar, if you’d prefer. It’s in this one over here—“ he indicates a white paper bag— “and it just goes in that bowl there.”

A bit of grey flickers across his vision. “But we haven’t chosen what we’re making yet.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t tell you. We’re just gonna be making chocolate chip cookies.”

He frowns. “Ro said we get to choose what we make.”

Patton’s smile twitches a bit. “Oh, I just figured it would be—since we always have chocolate chip and it’s your first time—the others have already made their choices, they did it yesterday—“

Patton keeps talking as the list in his hand slowly greys out. They did it…yesterday? And didn’t tell Remus? But Ro said that he could pick…

“…so I figured this would be the easiest.” Patton’s still talking. “But if you really, really want to make something else, then—“

“No,” he grits out, shoving the list in his pocket and going over to the sugar, “I love chocolate chip cookies.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad, I love them too! Yeah, so that just goes in there.”

As they bake, or as Patton tells Remus what to do and watches him carefully as he does it, he can’t help thinking that this isn’t at all what Roman said it was like and how he doesn’t…really want to do it ever again. But at least he can eat as much of the cookie dough as he wants while Patton isn’t looking.

“…hey, Snakey?”

Janus looks up from his book with the patented what-did-you-do-how-much-of-your-mess-am-I-going-to-have-to-clean-up expression and Remus squirms under it. He raises an eyebrow.

“Would you teach me how to dance?”

The expression morphs into one of surprise in an instant. He sets down his book. “Certainly, I can teach you. What for?”

”There’s a, uh, thing in the Imagination next month that me and Ro are putting on and we, uh, part of it’s a ball thing.”

“Mm. Will the rest of us be invited?”

“…I think so? I dunno, I need to talk to Ro. We, uh, no one else knows about it yet.”

“Ooh, a secret, I do love those.”

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Janus chuckles, getting to his feet and holding out a hand. Remus takes it and blinks as Janus takes them to a room in the Imagination he’s never seen before. Which in and of itself isn’t all that weird, because there are plenty of things that Ro makes that he never sees, but this one feels…familiar, almost. Like he’s seen it in a dream or something and only just now actually being able to picture it clearly.

At the very back of the theater, hidden in the shadows, some of the red seats look a little faded.

“Alright,” Janus says, “we’re going to learn a very simple waltz.”

“Okay. What do I do?”

“Well, you’re part of Thomas, and Thomas knows how to do a box step, which means most of it is already in there somewhere.” Janus taps the side of his head. “So, put your arms around me—no, no! Remus, put me down.”

“You said put my arms around you.”

“Not like that, like this.” Janus takes one of his hands and puts it on his waist, holding the other one out to the side. “Don’t—we’re not about to charge someone, Remus, relax.”

He goes all noodley and Janus sighs, making him stand back up with his arms not held out like he’s brandishing a weapon. Once they’re standing in a way that he approves of, he starts explaining how the steps work.

“Can you show me your box step?”

“While I’m holding you?”

“Good point.” Janus takes three very large steps backward and folds his arms. “Go ahead.”

Remus does his box step. Janus looks at him with his head tilted and sighs again. Every time he sighs a few more seats get a little greyer.

“I suppose it could be worse. Now, here’s what I’d like you to do: hold onto me, yes, like that, and do your box step. I am going to do an opposite box step and we are going to just try that, okay?”

Remus nods, looking down to make sure he doesn’t step on Janus, and starts his box. Janus moves back but he’s moving in a way that makes Remus have to let go.

“Hold onto me.”

“But you moved.”

“We’re dancing, Remus, we’re going to move.”

“But you—okay.”

Despite Janus’s patience—and fond exasperation that sometimes isn’t quite as fond—Remus can’t help but get hot behind the ears at how his body just doesn’t seem to want to do any of this. But every time they turn to face the back of the curtain, he sees memories of Roman dancing effortlessly in the big palace ballroom and he grits his teeth.

The curtains have gone grey by the time Janus calls an end to the misery of a lesson.

“C’mon, Emo, you can do it…” Virgil’s next inhale is almost a whine. “Shh, shh, it’s…it’s okay, just…just try and breathe.”

“It’s not working.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re panicking—“

“I know I’m panicking! Knowing I’m panicking doesn’t help!”

Remus winces as Virgil almost shoves him away, He goes, because when someone’s having a panic attack and they let you know you’re making it worse, then you leave. But he can’t pull away too much because Virgil is hurting himself and that’s why he got summoned in the first place.

