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chibsandchill · 5 months ago

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Pallid eyes

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x AFAB!reader (reader is implied to be of Valyrian descent)

Summary: After your death Aemond is forced to continue living without you. But he cannot, and so as he prepares to leave for Harrenhal he thinks back on the past.

Warnings: Including but is not limited to canon typical themes, Aemond is depressed, §uicide ideation, angst, bittersweet ending, spelling and grammatical errors,

Masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

You always dreamed of having a real name day celebration; one just like his family had, with elaborate clothing, exquisite food prepared by the best chefs in the known world, with tables covered with decorations coated in glitter and popping with color, and of treats so sweet they rotted your teeth. You wanted gifts wrapped in fine silk with ribbons and a card.

You wanted to invite the orphans from Fleabottom because your heart broke for them. Truth be told, Aemond had never noticed the starving orphans begging on the streets of his home, much less thought to invite them to grand events, but he’s glad you had such a big heart for he found some of his most trusted companions among your old friends there. They had saved his life many times over in your name. You also wanted to invite the old spinster that lived on the edge of the Street of silk. Your room had a window that faced the Bay, and you never fell asleep before Aemond, and so you were awake to hear the spinster wail her sorrows into the waters at night. You used to bring her tea, spend the afternoons basking in the fading sun whilst gossiping. You cared for many of the old whores living there, and you brought handmade blends of herbs and teas to ease their pains.

Aemond never wanted a nameday celebration like the ones his family held in his honor. He only ever wanted to see you smile, and so he pretended that he too dreamt of frilly decorations hanging from chandeliers, and of sweet tarts and cakes with thick frosting, and of inviting the orphans, and the spinster whore. He knew even then, as a boy who could barely count, that you did what made him happy, whatever the price may be, and so he lied. Your dreams became his and only then did they come true, because surely if Aemond told you he only wanted to sit in the gardens with you and read together, both court and centuries old family traditions be damned, you’d make it happen.

His ideal birthday was one shared with you. All other days of the year were shared with the rest of the kingdoms, but on the shared anniversary of your birth he wanted it to be just the two of you. He wanted to stroll in the gardens with you holding his arm, and take to the skies on Vhagar to chase rainbows and flocks of colorful birds. He wanted to fly to your secret beach that only the two of you knew of, and he wanted you to hold him tight when the wind grew cold, and he wanted to sleep in your embrace where he knew he was safe and protected.

But you weren’t stupid, never were. You were always more clever than he, and you figured out his plans before he even knew he had one. You knew he didn’t want any celebration, none of the attention of the courts, none of the extravagance that came with it. You knew he only wanted a belly full of good food and your company. So you invited your orphans from Fleabottom, and the spinster from the Street of silk and all others there you cared for. You had the kitchens bake and bake until there was not a platter not full and not a grain of sugar left. You had the guests drape themselves in fashion from far away lands and coat themselves in fragrance. Gifts in great piles of silk and shining ribbons, and essays of praise rose like mountains in the Great Hall.

The guests and your guests arrived, you thanked them for coming and directed them to their tables in the hall. You helped serve the steaming food and poured sweet wine in polished goblets, and you made sure your orphans and former whores were in merry company.

He was miserable.

You knew it.

No more than five minutes passed before you took his hand and pulled him away. You led him from the party and into the hidden tunnels, and from there you left the Keep. Behind a boulder on the beach laid a rowboat. He remembered gasping and you beaming at him as if to say ‘this is the real party’.

The two of you set out on the ocean in the little rowboat with your own shares of cake, drink and gifts.

All alone.

You laughed and laughed and laughed until your stomachs cramped and your chests ached. He was ashamed to admit that it stung his twelve year old heart thinking he wasn’t enough for her, but as you laid down in the rowboat and looked at the stars he knew that you never wanted that party either. You also just wanted a day for us to be us.

Together.

You healed many broken hearts that night. His from thinking his twin flame was unhappy, the orphans from being lonely and hungry ( they received many offers from nobles that night that forever changed their lives), and the spinster from the Street of silks had the nameday celebration she never got to have.

And now you’re all alone.

After a lifetime spent protecting him from everything and everyone at the expense of everything you had; everything you were, you have to spend your nameday alone, wherever you are. It’s not fair. He wants you to come back, he wants you to take his hand and he wants for you to look at the stars together.

When he closes his eyes he imagines that he’s back there with you. Ten summers old and blissfully unaware that in just a few days your lives would be ruined forever. He dreams that he took a different path back to his chambers, or that he had gone alone, or even that he had never been born at all. All so that he could save you from so much pain and suffering. Alas, those dreams are nothing but torture and even when he forces myself awake there is no relief in waking.

Aegon no longer torments Aemond, but neither does he speak to him at all. It’s a painful victory. You look too much alike, Aegon always said, and so he can’t stand to look at Aemond any longer. He still attends Aemond’s nameday celebrations, tournaments, and sometimes he watches Aemond train in the yard.

Sometimes Aemond forgets that it was not only him that lost you that day. Aegon lost his closest friend, Helaena lost someone she thought of as a sister and their children lost their aunt. But they don’t miss you like he does, ache for you like he does. He sees you in the sky, hears your voice in the winds, sees you in every face he sees, in every corner of the room, and every time he looks in the mirror.

He avoids mirrors, and the sky.

You taught him how to swim. Of course, you had to learn first to see if it was safe, and then you had to be the one to teach him because you didn’t trust anyone else with his safety.

He’s watching Jaehaera holding little Maelor, guiding him through the waves like you did with him. Maelor doesn’t cry even when the waves crash against his face because he knows that Jaehaera will protect him, like you did with Aemond.

It’s your birthday today. You and Aemond’s.

He spends it alone, in such terrible pain that he thinks this must be hell. He misses his twin flame. He misses the missing half of his soul.

Aemond never got to protect you when you were still here. You wouldn’t let him. But you’re protected now, protected by your fierce Karnax, who’d never let anything happen to you.

Sometimes he hates you for leaving him. But as he’s sitting there thinking back on all past namedays he knows this was always the way it was going to end. Even if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he'd eventually get himself in trouble bad enough he wouldn’t have been able to get out, and you would always come running to protect him and you would always take his place.

It’s not you he hates.

It’s himself.

He misses you.

He knows you’re waiting for him. And he knows that when he joins you again he’ll try to be angry with you for leaving him. But he also knows that you’ll just smile at him and tell him that you had to die first to make sure the afterlife was safe enough for your little flame.

Aemond loves his mother, his siblings, and Vhagar, but if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he’d have followed you in death as he did in life. He’d have thrown himself in front of Rhaenyra’s sword, and you’d hold him in your arms as you passed.

He misses you.

But he knows you’re finally resting now.

But you’re waiting for him and every day your calling grows stronger, and soon vengeance won’t be enough. He loves his family, and he would give all he had to protect them, but he misses you.

Most of him had been taken, but the parts of him that still remained belonged to you. One soul, two bodies, that’s what everyone said. And now he was forced to walk the lands alone.

He misses you.

He loves his family but he just wants to rest.

Yes. When The Blacks have been defeated, he’ll finally join you. You won’t have to wait anymore and he’ll be whole again, and you’ll never have to spend your namedays alone ever again. He’ll let you braid his hair until your fingers fall off, and sing until his ears bleed, as long as you are with him again.

After all, there is not a fate more cruel than having to endure time without you.

-:-:-:-:-

Aegon visited him the other day. Aemond thinks his brother knows what he plans to do because he called you a cunt for leaving. He promised to look after their mother, and Helaena, and all the children. And Vhagar. He’s given up drinking and whoring.

Once, he told you that he wished you were dead. He can’t remember why, but he didn’t mean it. He could never. Now he knows what life without you is like – what the bottomless pit of grief felt as it burrowed deeper inside him, gulping down piece by piece what made him him like it was the sweetest of wines. Aemond never wished for it. Or maybe he did, but he never wished to remain standing if you weren’t.

His time in court taught him how to pretend; how to don a persona so flawless he even fooled himself. Aemond isn’t sure he ever left Harrenhal. He doesn’t know who this Aemond is.

He’s exhausted.

Aemond doesn’t sleep anymore. He doesn’t feel safe in his home, in his bed. When he wakes up there is no relief, no respite from that which haunts his dreams. He smiles at his nephew and niece, and he laughs as they laugh, but none of it is true.

Helaena is frightened by her shadow, but Aemond can never tear his eyes off his. When he stands just right, he can pretend it’s you standing there, and for just a few seconds, the smile reaches his eyes.

He loves his family, and there is naught he wishes for more (other than you) than to avenge you, to retrieve your bones, and that used to be enough to keep the overwhelming darkness at bay. But now? It is no longer enough, and Aemond is drowning in it.

He uses his smile like his father used a mask – to hide wounds that will never ever heal, will never scab over or fade. They will only grow until they consume all.

Aemond can’t leave his chambers anymore. He used to be able to bear being away for short periods of time; for war councils and battles, but lately it feels like betrayal. Like abandoning the last pieces of you he still has left. His mother tried to tell him that it’s not true, that the Stranger has poisoned his mind, and that the chambers will remain even should he leave, and that your memory will linger, but he is nauseous just thinking about it.

