Chapter Text
It always starts like this, soaring across an endless ocean, one meager glance down enough to throw you into the eerie sight of black waves crashing mercilessly against jagged cliffs edges.
The ocean was a true beast. Selfishly taking in whatever found itself unlucky enough to get caught in its grasp all for herself. true hell upon earth. Able to freeze your veins before drowning your lungs in filthy saltwater.
Something within Luke couldn’t help but feel as though it was midday despite deep gray coating the clouds around him. Dark enough to pass for a midnight sky- clouds having completely blocked out the sun. Rain pouring down as it soaked me completely. Clothes becoming even heavier than they felt before, layers on top of layers of leather dragging me down as though they were drinking every drop the heavens had to give. Smell of salt unfaltering, strong and invasive. Burning my nose so fiercely freshly charred hot coals stuffed up my nostrils would’ve been more welcome. The sting of it going straight to the top of my head. Heating eating away at any ability to keep my head straight.
I'm being followed by something, or perhaps even someone. A dark presence I’m unable to shake looming behind, following my every move. Never letting me out of its sight, dead on my trail. A predator stalking unknowing prey.
I'm being watched. I know it. Every fiber of my being telling me to escape as fast as I possibly can. Warning that if I don't I'll be caught, devoured till nothing remains.
I want to go home, but I don’t know where such a place could possibly be.
I'm scared yet helpless to do anything.
I look up, down, and every which way my head will allow. Desperation clawing through my curling belly to find the cause of this relentless unease.
My hair is long, longer than usual. As if it's grown several inches overnight, trailing down the nape of my neck creating a thick curtain of bangs. Layers drenched from the rain causing water to drip down into my eyes, blinding me from the sting of it. The world before me blurs as each second passes. There's a heavy feeling in my stomach about to drop.
I think I'm going to vomit; I know I am.
The skies above me somehow find it in themselves to darken. What little traces of light that peeked out from the clouds are now gone.
I look up and it's there. The cause of my unease. A beast, a behemoth stretching out so wide you’d think it was trying to rival the sky in size. Flying right above me, searching for me. Waiting to devour me whole and leave nothing behind as if the point of my existence was simply to curb its blood lust.
A voice roars out from above. Someone’s joyous laughter carried throughout the wind in what I can only pinpoint as pure elation. Almost as if they were playing a game, a competitive spirit above all. Sick and twisted.
I look back only to see this thing- an eldritch horror staring back at me. Something of nightmares come to life with eyes for me and nothing more. Larger than anything the average mind could comprehend, merciless jaws opening wide and quickly snapping shut, yearning to kill anything in its path. Teeth as long as my entire arm, slimy tongue coated in a thick grayish saliva.
Despite being a few feet ahead I could still feel the beast's breath enveloping me. Burning so hot it was almost scolding and smelling of months old rotted meat. It felt so close, as if it were leaning right up against my neck. Lusting after heavy wafts of fear permeating through the air, amplified by smoggy rain.
Suddenly I swoop low, dashing through thick clouds. A futile attempt at making out a way to lose whatever sin against nature has made me its target. I dash left and right, sweeping below before peering above and descending even further down. Making my way towards the ocean as one last ditch effort. Pathetic more than anything.
My pursuer is still laughing. Screaming an elated screech as if they were having the time of their life. High on life with no intention of letting go now.
I'm going to die plain and simple.
I feel my body swerve, pitching through what looks to be a misshapen formation of rock. Tall, rough mineral creating a narrow passage to slip through. A saving grace sent by the gods themselves.
I’m unable to help glancing back and finding myself shocked to see my tormentor and their creature no longer stocking behind.
Sadly, my luck soon runs out when I come out on the other end. Forced back into the beast’s territory. I can sense it, both monster and man, their eyes locked directly on me, never letting up. Watching closely, ready to find a blind spot and attack.