“Little spider,” he tries again, and Virgil lets him shift a little closer, “I’m…I don’t know what to do.”

Not the thing to say when someone’s having a panic attack. Virgil sobs again, curling up even tighter, beginning to make small hitching noises whenever he can draw breath.

“Remus? Virgil? What’s—oh. Oh, no.”

”Ro?”

Roman hurries toward them, falling to his knees next to the shaking pile of Virgil, immediately pressing a kiss to his head and going to wrap his arms around him.

“Wait, he doesn’t want to be…” Remus trails off as Virgil immediately clings to Roman, latching on like a limpet and refusing to let go.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, Stormcloud, I’m right here. Shh, shh, shh, you’re alright, you’re safe, nothing’s gonna hurt you right now.”

It’s not fair of him to be jealous when Roman gets Virgil to calm down almost right away. It’s not fair of him to be resentful that Roman’s who Virgil wants when he’s upset. It’s not fair to be upset or offended by what someone needs to come out of having a panic attack. That’s not cool, it’s not right, it’s not fair to Virgil or Roman or himself.

But Remus watches Roman cuddle Virgil and press gentle kisses to his forehead, and he looks down at his own hands that still have some Kraken slime on them from when he got summoned, and he sinks out before Virgil’s feeling all the way better.

He hates himself a little more for it, but not as much as he hates himself for not being the person that Virgil wanted.

It would be easier if Roman were shitty about it.

If he made a point to hold it over Remus’s head, or if he tried to help out of pity or pushed the others into including Remus when it was obvious that no one really wanted to, it would be better. But no, Ro doesn’t even seem to know it’s happening. Which is shitty in and of itself, but the others don’t even realize they’re doing it sometimes and it’s never where Roman is anywhere within earshot. It’s just glaringly fucking obvious that Remus is not Roman and everyone else fucking knows it.

It would be better if they weren’t both Creativity. It would be better if Roman and him weren’t constantly lumped together. It would be better if he was actually capable of truly hating Roman.

But he can’t. Because Roman’s his brother and he loves him more than he hates himself.

He doesn’t hate himself, not really. He loves his energy, loves his drive, loves his willingness to do whatever, explore whatever, be whatever, he wouldn’t want to be like anyone else because then who would be him? But he hates the way that the version of himself he wants to be is the exact fucking opposite of everything he has to be in order to not be always a little bit worse than Roman.

Even his fucking Kraken prefers Roman.

He’d shown up to Ollie’s pond with his favorite chum and the ball with the holes big enough for his arms so they could play catch, but Ollie had sniffed around and seen that there was only one of them—and it wasn’t Roman, and he’d drifted off into the corner of the pond to sulk. No amount of coaxing or bribing had been able to make the Kraken do anything more than half-heartedly chuck the ball not even halfway across the pond.

Remus left before he started crying and went to the dark underwater sea cave deep underneath the black tower’s subbasement. He shifted enough so he could breathe underwater and curled up in the thick kelp forest where no one would be able to find him unless they poked around with a flashlight. The kelp dissipated the sound waves of his sobs, a tentacle in his mouth to muffle them even further. Along the bottom of the cave, tiny tetra fish nibbled at his scales.

He’d stayed there for at least an hour before he realized that no one would come to look for him, so he’s been drifting ever since. Every so often the tears return, the kelp absorbing them as readily as ever, at least until they taper off again and he just floats there, in the water while the fish nibble the dead skin away from his scales. There was something comforting about the greyness of the water, how smooth and quiet it was, how easy it was to just look at the shape of the kelp and the movement of the fish and just drift…alone.

Yeah, it’d be much easier if Roman was shitty about it. But he isn’t, and that’s just another way that he’s better than Remus.

+1.

Remus doesn’t even have time to lie down and close his eyes before someone’s grabbing him around the waist and sinking him into the Imagination. They crash into a pile of pillows and he gets a mouthful of one, spluttering.

” Ro!”

”Hey, you always do it to me! Payback time!” He barely gets himself free before Roman’s throwing a pillow at him. “Now arm yourself!”

“What—“ he dodges Roman’s swing— “hey!”

“No talking, only pillow fighting!”

Remus manages to get the big green pillow up in front of his face just as Roman launches himself off another pile and come barreling down at him. He rolls onto his side and swats Roman across the face. Roman yelps and laughs and swats him back.

“You’re not winning this time!”

“I didn’t win last time! I— ack!”

“C’mon, Re, I know you can do better than that!”

“Oh, it’s on.”