Once, he thought of carving his eye out, so that he may be truly blind and would no longer have to suffer seeing the world. What use was his eye if you were not there? But even blind, Aemond would still feel your absence, for it was not by sight that he saw you.

There are good days where he takes his sister on long walks on the beach, but he never looks at the ocean. They never go behind the boulder where you hid the rowboat. There are good days, but they are far and few between, and the bad days are so very, very bad. Sometimes Aemond can’t even get out of bed, his mind convinced that it’s you holding him again, that you’re back and as long as he stays there he can delude himself into believing you’re there to stay. But you’re not, and the days he can’t delude himself into thinking you’re alive are the worst.

The crippling loneliness never goes away, never lessens. He never knew someone could cry so much, feel such pain and still be alive.

He’s alive but he’s not living, not truly. Not anymore.

There are good days but they’re not enough. Not anymore.

He loves his family and his dragon, but it’s not enough. Not anymore.

You would want him to live, to stay with his family and the children, and defeat the threat against them, but he knows you’re waiting for him. He knows you’re alone and you miss him just as much as he misses you. He knows you’re hurting just like he is and it’s cruel of him to not help you. You’ve sacrificed so much for him but he won’t let you sacrifice anymore.

He can’t, he won’t, let you suffer anymore.

There are bad days, almost all of them are, but he knows that when he joins you they’ll all go away. It’ll all go away and he can finally rest again for the first time since you left.

He just wants you back.

He wants you to fly together again, and taste the clouds, and dive for sea glass and shells together. He wants to hide away at the beach together and he wants to watch the stars in your arms. He wants to see you smile at him again, to laugh at his jokes and to take the pain from him.

He loves his family, his dragons, and your home.

But it’s time.

He won’t keep you waiting any longer.

-:-:-:-:-

Aemond thinks his mother knows what he’s planning. She was crying when he told her that he will leave for Harrenhall where his uncle awaits him. She wouldn’t let him leave and so he had to tear his sleeve from her bloodied hands. It pains him to see her cry, but that pain is naught but a drop of water compared to the ocean of pain he feels. He’s delayed it enough, fought it for so long, but it’s time for Aemond to rest.

For the first time since he received the raven, he’s walking on the beach with his eyes set on the horizon. His eyes do not avoid neither shimmering water or shining sky. He does not flinch at the sound of his dragon’s greeting, for his heart is lighter than ever. There is nothing weighing him down any longer. He will do this last thing, and then he will be reunited with you.

He walks past the boulder, and there are children there, painting on the rock. They’re scratching your likeness into it. You were their champion, and they had lost you too. They felt your absence most keenly. He can’t help the laughter from coming — a wholly unfamiliar sensation – and tears prickle his eyes. The orphans had drawn you, but shorter than he remembered. Aemond barely recognizes you, and it makes him falter, but then his steps are light again. You would have found it funny, would have laughed at your depiction before chasing the orphans across the beach with their laughter carried over to him by the wind.

Aemond looks back, and there’s the spot where you taught him how to swim, and also where Jaehaera taught little Maelor to swim. It’s where you taught him how to wrap his hair after his eye was stolen, and it was where you declared that one day you and Aemond would fly away together. It’s where you killed a man for him after they mocked him, and it’s where you held his hands when he skinned his knee when he was five. The beach is crawling with memories, everywhere he looks there’s a new one playing out in front of him.. Admittedly most of them are you protecting him in one way or the other as he’s always been a magnet for trouble. He had avoided it, avoided being reminded of all that he had lost. But now the darkness has left the beach and all that remains are the good memories, the ones untainted by his darkness.

It doesn’t pain him to see the boulder anymore. It fills his heart with joy and he feels like he’s thirteen again being led by you to your next adventure.

He walks past it and keeps on walking until he reaches Vhagar. In her eyes he sees a reflection of his own pain. Karnax was her hatchling, and she had lost him too. She felt that pain, and carried it with her always. She did not hate him for abandoning her in his grief, she was relieved. Vhagar had lived a long life full of loss and pain, and she knew what was in his heart. And still she rose to the sky with him on her back.

Perhaps that too was echoed in her heart.

Once they’re far enough from the Keep, Aemond unclasps his satchel. Several sweet treats and slices of decadent cake threaten to tumble to the ground, but he’s spent enough time on dragonback to know better. The dessert is too sweet, and it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

He leaves most of it.

It’s your nameday tomorrow, and you would be very upset with him if he ate it all without you.

Up there, in the sky, it’s calm with nothing but a soft breeze to keep him company. ‘Tis a good thing that Harrenhall is not a long flight away, for he does not wish to taint this moment.

His uncle is already atop his dragon when he arrives at the charred remains of a once great castle. Caraxes whines upon seeing them. Him and Vhagar had once fought side by side, but now they were enemies. But you? You loved the Blood Wyrm, and you loved Daemon. Loved him as if he was your father, and he loved you in turn. Your death was not to be put on his shoulders, but Aemond knows Daemon could not be allowed to remain.

And, would you not be glad to be reunited with him too? What better gift could he bring but your father?

“Nuncle!” Aemond shouts across the water. “You have lived too long!”

“On that, we can agree.” Daemon said.

And so, the dragons danced, clashed together and burned. There would be no victor, that both the riders knew, and they were glad for it. It’s chaotic, and yet Aemond feels at peace. He feels drowsy, heavy, and yet he feels free and lighter than a bird’s feather.

He doesn’t feel the sword being shoved inside his chest, for there is no suffering of the flesh that can compare to that of his soul. And so they fall. Fall, fall, fall towards the Gods’ eye, together. Caraxes is dying, and so is Vhagar. Daemon too, and Aemond. Soon you would all be together again.

His eye starts to close, and just as it flutters close, he feels your strong arms wrap around him, and your scent fills his nose. You stroke his hair away from his forehead as you unclasp his eyepatch. You would have all of him – see all of him.

“It’s okay to be scared, Aemond.” She says and Aemond wants to protest but the words are stuck, lodged in deep with his tears and sheer happiness. He’s not scared, he’s so very very happy. He wants you to keep talking, to say his name again, even were this a cruel trick by the gods. “Shh, I know, I know. I have you.”

“Don’t let me go.” He says.

Aemond feels you press a kiss to his forehead as you tighten your arms around him, pushing his head to nestle into the crook of your neck. The last thing he hears is your voice.

“Never.”

And so he let go, surrounded by your scent, and resting in your arms again, just like he was always meant to be, confident that you’ll protect him on this journey too.

His eternal protector.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #house of the dragon imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x you #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #aemond x reader

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magmagicstyle · 3 months ago

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THE LITTLE GHOST OF HARRENHAL

In the haunting ruins of Harrenhal, Aemond Targaryen is confronted by the ghost of his nephew, Lucerys. But Lucerys offers something far more painful than vengeance—understanding and forgiveness. Ultimately, Aemond is left with only his memories and the phantom touch of the one he lost forever.

Hi, sorry if there are too many grammatical mistakes. Please be kind and remember that English isn't my first language. The IDEA for this one-shot came thanks to the wonderful @violetastridhotd! Thank you. IF YOU WANT TO READ IT ON AO3: here's the link

The ruinous hallways of Harrenhal stood early quiet, a deep and suffocating kind of silence that wrapped itself around the castle like the shadows clinging to its walls. The once-great fortress was a shell of its former self, scarred and broken by time, just as its current occupant felt himself to be. Aemond Targaryen sat near the hearth, staring into the last flickering flames of a fire that had grown cold, much like the rest of him. His long silver hair was loose, falling in wild strands over his shoulders, and his single eye—sapphire gleaming in the dim light—was fixed on the dying embers. The chill of the castle seeped into his bones, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the true cold had taken residence within his heart, freezing him from the inside out, making him feel like he had died while staying in the world of the living.

Aemond's mind, once sharp and focused on war and conquest, now swam in the murky waters of regret. How long had it been since he had arrived at Harrenhal? Days? Weeks? Time had lost its meaning in this desolate place, where every corner whispered of death, betrayal, and madness. It felt like it had been a long time since he had claimed this haunted keep, yet he found no solace here. No glory. Only cold stone and darker memories, and the voices that haunted Aemond were not those of the thousands of souls who had perished within Harrenhal's walls. No, the voice that haunted him most belonged to the one person he could never escape.

Lucerys.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the thought of his nephew—the nephew he had chased through the storm, the nephew whose life had been cut short by the dragon he had once believed he could control. Vhagar had snapped him out of the sky like a wolf devouring a lamb, and in that single, terrible moment, Aemond's world had changed forever.

Vhagar... the dammed storm...

The image of Lucerys’ terrified face flashed before him, as vivid now as it had been when he last saw him alive when the storm howled and raged at Storm’s End. The boy's brown curls, his wide eyes filled with fear, and the moment everything had spun out of control. The moment Vhagar... no, the moment he had taken Lucerys’ life .

I didn’t mean for it to happen… That was never meant to happen.

The words echoed in his mind, a futile refrain. But they didn’t matter. Intentions were meaningless now. Regret was meaningless now. It wasn’t like his regret or heartbreak would bring his nephew back to the world of living. It wasn’t like he could have Luke back to hear his laughter, even when it was at his expense. Lucerys Velaryon was dead, and Aemond’s hands were stained with the blood of his kin.

He would never be able to wash it away.