Suddenly silence is eaten away by a crazed laugh, soon replaced by the frustrated hitches of grunting and growling. They begin to curse my name, breaking down into an enraged panic in what I can only make out to be frustration and seemingly annoyance. As though this unrelenting chase is becoming more of a burden than some sick way of finding precious relief. I can't figure out what they’re saying for the life of him. The words make no sense to me. Sounds which shouldn’t exist rolling off their tongue. However It isn’t nonsense, nothing like the sound of random words scrambled together and thrown around to mimic language. It’s something real. I simply can’t place what.
"Gēlȳni enkā gon Jemēla!”
I allow my eyes to shut in despair. Hoping that closing them would take me to a safe place. Felt that if I closed my lids tight enough and squeezed hard enough it would make this hell disappear and i’d find myself back home.
But where is the home I'm yearning for exactly?
“TAOBA!“
Without warning I’m turning sharp enough knock what little wind remaining right out of distressed lungs. Swept up through higher feats until I charge head on towards my assailant.
Our paths cross; tension stiff enough to slice. Fire proves burning and unforgiving, spat out across the creature's face. It gets distracted and lets out a cry of pain.
I race up higher, flying through fog crowding by view.
As I go higher the air seems to become thinner and I'm doing myself no favors by breathing so heavily. I feel as though I have a plastic bag over my head, my only source of air diminishing by the second. However, that doesn't matter because I’m finally confronted by a hoard of warm light. Clouds brightened from a harsh mix of heady black to a soft gold he yearned to feel on itching skin. Bits and pieces of a once gloom sky have become baby blue. Sun shining so brightly that I have to turn my head away despite wanting nothing more than to take it all in.
Gone were the taunting laughs and relentless roars of rage. Pure silence left to take over in its wake. It's calming.
So calming that for a moment I could close my eyes and drift through silence.
Then there's a fearsome howl.
My eyes open and all I can make out are teeth. By the time I realize my fate it's already befallen me. I can feel my body being impaled on what feels like dozens of spears. I hear the crack of my own bones breaking and the squelch of my innards bursting open as my vision becomes hazy with deep red splotches. Something wet dripping down my nose, seeping from my ears as the metallic smell of blood is all I can focus on. Familiar taste of rusted pennies coating my tongue.
My body is spat out. Spiraling downwards towards those horrid waves of the ocean.
I can see blood. Watching the vibrant mist as it wafts throughout the air along alongside pieces of flesh and bone. Larger body parts I can’t recognize in deaths haze raining down as well.
The last thing I hear is a voice that isn’t my own crying out in distress. Hurt, perhaps terrified. But by then it’s all just white noise.
My vision goes black.
Is it over now?
Luke jumps up halfway off his bed, looking around frantically from one side of the room to another trying to remember where he is. Shaky breaths escaping between dry, peeling lips causing him to pant like a heat ridden dog. His forehead dripping with sweat and fat tears threatening to spill from the edges of blood shot eyes.
The room is dark and would likely be pitch black if not for the dull yellow of old streetlights shining past lifted window curtain edges. His eyes are frantically moving back and forth trying to find something to focus his panic on but all he can see are shadows jumping from one corner to the next. Taunting him.
Luke closed his eyes and did his best to remember his breathing.
In and out, in and out. In and out.
Taunt shoulders begin to slump down. Gritting teeth unclench as he remembers what caused his abrupt waking to happen in the first place.
The dream.
From as early on as he can remember Luke has been haunted by that singular dream. It’s as if he’s been cursed to live with that brutal scene playing on a constant loop until the day he finally croaks.
Luke never had the pleasure of closing his eyes and experiencing the calm darkness so many complain about. People described the feeling of blackness taking you in its hold for what felt like minutes only to wake hours later fully rested like others would some sort of unwanted child rested on their hip. A disappointment.
But Luke? He dreams every single night without fail. His own personal movie starring himself as the main character. And by the end of it he’s greeted by sickening sight of his own blood and entrails blowing through the wind as his corpse falls into the sea. Effectively going dark as the credits roll. Awful smells, hopelessness, pure dread and a weird sensation drumming through his skull. Gnawing was the only word that could give it justice. Almost as if something was trying to crack open his skull and escape.