The two of them turn the pillow piles into a war zone, launching projectiles and themselves from various places until Roman gets Remus’s arms pinned and he can bap him lightly in the face over and over and over.

“ Ack—ppth—Ro!”

“Do you yield?”

“Yeah, yeah, you— pffthp— I fucking yield.”

Roman chuckles and presses a big smacking kiss to Remus’s cheek, rolling off of him and sprawling out across the pillow carnage with a contented sigh. Remus winces, pulling himself into a sitting position, grabbing one of the plushier pillows to hold.

They’re in one of the higher tree canopy tents, he realizes as he takes in their surroundings without the distraction of plush warfare. Overlooking the massive waterfalls with the help of the full moon and the soft glow of the amber lanterns overhead, he can spot a few of the others in trees surrounding the falls as the rush and roar of the water fades soothingly into the background. The soft sweet smell of fresh water wafts upwards, mixing with the cool night air. He curls up a little more, hugging the pillow, watching the water rush by.

“So,” Roman grunts as he sits up a few moments later, “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mhm.” Something pokes his side and Remus yelps. “You sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure, I— eep!”

”You really sure?” Fingers keep poking and kneading his sides and trying to get under the pillow. “You really, really sure nothing’s wrong?”

“I said no!”

He moves without thinking. One second Roman’s sitting next to him and the next he’s sprawled near the other side of the tent. A horrible itchy guilty mess starts building in the back of Remus’s throat and he looks away before he can watch the shutter fall over Roman’s face.

Because that’s why Roman did all this, isn’t it? He noticed Remus was upset and because he’s a good brother, he took him to their favorite sleeping spot and had a pillow fight with him and asked him if he was okay. Because Remus isn’t like Roman and he didn’t appreciate any of it and then he just shoved Roman away when all he was doing was trying to help and he really is just the worst brother ever, isn’t he?

”I could’ve done that better,” he hears softly before the gentlest arms wrap around his shoulders and there’s a warm chin on his left one, “I knew better, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“You’re fine.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Re, I just—I’m worried about you.”

“…you are?”

“Yeah. You’ve been—you’ve been kinda grey lately, you know? I’ve tried asking the others if they know what’s been going on, but they don’t—whoa, hey, hey,” Roman whispers when Remus starts to sniffle, “hey, c’mere, let me cuddle you, hey, talk to me, what’s going on?”

“‘M sorry, it’s not your fault, promise—“

“Hey, hey, uh-uh, none of that, you’re okay.” Roman pulls him into a weird pretzel ball of limbs and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “Does it have something to do with the others?”

“…it’s not their fault either.”

“Now I think we both know that might not be entirely true.”

“‘S stupid.”

“It’s making you upset, Re, it’s not stupid.”

“But it’s true!”

“What’s true?”

“You’re—you’re better than m-me.”

Roman goes very still for a second, then he pulls back and cups Remus’s face in his hands. “What the hell do you mean, ‘I’m better than you?’”

And just like that, the whole sorry story comes driveling out of him. About how Logan didn’t really want to do the brainstorm, about how Patton didn’t let him pick what he wanted to bake, about how he couldn’t comfort Virgil properly, about how hard trying to learn how to dance was, even how Ollie didn’t want to play with him. And Roman looks at him and his face falls and then he’s shaking his head and squishing Remus’s cheeks a little.

“You’re not worse than I am and I’m not better than you. We’re different, and that’s fine and good. Who gives a shit if Logan got a bit messy, you’re the one who can multitask way better than anyone else here. You have the discipline to actually train with all of your weapons and you can fight with all of them. And who the hell does Patton think he is that he can regiment who can bake what? I’ll bake with you next time and we can make whatever the hell you want. And as for Virgil—you know he only started coming to me because he missed you, right? I’m serious,” he continues when Remus’s eyes almost bug out of his head, “he said that your energy was really comforting when he was growing up and I have a similar one so he started coming to me. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles, but he’s still too caught up on everything else.

“I don’t give a shit what they all think, you hear me? I think you’re incredible and you’re my brother. I’m the only one allowed to start our stupid sibling rivalry shit.”

”What about me?”

“Fine, you can start it too. But only us, okay?”

Remus sniffles. “But then why didn’t Ollie want to play with me?”

“Because you don’t sneak him treats when you play Toss.”

”Wait, you what?”

“Uh, I mean—“

Remus grabs a pillow and thwacks Roman over the head with it. Roman bursts out laughing and half hugs, half tackles Remus to the ground.