He closed his eye and leaned back in the chair, the flickering light casting harsh shadows across his gaunt features. His body was as exhausted as his soul, but still, sleep would not come. How could it? Every time he closed his eye, he saw it again—the storm, the wind, the look of fear in Lucerys’ wide, innocent eyes. The sickening sound of Arrax's flesh being torn apart and the crunch of bones breaking, Lucerys was so small, so young and he along with his dragon had been torn apart by Aemond's lack of control over Vaghar. The dragon had acted on instinct and no matter how many times Aemond told her not to do anything, it was too late. He can still remember how terrified Lucerys looked...

Luke...

Aemond would always remember the way the young dragon's flesh and blood fell into the sea as he watched from the sky, knowing it was his fault, that he had ended his nephew's life in that horrible way. That image would follow him forever. That… and the terrible, final silence that followed.

Aemond remembered how his lips parted at the horrifying sight. There wasn’t much that would make him feel uncomfortable, after all, he was ready to be a warrior, but the view of the dragon falling and the fact that he had killed Lucerys had shaken him. His lips parted, but no sound came for a few seconds. He had no words left for the grief that was hollowing him out piece by piece, even now, in the middle of the night, in the desolated Harrenhal, he didn’t have words to explain the pain that crushed his heart when he thought about his nephew. He had chased the boy through the storm intending to frighten him—maybe even hurt him a bit, just a small revenge from the damage the younger boy had done to his eye so many years ago—but he never intended to kill him. Not his Lucerys.

“Lucerys…” he whispered in the cold of the room, the name breaking like glass on his lips, and for the first time in days, his eye burned with the threat of tears.

Lucerys, Lucerys, Lucerys… My Lucerys…

A sudden shift in the air made Aemond's breath catch in his throat, his thoughts stopping for a second. The temperature in the room plummeted further, a biting chill that sent a shiver down his spine. He sat up straight, heart pounding, as a faint light seemed to bleed into the edges of the room—a soft, otherworldly glow that he knew should not be there.

Along with the soft gleam that had appeared, the silence of the hall was broken by the faintest of whispers, so soft that Aemond almost thought he had imagined it. But no, there it was again, drifting through the cold air.

"Aemond…"

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The voice was achingly familiar—too familiar… And then he saw him.

The ghost of his nephew stood at the entrance to the hall, bathed in the pale light of the afterlife. Lucerys’ face was as gentle and innocent as it had been when Aemond had last seen him—young, with wide brown eyes, a small and kind smile playing on his lips. He looked as he had in life, but with an otherworldly glow that made him seem even more delicate, more fragile.

His small form was dressed in the clothes he had died in, though they were now unmarred by blood or the storm’s water. His hair, dark curls that Aemond had once tugged at in their youth, framed his gentle face. But it was his eyes that held Aemond captive—those same brown eyes that had once looked up at him with fear, now filled with something else entirely.

Forgiveness.

Aemond’s throat tightened, his breath frozen in his lungs. This was not real. It could not be real. But Lucerys—Luke—looked as real as he had the last time Aemond had seen him alive. His lips quirked up into a soft smile, one that made Aemond’s chest ache with a feeling of deep, unbearable sorrow.

Lovely foolish Lucerys… How can you smile in my direction when I’m the one guilty of your death?

“Lucerys?” Aemond’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, as though speaking too loudly would cause the boy to vanish like smoke in the wind. Right now, that was his bigger fear, for him to push away the only presence of Lucerys that he was being blessed with, even if this was probably part of his imagination. “Is it… is it truly you?”

The ghost took a step forward, and the soft glow that surrounded him seemed to pulse, like the fading light of the sun as it set on the horizon. “Uncle… Aemond,” Lucerys said, his voice as soft and kind as Aemond remembered from their childhood, before the war, before the hatred. “It’s me.”

Aemond rose to his feet on trembling legs, his body aching under the weight of his grief. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to stay, to bask in Lucerys’ presence, to beg for forgiveness and absolution from this vision… but at the same time, he wanted to run, to flee from this invention from his mind that threatened to break him apart. Still, he found himself rooted in place. As if sensing his hesitation, Lucerys came closer, his small hands hanging loosely at his sides. He got so close that Aemond could see him clearly now—his nephew, the boy he had killed.

“I…” Aemond’s mouth moved, but the words were stuck in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to breathe. This was too painful… Too cruel... “Why are you here?” His voice was a broken rasp. “Why do you haunt me?”

Lucerys tilted his head, his expression softening even further, looking at Aemond with sadness and love. “I don’t haunt you, Aemond. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than any accusation ever could. Aemond’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Why? Why would you not want to hurt me? He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but he forced them back. No matter how much pain he was feeling, how much he felt that his heart was being pulled out of his chest and how he couldn’t breathe from the sheer pressure that he felt at being in front of Lucerys. He did not deserve to cry. Not for this. Not for the boy whose life he had ended.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, Lucerys.” His voice shook, and he looked away, unable to meet those gentle brown eyes any longer.

Why? Why do you look sad for me? Why do you look at me with so much love? I don’t deserve your love.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I took everything from you.” Aemond said almost desperately while looking at the floor, his voice breaking a bit at the last part. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, to look at Lucerys… He didn’t deserve it.

Lucerys stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of Aemond, his presence as gentle and calming as a spring breeze. He couldn’t help it and he looked at his nephew, noticing how the younger boy’s eyes were filled with a warmth that made Aemond’s heart ache in ways he had never imagined.

“You didn’t mean to,” Lucerys said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean to kill me.”

Aemond let out a broken, humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his guilt. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his eye burning with unshed tears. He would not cry. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry. “I still did it. Vhagar still—”

“I know,” Lucerys interrupted softly, his tone full of understanding. “But I don’t blame you, Aemond. I never did.”

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt as though the ground beneath him was crumbling. How could Lucerys stand there, looking at him with such love, such forgiveness, when he had stolen everything from him? How could the boy he had killed be the one to offer him the absolution he had so desperately longed for?

“I… I thought I wanted revenge… but I just wanted… I wanted you to love me,” Aemond whispered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice cracked under the weight of his confession, and his hands trembled at his sides. “And I ruined it. I ruined everything.” He said, bitterly. He wanted to scream, cry and curse at the gods that had condemned him to destroy the one person who could truly love him.

Lucerys’ eyes softened, and for the first time since his death, Aemond felt the warmth of another’s touch as the boy reached up to cup his cheek. It was faint, like a breeze barely stirring the air, but it was real. He was real.

Oh… He’s really here.

“I do love you, Aemond,” Lucerys whispered, his thumb brushing softly against Aemond’s skin. “I always have.”

Aemond’s heart shattered. The thread keeping him calm and composed had finally snapped in two. And without being able to stop himself, the tears he had fought so hard to keep at bay broke free, spilling down his face in hot, silent streams. His chest heaved with the weight of his sorrow, his grief, his regret. He had longed for Lucerys’ love, had yearned for it with every fiber of his being, and now he would never know it—not truly.

“I’m so sorry,” Aemond choked out, his voice breaking with the force of his sobs. “I’m so sorry, Lucerys. I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Lucerys said gently, his eyes filled with an endless, unconditional love. “I know, Aemond.”

Aemond fell to his knees before the boy’s ghost, his body wracked with sobs as he clung to the hem of Lucerys’ cloak. He could feel his heart breaking all over again, shattering into a million pieces that would never be whole again. He would never know how would it feel to wake up beside Lucerys, to feel his small body between his arms, to kiss his lips. He would never hear his laughter again, his teasing voice, he would never see the pout that he made when he was annoyed at something, and he would never be able to grow old with the love of his life.

Still, Lucerys stood there, his presence a quiet comfort, his love a balm for Aemond’s shattered soul.

“I forgive you,” Lucerys whispered, his voice soft and soothing. “I forgive you, Aemond. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

But Aemond couldn’t let go. How could he? He had taken everything from Lucerys—his life, his future, his happiness. Not only that, he had taken away the possibility of a future together. Because knowing his lovely Luke, he would have found a way to stay together… Aemond didn’t deserve to be free of this regret… And now, his adorable Lucerys was in front of him, offering Aemond the one thing he could never forgive himself for.

“You deserved better,” Aemond whispered, his voice broken and filled with sorrow. “You deserved so much more.”

Lucerys knelt in front of him, his small hand reaching out to touch Aemond’s face once more. “Maybe… Maybe not… but I know I had what I needed,” he said quietly. “I had you, I had your heart.”

Aemond’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, and he closed his eye, his tears still falling freely. For so long, his desires for revenge had covered his real feelings, he, in his dumb, young mind, had wanted to protect Lucerys, to keep him safe, but in the end, he and his foolish actions had been the one to destroy him.

“I will never be free of this,” Aemond whispered, his voice filled with the weight of his guilt. “I will never forgive myself… I won’t…”

Lucerys smiled, his eyes soft and full of love. “Then let me forgive you.”

Aemond looked up at him, his vision blurred with tears. Lucerys’ face was bathed in the soft glow of the afterlife, and in that moment, Aemond saw not the boy he had killed, but the boy he had loved.

And then, with one final, soft smile, Lucerys began to fade, his form dissolving into the misty light of the otherworld.

