#The cerulean forest drew me in with how beautiful it was and i was left so sad with finding p much nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wallgirl · 3 years

Text

The Little Nereid Part 3

3600 words, part three of a six seven part fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

---

The next morning, Dynamene rose reluctantly with a sigh. She was dreading the day, although she knew that Hera’s visit would be largely uneventful, at least as far as the Nereids were concerned. The weight in her chest that had dissolved along with her corporeal form in the ocean the night before had seemingly returned whilst she slept. She rubbed below her collarbone, trying to massage the feeling away. Actaea was right; there was nothing to worry about. The visit would go the same as the several dozen that had preceded it. Hera would arrive, trade smarting words with Poseidon, then leave a few hours later in a huff. No skin off their backs.

She finished fastening her peplos with the pins gifted to her by Actaea before heading to the door. As she grasped the doorknob, she became aware of a strangely light feeling on her wrist. Looking down, Dynamene realized that she’d forgotten to put on the bracelet Poseidon had given her. She hesitantly looked back at her jewelry stand where the bracelet sat on top in a place of honor. Should she wear it? Maybe it wasn’t appropriate to wear such an exquisite accessory every day.

But Dynamene was unable to resist the bracelet’s gleam, and she hurried back to slip it on with careful fingers before dashing back out the door.

Most of her sisters were already present at the dining hall, yawning and chattering over their breakfast of fruit and cakes. “Dynamene!” Eione called, waving a bunch of grapes. “We were wondering where you were! Ianeira was just about to have me fetch you. Come sit, I saved you some grapes!”

Dynamene flitted over and drew up a chair, allowing her sister to pile her plate for her. “And this,” Eione finished, plopping a pomegranate on top. “Last one. There you are; eat up.”

Dynamene poked at the pomegranate with a sigh. Of course, it would be a pomegranate, one of Lady Hera’s symbols. She had just begun to pull it apart when Ianeira stood up at the head of the table.

“Hera is due to arrive in an hour. We will greet her per usual at the deck and escort her to Lord Poseidon’s quarters. After that, they are to have complete privacy. Poseidon will send for us when Lady Hera is ready to be escorted back to her chariot.”

“We never end up escorting her, anyhow,” Eione commented after a hearty gulp of wine. “She just storms out without warning.”

“Ideally, we will escort her,” Ianeira amended plainly. “Until then, as we completed the cleaning last night, we have some time to ourselves. We will meet on the deck to await Hera’s arrival in forty-five minutes.”

The rest of the sisters murmured in acknowledgment before turning back to their plates. Dynamene was eyeing the pomegranate’s innards with distaste when a familiar touch fell upon her shoulder. “Are you eating that with your mouth or your eyes, Dyna?” Actaea teased her.

“Good morning, Actaea. It’s just that I could’ve done without another reminder of Hera,” Dynamene murmured.

Eione’s sharp ears caught it anyways. “Sorry, Dynamene,” she cuffed her good-naturedly on the arm. “I didn’t know you were dreading her visit.”

“That’s what I came to ask you about, actually, Dynamene,” Actaea ventured. “Are you feeling better this morning? I know you were… worried about today last night.”

“I am,” Dynamene forced an optimistic smile. “I guess I’ve just been too tense recently. I know Hera’s visit will go over just fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Actaea said, hugging her. “Alright, I’ll see you later.”

“Yes,” Dynamene nodded. Actaea took her leave, and she allowed her shoulders to fall once more.

“Dynamene, can I talk to you for a moment?” Ianeira called from further down the table.

“Of course,” Dynamene rose, glad to leave the pomegranate where it lay on her plate. “What is it?”

“Now that you’re of age, you’ll be expected to be in the rest of the group when we escort Lady Hera,” Ianeira explained. “It’s nothing difficult, as you’ll recall. We just line up, greet her, and walk her to Poseidon’s sitting room. As the eldest sister, I’ll be doing the talking.”

Dynamene stared in shock. She had forgotten that she’d gotten out of seeing Hera, at least close-up, in the past due to her young age. But Ianeira was right. Now that she was an adult in society’s eyes, she would be expected to join her older sisters in greeting Hera as a proper lady. “I see,” she said, unable to contain her reluctance.

“It’ll be just fine,” Ianeira soothed her. “We’ll all be right there with you. It’ll only take a few minutes, and chances are Lady Hera won’t speak to anyone besides me. You’ll be alright.”

Dynamene took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. That was right; she would be there among the rest of her sisters. Hera wouldn’t even interact with her. Surely she could handle something this simple.