“You’re fucking great all on your own, Re, you don’t need anyone else’s approval.” He leans up a bit. “But you always have mine, okay? I’m always gonna think you’re the greatest.”

“Even when I put slime in your bed?”

“I’ll get you back by putting dragon splines in yours.”

“You better not.”

“Don’t put slime in my bed, then.”

Remus gives another sniffly little laugh and Roman ruffles his hair. They both lie down to look at the waterfall, arms wrapped around each other.

“…hey Ro?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re the best brother ever.”

“No,” Roman says, booping Remus’s nose, “ you are.”

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#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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nashiriel · 5 months

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could we get the scene of the immediate aftermath of the whole cannibal x bb!luke bonding? like luke’s family’s realizations and immediate reactions?

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a while to get to this interesting ask!

TBH, thinking it through, a lot of the reactions would probably mirror the aftermath in the main fic. Though perhaps considerably heavier on the WTF aspect , for obvious reasons!

But below are a couple of rough snapshots of some different perspectives on the matter...

She had carried fear with her from the moment they first laid Jace, pink and squalling, in her arms. Does not a mother always? That which came with his first fever, his first tumble from Vermax’s saddle, the first day he went proudly to the training yard. Other nightmares too, those her maidenhood’s mind would never have conjured; Alicent’s seething triumph at each dark-haired babe presented to her, the whispers crawling through court when Luke’s egg stayed cold and inert in his cradle. And then, to find her family besieged in the Velaryons’ own halls, the flash of Alicent’s dagger raised towards her child, the sting of its bite barely felt amidst the bitter satisfaction of finally having that pious poison loosed before all.

But none of these compare to the moment the messenger staggers gasping into her solar. Rhaenyra hears children, beach, hears the Cannibal, and then all that comes between then and the moment she dives from the sky upon Syrax, is lost to a cold roar of panic.

She had known the Stranger’s face long before her own children’s. She knows what to expect as the beach opens up before Syrax’s wings, wet sands and sweeping ink, even as every scrap of her screams against it-

The bodies of her men still lie smouldering. A dragon, white and slender as mist, crouches atop the rocks, pockmarks of dark sand bubbling to glass where blood drips from his scored hide. Laena’s girl kneels by the pale splay of his wing, cradling an arm blistered raw to the elbow as she stares with eyes scored empty with pain and wonder.

The Cannibal, looming amidst it all. Black and vast and terrible, and the entirety of him tethered to complete stillness under the outstretched palm of her son.

“Mother,” Lucerys breathes when he sees her, and she watches the dragon’s eyes sharpen back into sudden fury, sensing her presence only now as her son breaks his gaze.

“Mother, look! I found a dragon-”

The Cannibal’s hiss, a gust of wind lashing through the caverns of the Dragonmont, splits the air as Rhaenyra hurls herself forward to seize Luke in her arms. His startled yelp is lost amidst the unfurled shadow of Syrax’s wings, and with a surge of triumph, Rhaenyra glimpses Caraxes rippling scarlet against the sky.

Luke clings to her and the Cannibal’s rage fizzles back into stillness. She presses Luke close to her heart as she stares up at its eyes, knowing that her flesh alone cannot shield him from its flames but willing without hesitation to protect him with it until the last.

Amidst black scales, eyes gleam back at her, slit green and murderous, before the Cannibal stretches its neck and snatches up the corpse of one of Luke’s guards. Too late, Rhaenyra tries to press Luke’s face to her neck to spare him the sight as the dragon’s jaws languidly cleave the body in two, the ridge white of the spine trailing tattered peach flesh as the lower half lands with a wet thump before Luke’s shocked eyes.

Those teeth jut taller than Luke himself. Rhaenyra will not think of how the Cannibal could have simply swallowed the corpse - his fellows too - in one efficient bite, if that had been the sole purpose of that display.

It takes the combined might of Syrax and Caraxes to ward the dragon back from following Luke and Rhaena back to the castle. She is not fool enough to think it gone completely; as dogs bay when a wolf ventures close to the homestead, so Syrax’s fury snarls through the night when she senses it prowling the clouds above. With a cold loathing, she knows Luke must be brought out again come the daylight, for his word alone would send it back to its cavern of corpses.

And still her sweet boy frets as she tucks him into bed that night, a task she refused his maids despite how her hands still shake.

“Won’t he be lonely, all by himself in his cave, Mother, if there are no other dragons in his nest? Can’t I see him? Tyraxes still sleeps with the baby.”