“I’ll always forgive you, Aemond,” Lucerys’ voice whispered as he vanished from sight, leaving Aemond alone in the cold, empty halls of Harrenhal.

Aemond remained there, on his knees, his tears falling silently onto the stone floor. The warmth that Lucerys had brought with him was gone, the kind touch of his love had faded with him, leaving behind only the icy chill of regret.

But Aemond didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs felt weak, his body heavy, as if the weight of all his sins had finally anchored him to the ground. The fire had long since died out, and the only light in the room came from the faint moonlight filtering through the broken windows. His heart was still racing, each beat sharp and painful in his chest, he could hear his own heart, hitting against his ribs with painful punches as if it was trying to run away from his body. He couldn’t blame his heart… After all, Aemond felt as if his very soul was being torn apart.

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. He just existed there, in that hollow space of grief, his mind replaying every moment of Lucerys’ death, and every bit of the conversation he just had with the ghost of his loved one.

I will never forgive myself.

It was the only truth he had left, the only constant in a world that had unraveled around him. Even Lucerys, in his infinite kindness, could not absolve him of this sin. Even if Lucerys could forgive him, even if he could move past his horrible death. Aemond knew that he would carry this burden for the rest of his life, a shadow that would follow him until the day he died. Maybe when he died, he would feel that he could forgive himself.

His breath came shallow now, the weight of it all finally pulling him down. Slowly, without thinking, Aemond sank to the floor. His cape had fallen from the chair earlier, and now it lay beside him, a small, insignificant object that seemed almost out of place in this vast, empty hall. He stared at it for a moment, then reached out with trembling hands, pulling the cape beneath his head as he lay down on the cold stone floor. Maybe he should start the fire again, maybe he should look for a warmer place to pass the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to move away from the last place he felt Lucery’s touch on his skin. He wasn’t able to do it.

The chill seeped through his clothes, biting into his skin, but he didn’t care. He welcomed it—the numbness, the quiet, the peace that could only be found in the void. His long silver hair spread out like a halo beneath him as he closed his eye, his chest still heaving with the weight of his sobs. His body felt like lead, his heart a dead thing in his chest.

Lucerys.

He whispered the name in his mind like a prayer, as if saying it enough times might bring the boy back to him, might somehow undo the terrible wrong he had committed. But of course, it was a futile hope. Lucerys was gone. He was never coming back.

Yet, as Aemond lay there, drowning in his own grief, something strange happened.

A gentle warmth brushed against his cheek, so faint and so fleeting that he almost didn’t notice it at first. His breath hitched, his eye flying open as his heart stuttered in his chest. His hand instinctively rose to his face, fingers brushing over the scarred flesh where his sapphire eye was embedded, but the warmth wasn’t coming from his own touch.

No, this was something else. Something softer.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he lay there, frozen, the warmth growing stronger—like the brush of a hand, the lightest caress, as though someone was touching him with the tenderness of a lover. His fingers trembled as he lowered his hand, his body going rigid as he realized what it was.

Lucerys.

It was impossible, absurd even, but in that moment, Aemond swore he could feel Lucerys’ hand on his cheek—the same gentle touch he had felt earlier when the ghost had stood before him. It was as if Lucerys had come back to him, not as a haunting specter of forgiveness, but as the boy Aemond had longed to love in life.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and the tears he had fought so hard to hold back spilled over once more. His breath hitched in his throat, and before he knew it, he was sobbing—great, heaving sobs that wracked his entire body, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. His fingers dug into the stone floor beneath him, his body curling in on itself as if he could somehow escape the torment of his own heart.

But still, the warmth remained. Lucerys’ touch lingered on his scarred cheek, soft and loving, as if trying to soothe the pain that had taken root in Aemond’s soul. And for a brief, fleeting moment, Aemond allowed himself to believe it. He allowed himself to believe that what he saw before was real. That the ghost wasn’t a product of his regretful heart but that Lucerys had truly forgiven him, that his nephew had returned—not as a vengeful spirit, but as the boy who had once loved him.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, his sobs growing quieter, more desperate. He clung to that feeling, to that faint touch, as though it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken and hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry.”

And as the warmth slowly began to fade, as Lucerys’ touch slipped away like the last breath of wind before a storm, Aemond’s heart shattered all over again.

He had been given a glimpse of what could have been—what should have been—and now it was gone. Forever.

The last of his tears fell silently down his cheeks, and as the night deepened around him, Aemond lay there, alone in the cold, broken and hollow. The echoes of his sobs were the only sound in the vast emptiness of Harrenhal, a reminder that no matter how hard he had tried, he would never escape the consequences of his actions.

He would never know Lucerys' love in life, only in the fleeting touches of a ghost.

#lucemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x lucerys #angst #hurt/no comfort #house of the dragon

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lifesteal-headcanons · 2 months ago

Note

[SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE OF OUTSIDERS SMP]

Basically, one time Redd left Lifesteal for awhile and went to this weird nether hub area where people from any & all servers can interact. While buying spiked (with beer) honey bottles because of his addiction with it due to stress. He saw something, no someone. Krow, he saw Krow, Krowfang, it's head hung low as it was next to, Owen.? Didn't Owen die? But before Redd could even somewhat comprehend this, he saw a bouquet in newspaper that held alliums, violets, purple morning glories, daises, daffodils, & evening primroses, aswell as a white circular ring in its hand. Redd exchanged his goods with the bartender before staking the two former outsiders. Then Redd found what seemed like a grave. Redd was startled, if Owen came alive from the dead, and was even able to connect with Krow, the dragon he tried to kill. Why the fuck was Ayngel still dead? Redd was about to turn back until Krow murmured out this explanation to Owen.

“I never found her, the last time I saw her she was at this village with some brown haired girl. She explained the girl as Maddy, and told me that she came here with Magic. But, Ayngel never saw Magic after Magic travelled to a settlement nearby. Ayngel explained to me that she was safe, somewhat. Her Wings preened & perfect as they once were in Glade B, but her Halo was unnervingly a pale yellow. She had droopy eyes and claimed that she was about to move into said settlement, where a now renowned hero named “The Blue Bunny” was. Then I wished Ayngel to be safe, and she said she was. But right when I was making my departure, I saw someone- no some thing, chase after her. I ran to defend her, but then I saw her halo fall off of her head and unwrap into a cherubim's sword. A sword that belonged to the heavenly soldiers... Yes the ones who killed my mother, regardless, then she fell into the water, her halo falling out of her hand and laying at my feet. I was forced back into the nether hub before I could react. I think the world I was on was called the.. Kabidle SMP.?”

Kaboodle?! Redd knew from Ash & Squiddo that Kaboodle had a magical world she was given by STARR & manipulated with Clown. They used that world as a passion project, a holding facility for some clones of their friends. A realm where they explored their stories. He never would've expected Ayngel to go there. Let alone have someone follow & try to ambush her, after they saw her demise in Outsiders why would someone stalk her? Was Apo alive? Did he grieve and lose himself into a deeper alcoholic state over nothing?! Granted Redd knew he lasted we over his stay when Owen turned around. His face full of both sadness & bewilderment as Redd ran off. His beer in his ender chest as he ran full force to the Lifesteal Hub Portal his mind full of questions & concerns for Kab & Clown. He knew everything was all an act, once the STARR's watch was off of them they hung out and had fun. But Kab & Clown messing with the Kaboodle SMP for fun? That wasn't out of pocket for either of them. But it still shocked him somehow.

Sincerely, - 🪻💫 Anon

#ask #headcanon #lifesteal smp #🪻💫 anon

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mechanicalriddle · 1 month ago

Text

My journals are liable to be a little barebones this year since I have been extremely busy for the past 2 months lmao.

To my dear and WONDERFUL Exalted Secret Santa....

Hirudana Siithavari- Current Gunstar Autochthonia PC, Worm of my heart (also brain)

If you're not in the know about the 2e Gunstar Autochthonia shard, everyone lives in Autochthonia and its a lot nicer than regular Autochthonia but also its in space and also the Yozis are chasing you 100% of the time. We've got it sort of star trek vibes but a little grungier and a tad diesel/rustpunk.

Siithi (32 y.o., she/her, 5'6") is a dipshit No Moon necromancer. She's a bit of a golden-hearted asshole, and while quite capable of taking things seriously, she also loves acting like a complete hooligan. Unfortunately lately she hasn't really been acting herself lately on account of she is maybe a little bit stressed out.

Her main character arc so far has been overcoming her own insecurities to come into her own as a powerful Chosen. Now she is finally getting the hang of it, but also currently dealing with like 4 different parties all vying for her allegiance (a number of whom are literally inside her head), trying to unlock the secrets of necromancy while being the Deliberative's first and only practicioner (with no formal training in anything involved), and slowly drifting away from her best friend, the dragon-king Meteor-Dream, who has formed a maligned pact with the Viator of Nullspace and lost most semblances of "humanity" that they had left. So shes basically pretty cranky, and not getting a lot of sleep. She finds working with her hands to be very therapeutic, so she's mostly trying to keep busy to forget about it.

This is working as well as one would expect.

She's blessed with the ugly bastard's confidence, and usually sporting either severe RBF, a wide & wry grin, or something smugly between. Sort of a slouching creeper. She emotes exaggeratedly and has a little bit of natural rubberhose stretchiness, plus a very minimal concept of personal space.