And yet, far too soon, she found herself back on the deck, just as spotless and luminescent as they’d left it the night before, along with her sisters. She had resumed twisting her peplos with nervous hands. They had formed two lines on either side of the luxurious red carpet that had been rolled out to the grand doors, with Ianeira at their head, as the eldest, to greet Hera.

There was the faint sound of rushing wind in the distance, and all fifty sisters immediately positioned themselves, hands clasped and heads facing forward. A speck appeared in the distance, rapidly growing larger as it approached the palace at break-neck speed. It was quickly revealed to be a large golden chariot with intricate scenes of forests and flora carved into it. Pulling the chariot with all their might was four peacocks, each many times bigger than the peacocks typically found in the mortal world. They gave a loud cry to signal the arrival of their mistress, leading the chariot to a smooth and graceful descent towards the deck.

Hera herself stood holding the reins firmly in one hand, lifting her free arm to signal the peacocks to further slowdown. Her long chestnut hair streamed loosely from a braided updo on her head, and her peplos decorated with gold and lavender embroidery billowed in the wind. The sisters immediately dropped into deep curtsies as the chariot slid to rapid halt before them.

“Hail, Nereids,” Hera addressed them. She tied the reins to the chariot before dismounting with a graceful jump. Dynamene always forgot just how tall and strong Hera was between visits. The goddess stood at a rather imposing six feet, and her arms were well-toned. The features of her face were proud with full lips and defined cheekbones, every inch the image of a strong Greek matriarch.

“Greetings, Lady Hera,” Ianeira spoke, head bowed. “We are glad to receive you on this beautiful day.”

“Yes, it was fine weather for flying,” Hera replied, taking in the impressive sight of all fifty Nereid sisters lined up perfectly. “Zeus has been in a fine mood lately. We shouldn’t see a storm for quite a while, I say.”

“Lord Poseidon awaits in his quarters, my lady. Shall we?”

“Yes. My brother is not known for his patience, is he? Let us go.” Hera followed Ianeira down the carpet that led the way into the palace, and the rest of the Nereids proceeded after in their two lines.

“Hm. Not much has changed since my last visit, I see,” Hera commented, taking in the palace’s interior. “Same marble, same furniture.”

“I daresay Lord Poseidon’s tastes are very stalwart. We do admire his practical taste,” Ianeira replied dutifully.

“There comes a point, in matters such as these, when practicality becomes monotony,” Hera scoffed. “Perhaps I could convince him to add a dash of color. Surely he wouldn’t find cerulean an offensive hue.”

They had almost completed their ascent to the highest tower, where Poseidon’s quarters were located, when Hera came to a halt. “One moment,” she interjected, turning around to face the Nereids.

“Yes, my lady?” Ianeira asked.

“Hm,” Hera took them in with her sharp eyes. “The lines are uneven this time. I nearly missed it. You, and then forty-nine in the two lines… Who is the new maiden that makes the numbers uneven?”

Dynamene’s heart froze, as she immediately knew Hera was talking about her. Oh, why did Hera have to take notice of her today?

“Our youngest sister, Dynamene, has joined our ranks at last. She had her coming-of-age birthday just yesterday, in fact.”

“Dynamene?” Hera replied, as if trying to remember the name.

Dynamene knew she was expected to come forward so Hera could pick her out of the rest of the Nereids, and she did so with a reluctant step. “I am here, my lady.”

“Dynamene.” Hera scrutinized her briefly. “Well, then…” Hera rose one mighty arm into the air, and there was a powerful clap reminiscent of thunder. When she lowered her hand again, she held something in it. “Step forward, maiden Dynamene,” she commanded, holding the object out towards her.

Dynamene stepped quickly to her, eyes filled with curiosity. Hera handed her the object she had summoned.

It was a gilded pomegranate, wrapped with a golden ribbon.

“In celebration of your coming-of-age,” Hera declared, looking down at Dynamene. “Consider this my blessing; that whatever union you should desire, and whatever union you should find yourself in, will be one of immense joy. Embrace your femininity, little Nereid; be true and loyal, and your union will be fruitful.”

Dynamene blushed, holding the pomegranate tight. “I… I will, Lady Hera. I have only my deepest thanks to offer. I will treasure your blessing always.” She bowed deeply.

“Be humble always, young Dynamene,” Hera finished, dismissing her with a nod. “Now, let us continue. I’m sure my brother grows more impatient by the minute.”

Ianeira continued to lead them on, and it was just a few more hallways until they had reached the bottom of the stairs leading to those majestic mahogany doors.