The notion of the Cannibal curled in sleep with his belly puffed in the air like Joffrey’s drowsing hatchling is almost enough to bring a laugh to Rhaeynyra’s lips before she recollects herself, smoothing down Luke’s hair with wearied affection.

“He’s far too large to sleep with, sweetling. And he cannot be here, around so many dragons. Do you truly think he would want them disturbing his rest?”

She still remembers finding that nest as a young girl, exploring some dank cave close to the lowest reaches of the Dragonmont. She and Laena had been rushed back to the castle by their guards where Alicent anxiously waited with the rest of her ladies, but they had seen enough already. Even Laena whispered of her shock afterwards. The few eggs not crushed to fine powder lay cracked open, the contents picked clean, each and every hatchling in the entire nest gone with only a single severed tail to betray them.

“I’d like to try the Cannibal against Vhagar,” Laena had vowed to them all that night, dashing and dauntless as any knight in her fine silks and well enthused by the prospect of her challenge. “See if he finds so easy a meal in her.”

Luke frowns then, nestling down amongst his pillows like some fluffed-up sparrow.

“I don’t think so,” he says eventually, blinking up at her with those large, liquid brown eyes. “I don’t think he does like people very much. Or dragons. Only me.”

The Cannibal had looked into those eyes too. The dragon had been close enough to see its own reflection, wildfire overlain over the dark as a broken spear fell from her child’s soft hand.

Rhaenyra thinks of another weapon then, Luke’s piping shout - “he was going to kill Jace-”

She thinks of Alicent’s son, his face carved open, and the hunger burning hot in the Cannibal’s eyes, and she wonders.

But most of all, she thinks of her fears for all of them - her boys, dark-haired and perfect the moment they were laid at her breast, the girls who are Laena’s own legacy, all the sons and daughters still to follow now that Daemon has cleaved himself to her entire. The world she was given glimpse of as she tore helplessly towards the beach, as Alicent’s blade sought her son, one unforgiving and hideous in its possibilities.

The Cannibal can only ever be as nothing, compared to that.

. . .

The windows in the chamber she has been given on Dragonstone are large and airy, their sill framed by two sphinxes raking each other’s tails. They do not face in the direction of the beach, but that doesn’t matter. Grey Ghost’s presence whispers through her blood like the soft sigh of the tides. She would know him anywhere.

He’ll know her too, she thinks, in the sharper moments between the watered tinctures of milk of the poppy the maester brings her to soothe the throb of her hands. He must be young, barely larger than Vermax, and he has never had a rider. There is no one for Rhaena to measure up to his eyes, no comparison between Baela’s bravery or Mother’s fire. What lies before them now is bright and unmarked as fresh snow.

Or it will be, when they let her fly.

“You may ride when your burns heal, and no sooner,” Aunt Rhaenyra tells her archly, dabbing ointment on Rhaena’s burns with her own soft hands. “There has been quite enough foolhardy behaviour of late.”

Rhaena flushes, unused to being scolded as a troublemaker, but Rhaenyra’s smile softens the sting.

“Laena would laugh herself hoarse at your father and I both, for being so surprised. Your grandmother had forbidden her to try Vhagar, so she slipped away when we were supposed to be at prayer. The dragonkeepers had not fitted Vhagar’s saddle for years, so she climbed her tail and flew to greet Syrax and I barebacked. Wilful girl! It felt like half the city streamed into the streets to watch her in the air. I had never known her to be more joyful…until she wrote to me of her daughters.”

To Rhaena’s astonishment, there is a quavering note to her voice, one that sounds awfully like Rhaena’s when she is trying hard not to cry.

“She was so proud of you,” her aunt whispers. “How could she not be, like as the two of you were? Your father too. Do not think you ever needed a dragon, to make them know it.”

A knot eases in Rhaena’s chest as Aunt Rhaenyra hugs her then. She is not Mother, will never be Mother…but Rhaena finds it harder to be angry for that now, towards a woman who speaks of Laena Velaryon with such love in her eyes.

“You may go to see Grey Ghost later, if Maester Geradys permits it,” Rhaenyra says after pulling away, voice a little gruffer now. “The dragonkeepers say that his neck is healing well. He will fly…and so will you, when you’re ready. They have already taken his measurements for the saddle, though I fear we will needs must order a new one within the year. You both still have much growing to do.”

“What about Luke?” Rhaena asks, eagerly. “Will he have a new saddle too? We can fly together now!”