Motifs- The colors of chemicals, grime, and industrial decay (rust-red and algae green, ochre, dusty grays, various shades of black and brown) paired with the bright hues of warning. Rustpunk machinery chic, gears and bits and bobs. Black leather, vinyl, and latex, with silver studs and hardware. Machines that hiss and undulate. Mysterious stains, diaphonized specimens, sludge, slime, small skittering and squirming vermin.

Anima- Siithi's iconic anima is a moonlit mangrove swamp except the water is oil and the trees are made of steel and pulsating tubes and the moon is really really huge and reflective, also she is suspended over the surface of the water by a bunch of tubes connected to her back because thats fun. Her glowing/burning anima is pretty much like the regular Lunar anima except that its kind of gloopy and flows like wax in a lava lamp.

Her spirit shape is the Asian Buffalo Leech (Hirudinaria manillensis). Feel free to draw either her human or hybrid form.

Ideas (I like to put in a list of these in case you wanted to draw a little scene but arent sure what to do; feel free to ignore them completely)-

She's a bit of a gearhead, so you could draw her peeling an engine apart, covered in oil

Or disassembling a rotted corpse on a steel table with a bonesaw, covered in blood

Ruefully drinking coffee out of a go mug, or nursing a glass of dark-colored liquor on the rocks at a sci fi dive bar

Smoking weeeeeed

Notes- She is very much musclefat. Please don't omit details relating to this like her double chin, rolls, etc. She has a couple hairstyles listed in her references (take your pick), and sometimes has sparse facial hair which you can choose to include or not.

Cynis Niraj- Traitorous Twink of the Realm

(most of my art of this guy is either like 5 years out of date and/or trapped on my former PC, so hopefully these give you enough to work off of. he doesn't really have a signature outfit so you can have some fun with it!)

Niraj (21 y.o., he/him, 5'8") is a little water aspected bastard boy I held close to my chest for a very long time; he happens to be probably the most important Ledaal Tedeo backstory character (besties+magic college roommates, also Niraj has been dutifully covering Ted's tracks to try to prevent him from being detected by his Realm detractors).

He is sort of on track to be Cynis's next spymaster because while he may be a sorcerer he has all the sneaky bastard manipulator spells... infallible messenger control, corrupted words, silent dreams etc etc. More damningly he is the present wielder of Calumny (spoilers). A large proportion of his time at the Heptagram was spent cultivating his ability to lie and diplomacy his way out of anything, and the rest was of course spent doing... You know. Sorcery. Has the capacity to self reflect to some degree (e.g. why he didn't spurn his best friend completely right off the bat and has been reassessing his loyalties to the Realm as a result) but he's also a nervous animal who wants nothing more than to seek comfort in the familiar. Probably not the worst guy in the world but he is a rich kid, full stop.

Niraj carries a constant level of tension well beyond his years (it happens when you're lying thru your teeth on the daily to essence 5 shikari on behalf of your pet solar). Lately his anxiety has been much more difficult to hide. His outbursts are snide and a little temperamental but usually all hot air. The poor devil hasn't put on a genuine smile much in the past decade.

Motifs- Eels and various other toothy fish. Thick smoke and clouds of incense. Orchid and lotus flowers, draping vines, tobacco & potpourri, and general floral motifs. Dark-stained wood and leather. The night, and deep water. Dark, rich, luxurious garbs and tapestries; comfort over looks over practicality. The colors of his house, and of affluence.

Anima- Dark underwater cavern with toothy formations; deeper in the cave you can see dark shapes swimming in hypnotic patterns. Also, he has a little red lantern hanging over his head like an anglerfish lure.

Ideas-

Miserable in the bath. SFW only as per the rules of the event. Maybe he's in a nice bubbly bath. Or maybe he's bathing fully clothed.

Or simply laying facedown in an estate fountain. Not really his best angle, though.

Sitting in a dark room, forging a correspondence by candlelight.

Looking contemplative and/or nervous on the prow of a boat.

Also smoking weeeeeed or hookah

Notes-

I would say make sure his skin tone is accurate and also hes got magic top scars (depicted) in case you do choose the bath option or have him with his shirt slightly open all sexy or something. IDK

Keeping most of my other OCs on reserve this year. Have fun with one of these little freaks.

#exalted secret santa #exalted rpg

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profoundbondfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Born to be yours by zation [Explicit, 72k words]

Castiel finds a curious creature in his backyard. Or, The one where Dean wanted an apple but found himself a human instead (and also an apple).

Breathing Into You by casblackfeathers [Explicit, 110k words]

‘Beware the deep sea, that’s where the monsters come from.’ Dean had heard these words since birth, his father’s warnings shaping him into the man he is today. That’s not the root of Dean’s hatred for merpeople, though. Twenty years after the day tragedy had touched the Winchesters’ lives forever as well as the end of the Great War between humans and mer, Dean is still haunted by that moment. But loving the sea is just as much a part of him as the dread for the merfolk, so when he isn’t working at the local bar, he is there, underwater, immersed in the vast blue his mother used to speak of in her bedtime stories. Dean knows, however, that the sea can be as ruthless as it is soothing. When he is caught in the middle of a storm and faces the anger of the waves, the mysterious appearance of a stranger with blue eyes as clear as the waters Dean loves losing himself in forces Dean to question the truth behind his father’s old mantra.

carving deep blue ripples by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Mature, 85k words]

With his little brother at Stanford and his father searching out leads on the monster that killed his mother, Dean Winchester is left to hunt alone. It's fun, except in the ways that it really blows. Things start to turn around when he meets Castiel Novak, another hunter. Castiel is aloof and maybe a little too sarcastic, but he's good backup (and pretty easy on the eyes. Not that Dean's looking or anything). After a few hunts, Dean is willing to make his and Castiel's partnership permanent (and he's not exactly averse to adding another component to their partnership either. After all, he's caught Castiel looking at him just as many times as Castiel's caught him looking). But Castiel is hiding a secret, and it's so explosive that it threatens to not only tear them apart, but also tear apart everything Dean believes in.

Convenient Husbands by Annie D (scaramouche) [Explicit, 39k words]

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

Dragon Hunt by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) [Explicit, 171k words]

What is a former knight fallen from grace supposed to do when one day, after almost a decade of scouring the outskirts of the kingdom for his missing brother, he finds himself confronted with a powerful, terrifying and also ridiculously weird dragon? Yes, exactly: team up with the guy and scam oblivious people out of their money! Easy as that, right? (In which Dean ends up stumbling upon a strange, blue-eyed dragon and before he even knows what's happening he is in way too deep to get out again.)

It's a Small World (aka the Worst Ride at Disneyland) by ireadhpinenochian [Mature, 45k words]

Dean's life didn't start out great. With his mom dying and his father taking him and Sam on wild goose chase after wilder goose chase to track down her killer until Sam couldn't take it anymore and ran off, it pretty much sucked. But now he has Cas. And Cas is great--perfect, even--definitely the best thing that's ever happened to him, even if he isn't quite human. He's been living so long in domestic bliss that he completely forgot to be worried about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which is, of course, when his giant of a brother strolls back into his life sending Dean into a panic that he and Cas will have to uproot their perfect apple pie life if Sam finds out Cas' big secret.

Like Lightning Under Your Skin by A_Diamond [Explicit, 24k words]

Desperate for a way to save his brother from a demon’s clutches, hunter Dean does the unthinkable and seeks out a supernatural creature for help: a powerful lightning elemental, the kind he and his family should be killing. When his attempt to bind the elemental goes awry, he finds himself psychically connected to it instead. The creature’s emotions bleed into his; its pain echoes into him. Rather than finding the solution to saving Sam, Dean’s given himself a new and even more time-sensitive problem. He has to find a way to master the bond before the rest of the hunters decide he’s too far gone and put him down. The trouble is that the more time he spends connected to the elemental’s thoughts, the more he starts to wonder if they don’t have it all wrong. Maybe the creature, which calls itself Castiel, doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered; maybe the rest of its kind hadn’t deserved that, either. Or maybe that’s just Castiel’s voice in his head.

Man in the Wilderness by OneHundredSuns [Explicit, 68k words]

Dean Winchester is fresh out of Purgatory along with every other Tom, Dick and Wendigo that called the cesspool home. As the monsters lay waste to the Earth and eat anything they can get their hands on, Dean sets out to find his only remaining family so that they can hunker down and fight the assholes head on. He doesn’t mean to stumble upon Castiel Novak and his adorable twins in the middle of the apocalypse and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to offer them a ride to wherever they are trying to get to. But the world is a dangerous place now and he’s always been a sucker for blue eyes and cute kids. So he��ll help them out and just hope it doesn’t get him or them killed in the process.

Miasma by ValandraWrites [Explicit, 13k words]

Dean's grown up with a monster under his bed. They kind of became friends. Then they kind of became more than friends.

The Graveyard Shift by PurgatoryJar, riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 620k words]

Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

#destiel #group rec #creature!castiel #creature!dean #halloween

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bugwolfsstuff · 10 months ago

Text

Trials of Loki AU Chapter 1

@parrotxx I did it!

Well atleast the first Chapter. I'm still not sure how i'll get him to earn his place back to godhood. And it was a little rushed near the end. Also havent proof read.