It always plays out the same way. He’s being followed- chased more like it. Hunted down like a dog by what he can only assume to be some sort of dragon and the sadistic asshole commanding it.
It's out for blood. They both are. Always have been.
But even while in the midst of being chased by a ravenous beast larger than anything he can properly put into words, what scares him the most aren’t the sharp talons or the impending sense of death. It’s the feeling of missing someone once held dearly. wishing they were there to hold him tight, caress tear stained cheeks. It follows him into the real world each time without fail and its deeply unsettling.
No more than a dream, figments of his imagination working against him as if his life wasn’t already a complete shit fest. But even so, he still can't help but feel pain at the thought. A deep sadness only felt by yearning for this nonexistent someone to tell him that all would be okay. Luke has never had someone to cuddle him and pinch his cheeks. Rub his shoulders and whisper how they’ll always be with him no matter what cruel fate may come. Never been loved for more than what he offered which admittedly wasn’t much.
How can you miss something you've never experienced? You can yearn for it, ache for it, feel envy when you look across the room to see others greedily experiencing it, but to miss it? You can only miss what you’ve lost, and he's never had it to begin with.
He’s been plagued since a child. Something no amount of pills or warm milk could chase away. The only way to prevent it was to avoid sleep and so he didn’t sleep. Coaching his body into a near constant state of insomnia.
It was insane, but it worked.
Lukes thought process was simple, a basic system he’s spent years using. Remaining awake for as long as possible and sleeping as little as he could somehow created a barrier of sorts. Chugging straight black coffee and energy drinks back-to-back like water gave him a nice buzz. Enough to keep his fingers twitching and eyes peeled open. Headphones were a nonnegotiable constant too, no matter if he lost his hearing before thirty or not.
He needs to. It’s simply not up for discussion.
And Luke always enjoyed learning, even if he didn’t grow up in an environment that encouraged it. One of his favorite subjects had been science. So at the ripe ago of twelve he decided to conduct a little experiment. A minor scientific test with himself as the one and only subject. He studied his own actions; making a note of every little thing he did day by day. Jotting down in blue ink how certain actions affected him when it came to sleep. Of course, this study led to him finding some interesting articles about the process behind sleep. How it worked as a bodily function. How certain actions affect the way in which a person sleeps.
Dreams themselves can only happen when someone reaches a stage called REM sleep. He found that taking short naps at the back of the bus or falling asleep at his desk during study hall made it easier to fall into a dream at night. As if his body was starting back up where it left off.
Luke can almost see the well loved notes he’d written back then. Probably torn up somewhere and discarded in a landfill now. He could recite every word too.
”Rem is the stage of sleep where dreams occur. It’s the fourth and final stage of the sleep cycle which all three previous stages prepare you for. It takes anywhere from 90 - 120 minutes of straight sleep for this stage to transpire. As a result, when someone feels their body might shut down on them from a lack of rest, allowing themselves a few hours of sleep done in small intervals to avoid falling into REM could be a perfect way to cheat the system.”
Sleep for fifteen minutes, get woken up by his alarm and scroll through his phone for no less than ten before setting the alarm once more. Rinse and repeat until as satisfied as possible, successfully avoiding deep sleep.
Problem solved... sort of.
Unfortunately, this method was usually a hit or miss, missing terribly most of the time. There were occasions when it worked. It had been working pretty fucking successfully for the first half of the week. Apparently, his body didn't get the memo to keep up on a job well done and made other plans.
He knows it’s unhealthy, that his habits are more than likely going to come back to bite him in the ass later on in life. Probably in the form of a fucking stroke from all the stress he’s putting his body under. But that’s a problem for him to deal with when the time came. Besides, what other choice does he have, Confide in a friend? Tell a trusted adult maybe? Give him a break.