It will have to be a big saddle, closer to Mother’s than Baela’s, to fit Luke’s new dragon.

Rhaenyra’s smile looks tighter than before, but she is still gentle as she touches Rhaena’s shoulder, careful not to jostle her bandages.

“One day, mayhaps. Things are…more difficult with his dragon.”

“Oh,” Rhaena says, disappointed. Though she has to admit, she…she isn’t quite sure of Luke’s dragon. She still feels a little queasy when she remembers how the air itself had seemed to erupt into shadow and flame, the disbelieving pain as her outflung hands bubbled up in white blisters in that searing heat…and how none of it had been as awful as hearing those men, hearing Grey Ghost, scream in those jaws.

She’s glad Luke got a dragon. She knows what it’s like, to watch the skies jealously, alone but for the sting of being left behind. All their whispered plans of what Rhaena could do if their plan worked, the future she hadn’t fully dared to let herself dream of…Luke will fly with her for all of them now, and the thought sends excitement thrumming through her.

She just wishes the gods could have given him a nicer dragon. One as nice as Luke himself.

Rhaena’s not rude enough to say that though, when Luke shyly puts his head around her door the next day. He smells of ash still, though his skin glows pink from the scrub of a fresh bath, and his lip trembles when he sees the bandages swaddling her hands.

“Do they hurt a lot?”

“A little,” Rhaena admits. “But,” and here her voice almost comes out in a squeal, so happy that she can barely contain it, “we did it! Both of us! It worked, Luke!”

“I never meant for you to get hurt though, Rhaena,” Luke insists, padding over to her bedside with uncertain eyes. “Or Grey Ghost. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the Cannibal would come.”

“You stopped him though,” Rhaena says firmly, and if it wasn’t by the spearhead he’d snatched up from - from - from that black shape crackling on the ground, well, that doesn’t matter.

Luke had stopped it, had saved she and Grey Ghost both. Just as he had come running with Jace to help her and Baela without question, that night Vhagar was stolen. Just as he had used the knife to protect them all.

“And at least you won’t have to help me carry fish to the beach any more.”

“I didn’t mind it,” Luke says, which is a lie, because Rhaena saw how his face screwed up each time Cook dropped the bucket down in front of them, and she has to duck her head under her hair to hide her giggle. Through the fall of her braids, she sees Luke pad over to her bedside; he’s clutching a curved seashell, which he places carefully in her lap.

“There’s no crab in it, this time. I checked.”

Rhaena blinks, puzzled, and he shuffles his feet.

“Jace told me that you should always bring a lady flowers to help her feel better,” he explains anxiously. “But I couldn’t find any in the garden like the ones you used to write about from Pentos.”

She thinks of them even as he speaks, the petals curling over in whorls of pink and white like splashes of Myrish lace in Mother’s walled garden. Mother had liked to read her letters among their perfume; Rhaena still remembers curling up next to her, fingers carding through her hair as Mother read out the funnier stories tucked in Uncle Laenor or Aunt Rhaenyra’s writing.

“But I thought this looked more like them than the roses in the garden. It’s curly too, see? And it’s pink inside-“

He falters, staring between her and the shell. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” Rhaena manages, and she does, though her eyes swim with tears.

“I just…I w-want-

Mother, Pentos sunlight gilding her smile, the promise of home-

“I want the flowers in our garden,” she finishes, and is immediately ashamed of herself.

Luke’s face firms in sudden resolve.

“We can fly there then,” he declares. “Now that we have dragons. You, me, Grey Ghost, and the Cannibal. We’ll find your garden, and we’ll bring a flower home for you to plant, so they can grow here too.”

He pauses, face suddenly uncertain. “...If you don’t mind waiting until Mother lets me fly the Cannibal.”

“I won’t,” Rhaena assures him, feeling, in an odd kind of way, as light as the shell as she looks into his face. It has warmed in her hand, and she notices there’s a hole in the outer lip, where the pink fades into coils of white. She will thread her silver chain through it, and wear it close to her skin.

Anyone else, she might not believe they meant it when they made her a promise like that. But Luke had believed in her from the first. Luke had helped her win a dragon. Luke had stopped the Cannibal.

She’ll trust him until the day she dies.

“Where is the Cannibal now?”

“In his cave,” Luke says, sitting cross-legged as he looks up at her. “He wants me to come to him, but Mother hasn’t let me today. I’ll have to go to him soon, or he’ll try to crawl through the gates again. Syrax hates that. He hasn’t gone to the beach though, I promise. I don’t think Grey Ghost likes him.”