------

Hi, I'm Loki Laufeyjarson. I used to be a god—err, Jotun. My 'godly membership' was revoked two thousand and sixteen years ago.

In my many, many years of living (if you can call most of it life), the Aesir have punished me in lots of creative ways. They've forced me to go get new golden hair for Sif. Let my mouth get stitched up. Murdered my sons and defiled their corpses to chain me to a rock. Put a snake over the aforementioned rock to drip venom on my face until Ragnarok.

But never in my immortal existence have they done something like this.

And I'm not even sure how they did it.

The last thing I remember was making an err...tactical retreat after a flyting with Magnus Chase. Being in a walnut that I definitely chose to be in, then sitting on a table surrounded by very angry Aesir, and then falling. Buildings spiralling in and out of my view. I tried to shapeshift into a bird, a dragon, or maybe even a butterfly—something that, as a Jotun, should come naturally to me, but I just kept falling, still humanoid. Which is very...uncomfortable.

Thankfully, I had a soft landing.

I sat up, groaning in a pile of leaves, spitting out a red leaf, and glaring at the park groundskeeper, who was staring at me bewildered. My ribs ached, and I was pretty sure were broken.

"What?" I snapped, "Never seen a guy fall from the sky?"

The groundskeeper's jaw dropped, and he fled, leaving his rake behind. Pretty sure he needed that.

The very annoying voice of Odin rang in my mind: YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, LOKI.

"Very helpful, Odin. Now, how do I fix it? Do I have to watch one of your stupid PowerPoints?" I asked, "Get you a new raven?"

Odin's shrill voice boomed in my head like he was yelling too close into a microphone: FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF.

I rolled my eyes, massaging my temples. Great. Just great. Not only do I get—

—AND MY POWERPOINTS AREN'T STUPID, Odin bellowed before going completely silent.

Well, they are, old man, I thought before attempting to pick myself up from the leaf pile. My ribs cracked and throbbed in protest, and my stomach clenched. I barely managed to stand up before I wanted to sit back down again.

My vision blurred. I was in some sort of park. Blobs that I assumed were mortal children were playing loudly on a bigger blob—a playground of some sort, maybe?— nearby. Another grey blob stood in front of me—A statue, sadly probably not of me. I could hear running water, a fountain?

I took a deep breath, which was a mistake.

"Owwwweee!" I hissed through my teeth, "Yep. Yep, ribs definetly broken!"

My entire body screamed at me to lie back down. This mortal form was so... fragile. Every movement felt like snake venom dripping on my face, only this time it was my entire body. Everything was so soft and painful — How do you humans live like this? How do you deal with being so, so...weak? So fragile? Broken that easily? I hated it!

I managed to —painfully— drag myself to a bench, which proved to me once again that my ribs were definitely broken.

On the bright side: my vision finally decided to stop pretending it's a funhouse mirror and I could properly take in my surroundings.

I was right about the statue, it was not of me. Very sad. It was of that one guy—Leaf I think his name was. Seriously you mortals should get a statute of me erected (haha) instead of that nobody.

The sound of wolves howling rudely broke me out of my thoughts.

Which meant Fenris' pups were on the prowl.

Now usually I'm fine with wolves, my own son Fenris was born a wolf after all and these were his children—my grandchildren. But, I knew well enough to tell the difference between an 'I'm hungry let's go hunt, guys' howl and an 'Oh my gods guys. I love you all so much' howl.

This howl was the former.

And I'm not sticking around for it. Not because I think they'll attack me. They wouldn't dare try that. But because watching my grandchildren tear apart a mortal or the odd demigod brings back some very um.... unpleasant memories.

With a very painful protest from my squishy, broken, weak mortal body, I got up from the bench and started hobbling out of the park.

As I trudged out of the park and up the street, It started pouring rain because I clearly hadn't been humiliated enough. Thor decided to soak me.

"Really?" I yelled at the sky, slightly regretting it at the sharp sting of my ribs.

YES REALLY, Odin's voice boomed in my head. Though that could have been my imagination or delirium from the broken ribs.

"I'd never do this to you!" I retorted, pointing angrily at my head. Earning some weird looks from passing mortals.

YES YOU WOULD, several Aesir said in unison before going silent once more.

It's true I would. But that was beside the point!

I am once again asking how you mortals deal with this? THIS IS TORTURE! And I should know! I've been tortured! Many times!

A car driving past decided I wasn't soaked and miserable enough and lovingly gave me a splash of muddy water, soaking my clothes, causing them to cling to my body.

I snarled before shivering.

I have to get out of here fast, I thought bitterly. I couldn't stay in one place for too long, not unarmed and injured anyway; I have too many enemies. All of which want me dead. Can't imagine why, I'm a delight!

But the problem with having as many enemies as I have is that I don't have many allies. There's my wife Sigyn, she's the only person I truly trust to not stab me in the back—mostly cause her hands are full from holding the bowl over my face but I digress.

But that opens up a whole other problem: I don't know where she is. She could be across the country ceramic bowl shopping for all I know!

So that kinda leaves me only one option, and I know neither one of us is going to like it. But I am really starting to feel woozy and I don't have a choice.

I stood outside Randolph Chase's mansion—well more Magnus Chase's mansion. I think Randy died, pretty sure I killed him. Not too sure about that, some of my memories are a bit foggy. Hope that's not a permanent thing.

Despite our rocky history of me trying to kill him and possibly killing his uncle, the son of Frey has proven himself to be somewhat sympathetic to me in the past. So maybe, I could appeal to his sense of compassion.

And if that doesn't work then I'll just convince one of my children to let me in. Because my children just cannot say no to me.

Because if they say no I'll make them say yes because they owe it to me for their powers and creating them.

Yay, parenting!

The snarling wolf knocker rattled as I knocked on the door. Seriously what was it with Randy and wolves? Like, dude your sister got mauled by wolves have some decency...oh right he worked with me. He doesn't have that.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. Why did I feel so tired all of a sudden? Why am I even doing this?

The door swung open and I had to dodge to avoid being hit in the face, something my broken ribs enjoyed very much.

It was in fact not Magnus that made an attempt on my life through door. It was the green-headed menace that I called my child.

Alex Fierro.

He—she? I couldn't tell, guess Odin didn't just take my immortality—didn't react to me in her/his usual hateful face. Which was a good sign. What wasn't a good sign was the fact that my vision was starting to swim again.

"Hey, Alex!" I chirped, before promptly passing out.

Oh for fuck sake.

------

Chapter 2: Will be written soon.

#mcga loki #loki mcga #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #mcga #mcga alex fierro #alex fierro mcga #alex fierro #my writing #fanfic writing #Trials of Loki AU

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quitealotofsodapop · 1 year ago

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While most celestials do confuse reincarnations for their original selves, I think Iron Fan would have spent enough time in the mortal realm to learn to see the difference so the confusion over their reincarnations doesn't last long. And since she knows Wukong spelled the entrance, that means he somehow wanted this group of people to have access to his sacred home. It on Fan has enough of a brain to realize these were likely the Pilgrims' descendants and reincarnations rather than the Pilgrims themselves abdvthey just happen to have access because Wukong would never deny his troop or their decendants.

And Iron Fan isn't one to go against Wukong's wishes, not when he's sleeping just a bit further into the cave, buried under his favorite peach tree. So she does the courteous thing and brushes off her centuries of neglected hostess skills and offers them tea, only slightly threatening them.

Tang is absolutely delighted and near has a meltdown when PIF confirms that this is indeed Aolai, and not only that, but Water-Curtain Cave itself. Hecwas standing in the home of the Monkey King himself!! Pigsy brings him back to reality by asking the former celestal why she was there, since the last he'd checked, the Demon Bull Family had no reason to be anywhere near the Monkey King.

Iron Fan finally having company after so long, explains that there was much behind the battle between DBK and Sun Wukong that is and shall remain unknown to mortals and celestials alike. Namely, that DBK had done what he'd done by provoking the Monkey King on a misguided attempt to protect his only remaining sworn brother and had not listened to reason when she had warned him of the foolishness of his plan. When asked what DBK had been protecting Wukong from, PIF refused to answer.

Then, a curious baby dragon began digging, having slipped out to play with the monkeys. PIF has had to gently scold and chase monkeys away from her brother's resting spot for many, many years, but she hadn't accounted for company and a dragon. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late, and Wukong's stone covered nose was exposed.

PIF wishes she could blame the dragons, but even she knows Wukong wouldn't have wanted that

PIF understands reincarnation a lot better than most Celestials, simply because she's more aware of Buddhist teachings + understood that the Tang monk back in the day was the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada. Redson himself has a soul thats seen a powerful previous life.

So when Iron Fan sees a Not-Monk (too sassy/gay to be a real one), a short Pig demon, and a tall buff fish demon suddenly start hanging around her brother-in-law's island one day; she gets a gut feeling that its "almost time".

Part of her believes it's fate giving a clear sign that Wukong is to awaken soon, and will require the company of his companions even in their new lifes to move forward.

So she leaves her post for barely a day at most to pick up Redson from Guanyin. Her family derserves to be reunited in whatever way it can.

And her little fireball runs off into the jungle of the island to play with a baby dragon he saw...

And when she finally catches him and makes their way to Water Curtain Cave, the whole squad are already there and half-dig up Wukong...