“You may leave me here, Nereids,” Hera said. “I will take myself the rest of the way.”

“We wish you a happy visit, Lady Hera,” Ianeira bid her. Hera strode up the stairs and pushed through the doors. How Dynamene longed to see what was past them. Surely Lord Poseidon was waiting at the table in the sitting room, head resting against one hand as always, cool eyes gazing into space.

“Dynamene,” a sharp whisper brought her back to her senses. Her sisters were all gazing at her in awe; more precisely, at the pomegranate she held in her hands.

“A blessing from Hera? What luck,” Callianassa sighed. “She may have quite the temper, but I suppose even she has her moments of generosity.”

“How unfair,” Thoe pouted. “Some of us came-of-age before we even came to serve at this palace. Where’s our blessings?”

Dynamene frowned. She did appreciate Hera’s words, but the idea of any union for her seemed unconceivably far away. She rose the pomegranate up to better appreciate its sleek golden surface, so smooth and glossy that she could make out her own reflection. “If only it did me any good,” she whispered back to herself.

A few hours later, Dynamene was weaving on the balcony, doing her best to calm herself with the focus of her work and the warmth of the sunshine. The sound of a rather harsh melody coming from behind made her stop and turn around.

“Sorry if I’m distracting you, Dyna,” Eione sighed, lowering a reed pipe from her mouth. “Callianassa’s been teaching me to play, but I guess I’m not quite there yet.”

“No, it’s alright. I wouldn’t mind some company, actually,” Dynamene grinned as she turned back to her loom.

Eione hopped atop the balcony’s edge, settling in for a good view of the ocean and the rocky mountains that made up the other side of the landscape. “Hera’s been in there talking to Poseidon for a while now, hasn’t she? Their visits almost never reach the three-hour mark.”

“Has it been that long already?” Dynamene asked. Perhaps her anxiety had made the time go by faster rather than slower.

“I suppose they’re actually having a good visit for once,” Eione quipped, cracking a mischievous grin.

As if to contradict her, the distant sound of stone cracking somewhere above rang. The sisters tensed, waiting to see if another part of the palace would collapse this time. After several seconds, Eione sighed and leaned back against the wall again. “Ah, I had to say something,” she sighed, rising her pipe back to her mouth.

But Dynamene’s eyes were still searching the palace above, her expression wrought with concern. “You don’t think they’re going to actually fight, do you?”

“Them, fight? No,” Eione shook her frizzy locks. “Hera’d sooner lay a golden egg in front of all of Olympus than go toe-to-toe with Poseidon. The ocean is right there, after all.” She paused for a moment, seemingly considering the pipe in her hands. “And Poseidon would sooner do the same then come to blows with Hera. It’d require too much effort.” With that, she continued to practice the melody she’d been playing earlier.

“Mm,” Dynamene responded. She still couldn’t bring herself to look away from the highest tower. A sudden, crazy idea sprang to her mind, one that she knew she should barely entertain. But she was anxious once again, and curious on top of it. She looked down at the loom, tentatively weighing her possible choices. She abruptly stood. “You know, I don’t think being at the palace is going to soothe my nerves any until Lady Hera leaves. I’m going to go for a walk along the shoreline.”

“Aye,” Eione nodded assent. “Best thing for calming the nerves. Be safe!”

“Don’t worry about me!” Dynamene called back as she left the balcony. “I’m never one for risky decisions!”

Never, except for, perhaps, what she was going to do next.

Some time later, Dynamene knelt before one of the vents that allowed the seawater they cleaned the floors with to exit the palace. The vents led to a system of large pipes that, although they were meant to only lead water down and away, connected every area of the palace. One of those pipes connected to a vent in Lord Poseidon’s quarters; more specifically, his sitting room. Dynamene removed the grate from the vent and peered cautiously inside. The pipes were still thoroughly wet from the cleaning that had been done the day before. Leaning in, she could hear the sound of water dripping from somewhere below.

She drew in a shaky breath. Was she really about to do this? She couldn’t even imagine the consequences of getting caught. She shuddered at what punishment might await her if she was found out.

But, far more than being scared, she desperately wanted to know what Lord Poseidon and Lady Hera were talking about. Their conversation must be getting heated if something had been broken, as the noise from earlier seemed to indicate.

Knowing was the only thing that stood a chance of easing the anxiety in her head and the weight in her heart.

Making sure that no one was nearby, she quickly stripped and stowed her clothes in a nearby table drawer. This time, she reluctantly left her bracelet too; it would do no good to lose it or get it caught somewhere now.