“They will be best of friends one day,” Rhaena vows, and her heart soars when Luke beams at her.

“Just like us.”

Rhaena has a dragon. Father is proud of her. She will see Mother’s garden again with her own eyes.

In this moment, all things are possible.

. . .

Viserys expects many things when the letter is laid in front of him, the wax embossed with the ancient seal of the princes of Dragonstone. His heart swells with hopes as he unfolds it, so many in number that almost all anger is forgotten in their midst.

Rhaenyra surely writes an apology. A recognition of the customs and decency she had flouted, the disrespect in her forgetting dear Ser Laenor so quickly; in wedding without the leave of her king, her father. She will offer contrition for all that Alicent has deplored, even though both must recognise such folly cannot be undone as his queen pleads; she will beg her forgiveness as her mother, so that they might meet once as friends.

She will even - ah, but here is the sorrow of a brother, even more so than the love of a father, stirring him - write of a new chapter, unmarred by the unhappy beginnings that preceded it. A new babe to fill her arms, a son to finally allay all that Daemon has lost.

But Rhaenyra writes of none of these things. Instead, he finds himself reading of her Lucerys, and a shadow that he has never laid eyes upon, but remembers of Dragonstone all too well.

The Cannibal.

He sinks back further into his chair, biting back an ill-natured curse as the movement sends pain throbbing from beneath his linen bandages. All his years weigh upon him then, cold and heavy as the crown upon his brow.

Rhaenys is with Lucerys already, Rhaenyra written. His relief at his cousin’s presence in this matter, steadfast and sensible to the last, overrides the twinge of irritated hurt that Driftmark should be informed of this before word was first sent to King’s Landing.

Corlys loves Lucerys well, as is only natural, the most precious keepsake left by poor Laenor as he is. But he should not forget himself in this. They may carry the Velaryon name, but Rhaenyra’s sons are of the king’s blood. A dragon’s claiming shall always be the concern of the Iron Throne.

And a dragon such as this…

Part of Viserys feels the surgery of pride that Rhaenyra must know, his mouth lifting in a smile as he envisions the awe and delight his own council will offer when he tells them such glad tidings. Ah, but Lucerys had proved his blood in truth, to follow his mother and take a dragon at such an age! House Velaryon can stand proud in their heir, for those foul rumours will finally be laid to rest with this. And to think of Aemond, and Daemon’s own Rhaena too! Surely his House’s future has never looked brighter, when all of the king’s blood now lay claim to a dragon’s glory.

So how then can it be, that there is winter’s chill in Alicent’s eyes still when he call her to him at night? That his daughter soothes her grief with his brother upon Dragonstone, that Daemon should dare overreach himself as Otto has so faithfully warned and claim her hand in scorn of his king’s express command?

And why, as such churlish discord plagues his house, the Cannibal should take his first rider?

A dragon that has ever been a bane rather than blessing to their blood. A dragon that devours its own as the king’s flesh devours him, now coiling around his blood’s heart as their divide cleaves his heart as never before.

Perhaps he is a fool, flinching from the mummer’s shadow as it plays upon his walls. But is it greater folly, to close his eyes to such portents as the gods lay them so clear before him?

One day, such will be Rhaenyra’s burdens to carry. But for now, it is he who sits the throne, and he must bear it for her, for them all.

And so it is the king’s hand, rather than a father’s, that dips his nib into ink and laboriously brings the process of instructing Princess Rhaenyra to bring her son to King’s Landing, that his grandsire may look upon his new dragon.

. . .

The training blade in his hand is wooden, the tool of a child, and that is only the first humiliation to be endured as he circles his target. The bristling head of the strawman seems to spread wide in mockery; Aemond’s blows fall wide of the painted circle on its chest again and again, his head split by a nauseating pain as the leather grip becomes increasingly slippery with sweat. Soon his remaining sight is wavering no matter how he tries to focus it, his breathing laboured as if he treks a mountain rather than performing a drill so basic the youngest, lowest-born page in the Keep could manage it.

At least his brother’s reluctance to bestir from the beds of his whores has finally overcome his amusement at observing this. The squires in the yard don’t dare turn their heads to watch after Ser Criston’s sharp warnings, let alone laugh, but Aegon had had no such constraints at Aemond’s first attempts, when even attempting to swing left him reeling about like a drunkard. He cannot say he misses him, no matter how Ser Criston sighs as he reports another absence to their mother.