PIF hasn't had to play hostess in centuries, but she tries her best to make her company feel at ease - especially since the Not-Monk appears to be close to fainting at every piece of information she divulges.

Oh gosh if Mei had been the one to dig up Wukong as a curious baby dragon (and maybe a "its ok" from the spirit of Ao Lie), that would be so cute. PIF thought Mei was busy playing with Redson when she finally notices two pairs of little hands digging into the ground by the peach tree...

#century stone egg au #stone egg talk #lmk aus #lmk princess iron fan #lm pif #lmk tang #lmk mei #lmk red son #long xiaojiao #lego monkie kid #lmk

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ravewing · 11 months ago

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How well do the infected swim or fly?

not very🗣️🗣️i mean given how exhausted and delirious they are in stages 1-2 they probably wont be doing either very much, and its not really like they can fly after their wing membranes start deteriorating. part of the swimming (as well as running) depends on how physically fit the dragon was pre-infection, like a weak thin dragon would probably succumb to exhaustion while a strong, powerful dragon like a former soldier in the war is more likely to be able to chase you in the water/on land. idk tho

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middleearthpixie · 8 months ago

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard

@xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

@knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

@jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc

@msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98

@way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina squinted in the brilliant sunshine, lifting her hand to shade her eyes as Erebor loomed above them, but Thorin gently steered her to the left of the fortress’ entrance. “So, where are we going?”

He smiled down at her. “There’s something I wish to share with you, mesmel. And trust me, it will make sense when I do.”

“If you say so.”

His hand tightened about hers and perhaps it was but her imagination, but it felt as if his palm grew damp as they navigated the stone steps—some of them with bits crumbled away—that ran up and around Erebor’s façade and along the city’s labradorite western wall. The soft rush of water reached their ears as they climbed, growing louder with each step.

At the top, the scene before them was equal parts desolate and welcoming. As Erebor had been built into and beneath the Lonely Mountain, rocks and debris littered the somewhat broken flagstone and obsidian walkway to their right. But to their left stretched a field, the grass mostly green with only a few brown scrabbly patches remaining from winter, and beyond that, a wide river rushed softly by.

In the distance, rose a dark gray stone tower and as she studied it, the fortress beyond it came into view as well, one of stone mottled pale gray into near black that blended with its surroundings so well, it disappeared unless one concentrated upon it.

“Thorin?”

“Ravenhill,” he replied, pointing to the gray stone tower. “This is where I confronted Azog for the last time. He’d pursued us—me, Fíli, and Kíli—from one end of Middle-Earth to the other and I’d had enough. I’d tried to end him just outside of Goblin-town, and had failed. This time, I would not fail.”

She gazed first at him, then back at the tower that grew larger with each step. The river wound out of sight, most likely snaking about Ravenhill itself. “Why did he give such stubborn chase?”

“I have no idea. I never knew. My guess, however, is that we’d defeated him and his orc army at Khazad-dûm andin the process, I took his arm. I thought I killed him there, but I was wrong.”

She paused, turning to him once more. “Khazad-dûm?”

“Moria. One of our most sacred of places. They defiled it and we fought to reclaim it. In the process, I found myself with a price upon my head.” A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Which I believe you are familiar with.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “Can we just never discuss that again?”

“Nina, without that price, you would not be here now. While I’d rather that not be the reason, it is, and for that, I cannot be entirely ungrateful for it.” He caught her free hand in his and squeezed both gently. “I had no idea at the time, how my life would change when I made my way up here, as determined to end that filth as he was to end me.”

“What happened up here? I was in Dale when the Battle of the Five Armies took place and spent my time battling those who marched through there. All we knew was a great battle had been fought and you had been mortally wounded, or so we thought.”

“So I thought as well. But, Thranduíl had been here, and with him, it seemed half of Mirkwood followed. Elven magic is a wonderful thing when one is mortally wounded.”

“I’ve heard that, but have never seen it myself.”

“Nor had I, until that battle. But, without it, I am not here now and while recovery was long and slow and painful, I did recover and that is the important thing.” He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he turned to gaze up at the fortress. “Come. There’s more I wish to show you.”

“You don’t have to, you know. I can’t imagine this place holds good memories.”

“You’re not wrong in that the memories are not pleasant ones, but I think it’s something I need to do as much as I need to share it."

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know. And I’m fine, mesmel, honest.”

He might claim to be fine, but his face grew paler, which suggested he was anything but fine with it. Still, she did not wish this to devolve into a fight, and so she kept that to herself as they began walking once more. The stone staircase’s condition worsened as they climbed up it, steps missing huge chunks, crumbling into dust along their edges and sides. The air up there was colder, the wind a bit sharper, and the steps themselves had layers of frost in some spots. The chill bit into Nina, who eased her hand from Thorin’s to wrap her arms about herself. “I didn't know it would be so cold,” she murmured. “I would have worn my heavier wrap. There is nothing springlike about this place at all.”

Without hesitation, Thorin swept his own cloak from his shoulders to drape about hers. “I should have warned you. For that, I apologize.”

Hints of earth and leather and soft musk rose from the cloak to tease her nose as the cloak settled gently about her. “Are you not cold?”

“I’m not, actually. Remember, dwarves are bred for the cold. I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He caught her hand in his once more, linking their fingers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And we’re almost there.”

There was where the river widened, flowing behind Ravenhill, where it ended in a high waterfall. It was like being at the edge of the world, and Nina wondered if going over that falls would lead to toppling from Middle Earth itself.

It was so tranquil now, so peaceful, that if she hadn’t known firsthand a battle had taken place anywhere around Erebor, she never would have believed it.

But when she looked more closely, the evidence showed itself in the scarred earth all around—craters from war machines, armor and weapons left behind either because their owner retreated or died, broken arrow shafts, broken blades—all served as reminders of what had happened up here.

“Here is where the battle took place,” Thorin murmured, releasing her hand as he moved closer to the water. “The river was frozen over. Or it was until Azog split it with his flail. Have you ever done battle on an ice floe?”

He said this over his shoulder, as she remained where she was, watching him as he moved closer to the water. His shoulders were stiff, his entire body suggested he wasn't at all comfortable with being there.

So why had he brought her there?

“No, I can’t say I have. We were in Dale when the orc army arrived and you saw what damage it did. They turned trolls into war machines in some of the cruelest ways I’ve ever seen, and I’d never even seen a troll until that point.” She turned to the east, where she could make out Dale just beyond the purple peak of the Lonely Mountain. The city had come so far from that day as well, but as she stared, she could hear the battle sounds that erupted when the orcs set upon them. “They rampaged through the city, as if we weren’t already on our knees to begin with, slaughtering everyone and everything in their paths.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Thranduíl and his army were there as well, but there were just too many orcs. I didn't know elves could die until that day.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “They paid a heavy price as well. We all did.”

“And for what?” She shrugged, falling into step alongside him once more. “I never even knew why the war was being fought. I’d never seen an orc before your company passed through, although I’d heard tell of them over the years.”

He turned toward her. “Like you, they pursed me.”

“You were very popular.”

That earned her a wry laugh and he caught her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’d rather not be so popular, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, they gave me my first taste of battle, so to speak. One fell through the roof of our house and I brained him with a skillet.”

“He deserved it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

His fingers tightened about hers again, but now he turned back to the river, its surface sparkling like the gemstones deep within Erebor under the brilliant sunlight.

“I was so tired of all of it at that point,” he murmured, only barely audible over the rush of water. “We’d been from the Shire, battled trolls before reaching Rivendell, chased by orcs while trying to get to Rivendell, fought with legions of goblins, only to get lost in Mirkwood and imprisoned by the wood elves, before we reached Esgaroth.”

She joined him on the riverbank, slipping her arm through his. “You had to be exhausted by then.”

“We were. Beyond exhausted, even.” He smiled down at her. “And you know what happened after that—we passed through Esgaroth and brought orcs in our wake.”

“I’m very well acquainted with that, but not with what happened here. All we knew was that the army marched your way.”

“I was such a coward,” he replied softly, shaking his head as the breeze picked up to lift his hair away from his face. “Dragon sickness, you know. It caught me and refused to let go of me. My kin had come down from the Iron Hills, only for me to hide in my fortress and refuse to honor my word.”

She’d known this. Everyone in Dale had known, for Thranduíl and Bard had confronted Thorin at Erebor, demanded he honor his word and his promise, only to have him refuse. That was when she’d decided he had to pay for what he’d done to her family, to her friends, to her village.

“I told you about it, remember?”

“I do, yes.”

“Well, I came out of it and decided not only was I not going to go back on my word, but I was going to rid the world of that filth and be done with all of it. I’d betrayed my people, my kin, and those I’d promised and I had a lot to atone for. That was how I’d begin. So, I took my nephews, and Dwalin and went to confront Azog and his son and put an end to their pursuit for once and for all. And here is where that happened.”

“The river was frozen over, but it didn't remain that way. And,” he peered down at her, “have you ever done battle on ice?”

“I can’t say I have, no.”

He lifted his head to turn his gaze back to the water. “The ice shifts constantly beneath your feet once it’s broken up. And I had to use that to my advantage even as it wore me down.”

“But you did.”