The idea was itself was pathetic. Jumping through hoops to get in contact with his social worker about what exactly? Nightmares? Waste an hour or the mans time explaining his extensive history with bad dreams of being chased down by a faceless maniac who rides around on a giant lizard. A pathetic horror movie monster that ends up chomping him in half like a stale Kit-Kat.
To think such an idea would result in anything less than having ”mentally unstable” written in fat strokes of red marker across his file was laughable.
Who would willingly let a freak like that sleep across from their room and actually trust them not to slice their throat open in the middle of the night with a fucking fork? No one, that's who. It's not as if there's a surplus of families willing to foster him in the first place.
He’s seventeen and has a rap sheet that's filled to the brim with previous acts of violence, to put it nicely. Not to mention that he’s currently in the middle of a legal case. Luke can't take the chance of diminishing what incredibly little prospects he has to zero and getting shipped off to a group home. He'd rather be sent straight to the worst level of the seven hells before he ever willingly steps foot in one of those again.
So until he’s out of the system for good, he’ll deal with the freaky Westerossi psycho meets Godzilla dreams.
finally opening his eyes, Luke lifts his head to see the dim yellow glow outside his window has been replaced by a low blue hue that begins to shine through the makeshift mess of old bed sheets turned curtains.
He picks up his phone, it's 5:37 am so he’s gotten about two and a half hours of sleep.
School doesn't start until eight so he has another couple hours free. He could go through Instagram and get some light stalking done. Just to check in and make sure that everyone he despises is doing even worse than he is, but he’s also starving. Stomach feeling as though it was beginning to do backflips in protest of what it thought was a hunger strike. And gods above knew that sloppy piece of shit down the hall who looks like a human manifestation of the Mucinex mascot that just so happens to be fostering him isn’t going to be gracious enough to save an extra bit of cereal and milk. So Luke might as well get up and make himself a nice breakfast. Breakfast that doesn't consist of Cheetos and lemon-flavored nicotine just this once. As a treat.
He throws the thin blanket off his lower half and gets out of bed, the squeak of the bed springs ringing through his ears. Steps over empty Red Bull cans scattered across the grainy floor towards the well loved duffle bag sitting on the chair across.
Finding an outfit is an easy task since he doesn't own much of anything. Constantly moving from state to state and getting tossed to different people on a regular basis made it an easy task to lose things. That is if you're unlucky enough to not have them stolen from right under you. If you score well enough you may even be sent to the home of followers of the seven and have all of your “inappropriate” belongings, such as the limited Rocky Horror Tee you found after being blessed by the thrift gods, thrown out because of course, It's a common fact that evil manifests itself through drag.
Not that he’s speaking from experience.
He grabs whatever’s the least in need of a dish detergent bath and makes his way to the communal toilet. Floors creaking under his weight.
The light flickers for several seconds before finally brightening up. Creating a buzzing hiss that makes the teen wonder when it’ll finally give out. There’s three bulbs above the sink but only actually does its job.
Luke rests everything on the countertop before reaching for the faucet. It takes a while before the water to start up and even longer for it to heat up. You can hear old pipes doing their best to start up.
He looks around a little in the meantime. Theorizes that the shower curtain was probably white at some point in time before turning septic beige. Tiles also seemed to be white once upon a time but clearly decades of dirt build up filled spaces in between them.
It made his skin crawl.
Once he’s in, Luke takes some time to let warm water hit him. He’s always enjoyed hot showers; they relaxed him. Help him feel clean. To Luke, the heat of the water hitting his skin is like scratching an itch.
It’s not nearly enjoyable as it should be however. The tub is fucking filthy with what’s obviously years dirt worth of grimed around the drain. An uncomfortable sight to look at, almost makes him itch.
So much for jacking off.
After he immediately gets dressed, not bothering to dry off with a towel since hot air does enough of the job for him. The only positive about living with a man who refused to turn on the AC.
Taking one more look at himself in the mirror Luke flips his septum ring back down.
God, I hope the booger is still asleep.
He isn’t asleep.