Yet sometimes, when he staggers back amidst Ser Criston’s earnest encouragement, unsteady on his feet as a tottering infant - and that is what he is reduced to now, all that he has earned on the training ground wiped away by the same stroke that plunged half his world into agonising dark - he can’t help but notice the lack of another.

A voice soft-pitched with admiration and excitement, a small hand hot in his, dark eyes wide with awe as he watches Aemond move fluidly through drills his nephews hadn’t even yet been permitted to attempt. It had been an irritation at times, to have Luke trailing him about the Keep, not least the mirth it gave Aegon to foist their nephew on him as he took Jace off to the Dragonpit. Yet still there comes moments of disorientation, like the itching pull of skin when he tries to blink with both eyes, where he looks about, expecting an admiring shout or plead for instruction-

Then Aemond remembers once again, and rage grinds against the bones of his chest.

The blade has shattered to splinters by the time the messenger arrives, telling Ser Criston that the queen has need of them both immediately.

Normally, Mother can scarcely hide her worry at the sight of him returning from his drills; she praises his diligence and bravery, whilst a candle burns at the Warrior’s shrine each morn, Mother’s hands clasped in prayer that the gods give strength to his arm and shield him from any further wound. Today, though her face is tense with concern of an entirely different sort, all her polished composure doing little to mask her fury.

“A letter arrived from Princess Rhaenyra this morning. Concerning that boy.”

Aemond absorbs the news she relays in silence. Lucerys has a dragon now, one large and fearsome. Lucerys has Father singing his praises in the council chamber, telling all of the wonder he has accomplished.

Lucerys is leaving his nest on Dragonstone, finally flying back in reach after all these moons.

“They say his dragon is called the Cannibal,” Mother says, and she gives a shudder that may be unease or simply delicate disdain. “And apparently it is as savage and wild as those boys themselves. I begged your father to reconsider this foolishness, but he says he would see it with his own eyes. As if this whole affair is not Rhaenyra contriving to win his favour again-”

“She knows half the realm spits on her new marriage,” Ser Criston agrees, his hands folding neatly before him into fists. “The king’s love may blind him, but too many see her for what she is now, and her bastards too. She is desperate. Do not forget, she knows now she has your son to fear.”

Mother’s lips tighten; she is still fearful, after the last embers of her faith in her husband’s protection were quenched in Driftmark, to hear the truth spoken aloud.

None will dare force her to parrot Rhaenyra’s lies when Aemond rules the skies upon Vhagar.

It had been one of the few comforts Aemond could hold into as he lay recovering in his sickbed, the knowledge of that incredible strength and power of Vhagar in flight. The knowledge that the oldest dragon in the world had looked upon him, and seen worth, even when no one else had.

And sweeter still, to know that it was one thing the bastard could not take from him, that little Luke had probably spent every night since pissing himself in fear on Dragonstone, knowing that he remained tethered and helpless on the ground.

Now Luke has a dragon. And Father expects all to marvel at his glory.

Aemond had longed for a reunion once all the thankless promise of the training yard finally bore fruit. Had pictured it a thousand times over, fantasy mingling with memory of that night. Luke’s choked gasp as Aemond’s palm slides against his soft throat, those dark eyes drawn black with fear as Jace writhes in the dust beneath Aemond’s heel.

To think, though, of the bastard seeing him as he is now, near a cripple with command lost of his blade, even his own balance, and rage churns afresh with his shame.

But still. Luke, finally come forth from the safety of his mother’s skirts. There will be opportunity here, if Aemond has only the wit to seize it, no matter how carefully Rhaenyra watches her precious son.

“It is monstrous, that they dare show their faces. But you will not be made to endure this for long,” Mother vows, reaching out to stroke his hair. Her touch is featherlight, belying the iron resolve of her words.

“My darling, I promise you this. That animal will not be allowed to harm you again. Perhaps this will at least give your father cause to remember what he took from you, what they would take from us all if left unchecked. His crimes against you will be answered one day, by men or gods.”

But it was not the gods, the same gods who see fit to bless Luke with yet another gift the bastard does not deserve, who had the will to seek Vhagar at her rest. Who grimly rises, day by day, to claw back mastery of his own body. No gifts are ever thrown into Aemond’s lap as a favoured son; what he wants, he can only take.

What vengeance he is owed from Luke Strong, he will seize with his own two hands.

#house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon #lucemond #cannibal the dragon #aemond targaryen #carrion #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #alicent hightower #anon ask #rhaena of pentos #Luena #baby luke au

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