He nodded slowly. “I did, but that was because I had decided to give Azog what he wanted. I’d thought he’d already slaughtered Fíli. I didn't know Kíli had even been wounded, never mind as seriously as he had, and I thought that if Kíli lived, that would be enough. It would have to be enough. I owed far too many people far too great a debt.”

“What did you do?”

Thorin eased free from her grasp. “I let him run me through.”

Her belly kinked sharply. “The scars on your stomach?”

He nodded. “It gave me the time I’d need to throw him off and return the favor, which I did, and sent him to his maker. And until now, I’ve avoided coming here. In fact, I’ve tried not to think about what happened here if at all possible, for doing so only makes the nightmares worse.”

“Nightmares?”

He nodded. “What happened here haunts my sleep from time to time, although,” he offered up a hint of a smile, “they tend to leave me in peace when you are asleep beside me.”

“It’s nice to know I’m good for something.”

His hint of a smile becomes a full blown one as he caught her face in his hands. “It goes far beyond sleeping peacefully, you know. And I suppose that I actually owe that filth thanks, for without him and his bounty, you are not standing here now.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Thorin, you should only know how I regret ever approaching him about that bounty.”

“You shouldn’t,” he told her softly, his thumbs moving lightly along her cheekbones, “for I am thankful you did. I love you, Nina. And I would not change how it’s come to that for anything.”

Her throat tightened at the soft emotion in his deep voice, at the soft emotion swirling in his blue eyes. “Thorin—”

“And that is why I wanted to bring you here,” he interrupted gently, his hands falling away from her face as he took a step back. “Remember when you asked me about the rune, the one from my father?”

“I do, of course. It was only last evening, after all.”

“Well, I was supposed have this last evening, but Balin took a bit longer than anticipated.” As he spoke, he drew a small teak box to press into her grasp.

The box was heavier than it looked. “Thorin?”

“Open it, mesmel.”

Her heart sped up as she lifted the lid, which opened without a sound, its hinge perfectly oiled, and as her gaze fell upon the small silver and emerald cube nestled on a bed of rich moss green velvet. “Thorin?”

He smiled. “I know your customs are not ours and mine are not yours, but when a dwarf proposes marriage, he does so by braiding an ornament into his intended’s hair to let everyone else know she is taken. And so, I brought you here, Nina, to ask if you would accept my proposal and allow me to braid this into your hair.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes misting over as she nodded slowly. “I will, yes…”

He smiled as he carefully plucked the cube from the box. It was delicate-looking and exquisite, silver melding with emerald, and inscribed with lettering she couldn’t read, but knew was khuzdul. “I wanted something that matched your eyes,” he said softly, “and found this emerald in the absolute sea of treasure still in Erebor. But, if you don't like it, we can wade out into it and find something else.”

“Bite your tongue, Thorin. This is beautiful and perfect and I love it.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “What does it say?”

“Amrâlimê on one side and nalish on the other. They mean my love and forever. Now,” he traced his fingers along her hair just behind her left ear, “where should I braid this?”

“Is there a specific spot you’re supposed to braid?”

“No. It’s where you wish it to be.”

“Then right there is fine.”

His eyes sparkled like the surface of the river. “Have patience with me, mesmel,” he murmured as he separated the lock in question and began slowly braiding her hair, “for I have never done this before.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His fingers moved with slow precision, the plait in their wake smooth and straight, and when he wove the rune into it, she barely felt the gentle tug on her hair, barely felt the added weight when he stepped back.

She caught the sleek plait in her hand, cradling the rune woven three-quarters of the way into the braid. The sunlight glinted off the silver, threw flashes of light this way and that as she turned it over. “It’s beautiful, Thorin.”

He leaned in to sweep her lips with a gentle kiss, and as he drew back, he whispered, “I’d rather this place hold a good memory instead of the terrible ones.”

A soft laugh bubbled to her lips, her neck bowing when he brushed his lips along the front of it. “Glad I could help?”

A low laugh danced along her skin, his lips warm and soft and slowly moving down into the hollow of her throat. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her tunic, skimming lightly along the curves of her waist, up toward her breasts.

As his thumbs swept along the outer curves, Nina pulled back. “Here? In the open?”

Thorin drew back, his eyes smoky sapphire. “No one ever comes here, mesmel, and this would make for the sweetest memory I could have of this forsaken place.”

Nina smiled, heat flaring through her as he swept her tunic over her head and let it fall to the grass behind her. Her teasing response died on her lips, her hands tightening against his back, pulling him toward her. It was a small sacrifice to make.

With the breeze having died down, near the river was no where near as cold as it had been earlier, and the sun’s rays warmed over Nina’s skin as she curled around Thorin, her right leg thrown over his, her arm about his waist, her head resting against his chest. They lay atop her cloak, covered snugly by his and the birds singing softly in the treetops along the far bank, along with the water’s soft rush, were white noise that added to her contented drowsiness. She cared not if anyone happened upon them, as nothing could possibly disturb the peacefulness of lying there entwined with him.

Thorin’s fingers swept lightly along her hair, his heartbeat slowing beneath her ear as he murmured, “Maralmizi, mesmel.”

She smiled, her fingertips sweeping lightly through the soft hair layered across his warm skin. “Maralmizu,” she whispered back. She continued her perusal of him, letting her fingers brush lower still, along his hip.

Back up.

A low laugh rumbled through him. “We should be heading back.”

“Must we? I like it here.”

“As do I, for the first time in a long time. But,” his fingers went still, “I should like to share our news. And it will grow far too cold to be comfortable before much longer, as spring seems to forget at times that it’s arrived.”

She pulled away to sit up. “People will wonder, you know. And if someone should find out the truth about me… wouldn’t that be disastrous?”

Grass rustled softly and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as Thorin snaked an arm about her waist and his lips brushed over her right shoulder blade. “We will cross that bridge when we reach it,” he murmured before the tip of his tongue brushed her skin to send a shiver along her spine.

She fought off a shiver, the sensations he sent rippling through her heady and sweet, and she let her head loll back against him when he kissed along her shoulder. Her eyelids grew heavy, her breath harder to catch with each successive caress. He trailed those teasing kisses along her shoulder, along the curve of her neck, easing her down into the grass once more as his lips met hers.

Nina eased her arms about his neck, her lips parting to allow his tongue to tease hers, her legs parting to allow him to settle between her thighs. The sunlight warmed their skin, the light breeze danced in its wake, and she didn't care one bit if anyone happened upon them now, didn't care if anyone ever found out the truth about her past, about how she came to meet Thorin. None of it mattered when he now moved down along her throat, down into the valley between her breasts.

His beard scrape sensually against her skin, his lips gentle as they closed about her left nipple to draw into the wet heat of his mouth, Her back bowed at the fire ribboning through her, her hips rocking up to meet him, her inhale quick and sharp as he slid into the dampness of her arousal. The silken glide sent tingles rushing through her, made the gentle ache of desire stronger.

“I love you,” he whispered, lifting his head to regard her with blazing sapphire eyes that held more than a hint of mischief when he flicked the tip of his tongue against the tight bead of her nipple.

“I love you—oh!” She couldn't hold back her gasp as his fingers slid along her inner thigh and he eased one inside her. She tightened about him, her body humming with each teasing stroke, each delicious swirl.

Her eyes were so heavy lidded, but she forced them to remain open, to hold his smoldering gaze as he moved lower now, spreading teasing kisses along her belly. Down over her hip.

His finger slid free and she sank her hands into his hair as his mouth closed over her, his tongue slipping into the delicious ache between her thighs where his fingers had been only moments ago.

Fire erupted, wound and twisted through her as he teased her, as he swept his tongue along her aching flesh, swirled it about the bead nestled within. Her hips moved of their own, meeting him, her body trembling as he brought her to the edge of sweet madness and held her there, relief so close and yet so far from her.

Her finger twisted in his hair, the knots deep within her core so tight and fragile, she knew they’d shatter at any moment. Heat swept through her, tingling and powerful and threatening to drive her completely insane if he didn't shatter her already.

Then he did.

“Thorin!” Her cry rang out loudly enough to send the birds skyward in a flutter of wings and song as those knots burst and wickedly sweet fire poured into her entire body. She throbbed around him, hips snapping forward to grind against him to increase her pleasure, to draw it out until her mind went blank and white lights danced before her eyes.

Everything inside her turned over, and when he drew away and a moment later, breached her to thrust hard, she melted around him.

His thrusts came swift and powerful and unrelenting, the sensations almost more than she could bear as he quickly brought her back to the summit, leaving her clinging to him, breathless and pleading for him to shatter her again.

He obliged, his low moan rolling across the meadow, across the river, as he shuddered, arched hard, and came with her, each feeding the other, pleasure feasting on pleasure to surge through them at the same time.

Peace reigned then, as Thorin sank gently against her, his heart thundering, the reverberations thrumming through her as well. His breath came in hot blasts against her neck, his voice husky as he whispered, “Amrâlimê…”

She smiled, letting her eyes close for a moment as she tried to catch her breath as well. “Thorin…”

“I care not what anyone thinks about how we met,” he whispered after a few minutes, lifting his head to smile down at her. “Because it no longer matters.”

“Perhaps not to you, but—”

He cut her off with a slow, deep kiss that had her toes curling and her blood warming again. And for the moment, it didn't matter. Hopefully it never would, but Nina had the feeling her hope was misplaced.

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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