In fact, he’s wide awake. luckily for Luke he seems to be in an alright mood. For once he’s not looking as if he was trying to beat Elvis in a competition for the worst case of severe constipation to be documented. The living room blinds were open letting warm sunlight peak through, lighting up the usually dark home.
Why was the man in a semi-positive mood Luke has no clue. Having said that it's best for him not to ask questions and accept the blessing he’s received at face value. What's even more unexpected is that Luke hears a singular word from the man whose body was practically fusing with the sinking sofa.
”Mornin’.”
Luke stills for a moment, shooting out a rushed good morning, on instinct before heading for the kitchen.
Walking into the kitchen his nose is immediately assaulted by a smell emitting from the garbage. Sydney was a pig if he’d ever seen one.
At this point the only way it was going to get thrown out was if Luke held his breath and threw the overfilled plastic across his back and down to the curb, but why would he? He cleans up behind himself when he makes a mess so why shouldn’t Sydney? Especially when he makes it a point to remind Luke that in his house, he is king and his word is law. Some part of him is genuinely beginning to believe the man does it on purpose now. Probably thought taking him in meant a live-in maid.
Scrunching his nose, Luke decides to start breathing through his mouth. A full belly the only thing on his mind.
French toast sounds good and if memory serves him right there's just enough syrup left over for a couple of slices.
Reaching under the sink cabinet where the larger dishes are stored Luke finds and takes out a medium sized skillet which has started to turn brown due to rust and can no longer be labeled as having a circular shape.
Soon enough all focus turns towards the TV through the open view. Sydney seems to be watching some kind of documentary on the history channel. More in the zone now than he’d ever looked while watching those shitty Essossi soaps.
Also out of the ordinary.
“Aemond Targaryen was challenged by his uncle Daemon- also known as the rouge prince in his younger years, to a duel at Harrenhal. Aemond is said to have shown up to the location where the fight was supposed to take place with his then pregnant lover and spoil of war; Alys Rivers.” The narrator spoke.
“Of course, we don't know exactly what happened during the battle. Not only did the two people who participated die brutally in combat but also because Alys Rivers disappeared without trace soon after the duel took place. However, what we do know for a fact is how it ended.” A woman with long auburn curls stated. Some sort of historian likely.
“The bones of Aemond Targaryen were discovered under water near Harrenhal decades later. His body was found still chained to the saddle of his dragon Vhagar. His bones in perfect condition. Almost as if they were frozen in time. Even his armor, though rusted from sea water and covered with algae, was in good shape too.”
“He had his arms held up against his chest as though protecting his heart, with a sword which was later recognized as ‘Dark Sister.’ The famous sword wielded by Daemon Targaryen and the legendary Visenya Targaryen herself before him. Shoved through the socket of the same eye he’d lost as a child to his nephew and down out the back of his throat” She finished with wide excited eyes and a bit of a small smile.
Luke chuckles, rolling his eyes at the irony of the man's death. Sounds of battered bread making contact with sizzling butter drowning out whatever was said next.
Luke remembers how often that time period was brought up back in middle school. Too many lessons to count and various projects focusing on the infamous dance of the dragons, a surprisingly short but disastrous civil war that led to the all-out extinction of dragons. Not to mention the beginning of house Targaryen's fall from grace.
He remembered some facts about Aemond Targaryen, probably because he sounded more than a little pathetic. The dude had control over the oldest living dragon which was said to have a wingspan of a dozen titanic sized ships that fought in numerous battles yet came out alive in each one and still somehow managed to get killed by his fifty-something year old uncle that probably had a bad back and erectile dysfunction?
Sounds like a loser if you ask Luke.
He flipped his last piece of toast onto the plastic plate and took his sausage patties out of the microwave. Stomach growling as the aroma went straight into his nose. He walked towards the pantry and looked around only to find a completely empty bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's syrup staring blanking back at him. Had the bottle not been inanimate Luke would've sworn up and down it was mocking him.
I’m going to kill myself one of these days