She stood before the vent and closed her eyes in concentration. Her body began to drip into water, starting with her fingers and toes and slowly moving up her limbs and the trunk of her body. Having completely changed into liquid form, she entered the pipe and scaled the water inside the pipes up towards Poseidon’s rooms. It was pitch dark, and she could only guess at which way to go, flowing from one dead-end to the next. After a few claustrophobic minutes, she reached the last junction and rose upwards towards a block of light. This was surely the right vent; she could hear the familiar powerful cadences of Hera’s voice.

Her sea spirit self was not accustomed to fighting gravity for so long, and she knew it wouldn’t be long until she had exhausted all of her energy. With no other option, she reverted back to her human form, curled up just out of sight from the opening of the vent. She took a moment to catch her breath, cold water dripping down her bare skin, before stilling herself as much as possible and listening in.

“…thousand years and you have selected no one, not even a lover.” Hera’s shadow paced back and forth across the light of the vent. “I have introduced you to countless maidens. Goddesses and princesses alike have shown interest in becoming the lady of your house. And you say nothing.”

As expected, Poseidon was silent. Dynamene crept forward just close enough to see into the room, and brushed her wet bangs away from her eyes. Poseidon remained seated at the table, still as always, while Hera paced and gestured before him. Her chair lay in pieces next to the far wall; its destruction was no doubt the source of the crash heard earlier.

“You live here, with fifty eligible maidens! Sisters from a respected bloodline, and sea nymphs on top! But you choose none of them either. None of them! You live with fifty unmarried young women, and not one has tempted you, Poseidon? Have you wronged Aphrodite, that the concept completely escapes you?!”

“The concept of marriage is well-known to me, by the example set by you and your husband, among others,” Poseidon replied lowly.

Hera either hadn’t noticed the sly insult or chose to ignore it, because she continued on as if he’d never spoken. “Here I was, thinking that perhaps you were waiting for one of the Nereids to come-of-age! But the last of the fifty Nereids has finally become a woman, and you won’t have her either!”

Dynamene stifled a gasp, biting her knuckle. The conversation had turned to include her.

“The Nereids serve me, and in return, I shelter them. It is a transaction, not a relationship.” Poseidon’s cold words slapped Dynamene, and she swallowed back a growing lump in her throat. Dynamene knew Poseidon was close to no one and had nobody that he considered dear to him. But the fact that after a thousand years together he considered his relationship with the Nereids one of pure business stung.

“Don’t act so sly,” Hera shouted back. “It was I who put it in old Proteus’s head that he ought to send his daughters to serve you. Did you think the fact that fifty eligible women came to serve you was a coincidence?”

Dynamene’s eyes darted rapidly back and forth between the two angry gods. Proteus, Old Man of the Sea, was the father of the Nereids, kind and wise. Surely he must have seen through Hera’s suggestion to her ulterior motives.

“My arrangement with Proteus regarding the servitude of his daughters is none of your concern,” Poseidon said with finality. Dynamene couldn’t see his face from where she hid beyond the grate, but she knew him well enough to know what expression he must be wearing. She shuddered, picturing his icy glare.

“Mark my words, brother, this won’t be the last you hear from me on this,” Hera spat, pointing at Poseidon with an accusatory finger. “The other gods will look down on our family, whispering nonsense about the strange, solitary Olympian who won’t spare a single glance at a woman. I won’t stand for it. In one month’s time, the council of the Greek pantheon will be held once again. I will arrange for you to meet with a suitable goddess then. Woe betide you if you fail to show or embarrass me once more.” With that, Hera stormed towards the doors, throwing them open hard enough that they crashed against the walls behind them, and swept out.

There was a heavy silence in the room. Poseidon didn’t move, not one inch, from where he sat in his chair. After several seconds, he rose and approached the destroyed chair. With a sweep of his arm, the chair was fixed and upright. He remained looking down at it for a moment before taking his trident from the rack on the wall and stepping out onto his balcony. A wave of water seemingly appeared from nowhere, enveloping his form. When it had dissolved, he was gone.

Dynamene finally let out a ragged exhale. This one was not of relief, however, but of searing pain. A sharp, warm tingle came to her eyes, and despite all of her best efforts, she began to cry. Her lower lip trembling silently, she withdrew from the grate and melted back into the water, flowing back to the room she had come from.

Why? Why do his words hurt me so much? None of this is unexpected. Of course he would say that. It is Lord Poseidon, after all. So close, and yet so distant. He was always this way. I know this. I’ve known this for a thousand years.

But it hurts. It hurts so much.

Her tears intermingled with the seawater until it was impossible to tell them apart.

---

Author’s notes: Oh, Dynamene, what are you feeling? What are you thinking? And why Poseidon, of all people? Well, it’ll make a lot more sense in the next part as our leads have their first meaningful next interaction. Also teenagers am I right

I love writing Hera, she’s just such a forceful personality. She’s not a bad person, but she does have her own priorities, just like the other Olympians.

Also, the vents in the palace weren’t originally made for draining cleaning water. They were installed to prevent flooding in the palace in case of a storm coming in from the ocean. The Nereids have utilized them in their daily work rather creatively.

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #poseidon x oc #fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

blueandyellow1 · 5 years

Text

Blue’s Dragon: Chapter 4

Ao3 link.

Blue watched in horror as rows of gleaming, armor clad knights appeared, crowding around her.

“Wait!” she screamed, panic making her voice shrill.

A knight approached her, flipping open his helmet. “Fair lady, have you seen a foul beast? My men heard the roars of a vicious dragon from our camp.”

“I--what?” The princess stared back at him wide-eyed. She whipped her head behind her, scanning the clearing for golden scales. Finding none, she turned back to the knight. “No, I was simply enjoying a stroll through the forest with my grandmother, but she wandered off. Have you seen her?”

The knight gave her a quizzical look. “I have not. What is her name, young damsel?”

Shooting another glance behind her shoulders, she responded evenly, “Yellow.”

Another confused glance from the knight. “I have not seen an old lady. May luck be with you in your search.” He turned to his fellow knights, yelling out to them, “Men, onwards! We cannot rest until the vile creature is captured, and its head severed!”

Cheers erupted from the ranks and Blue felt her shoulders sag in relief. The knights raced past her, and she looked after them, wondering where the dragon had really manage to escape to.

She stood in their wake, calling out to her, “Yellow? Yellow! Where are you?”

Tears began to gather in her eyes, as she realized that her friend was in grave danger. She whimpered, hoping against hope that the dragon would manage to outsmart the men.

Oh, but she’s so large, there’s nowhere for her to hide between the thin trees, she thought wildly.

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by yelling in the distance. Heart pounding, she raced towards the commotion.

…

By the time she reached the group of knights again, her breath was heaving from the run. She dashed into through the circle, to the middle where a few knights had dismounted.

She recognized the knight that had talked to her, he had flipped his helmet up again. He was yelling something to a woman, who he held up with one gloved fist.

Blue pushed past the knights, shoving a few to get a better look. She took in the sight, her eyes widening in confusion. Was this woman watching us? she thought to herself.

The woman, who she now realized stood taller than the knight, was thin and angular. She wore a thin leather jerkin, but seemed to be missing the white cotton shirt that usually accompanied it. Her bare arms were lean, but muscular, one raised up in the knight’s grasp, the other curled into a fist near her chest.

Her face, as angular as her shoulders, sported high cheekbones, accented by her short cropped hair. Sandy blonde eyebrows, just a shade darker than the locks on her head drew angrily downwards and her eyes narrowed underneath. Blue couldn’t see her eyes from her position in the crowd, but she was sure they were smoldering if the snarl across the woman’s mouth was anything to judge by.

“I told you, I have not seen anything!” she yelled, yanking her wrist from the knight’s grip. Her voice was commanding, and Blue wondered if she was a noblewoman. Though, she couldn’t see any jewelry, or any other indication of high class.

Blue watched as the woman stepped back into a fighting position, and noticed her bare feet, digging into the grass. How odd.

The knight scowled at the woman. “Fine,” he spat, “but run back to the village, to your duties you are most likely shirking.”

A motion was made with his left hand, and all the knights mounted their steeds once more. Shooting another glare at the mysterious woman, he called for them to move on.

Their horses thundered away, leaving Blue exposed. The woman turned to her, regarding her with a guarded look.

“Who are you? Were you following me and my...friend?” the princess demanded, throwing a hand on her hip.

The woman only looked at her, and Blue suddenly felt self-conscious. Now that they were closer, Blue could see the clearly defined muscles in her body, the curves of her hips, the fullness of her lips. Freckles peppered her cutting cheekbones, and across the bridge of her nose. Honey-colored eyes bore into her, and although they stayed trained on her face, Blue felt ashamed of her slightly ragged hair and torn nightgown.

Blue was sure she was gawking, the woman was just so gorgeous, unlike anyone she had ever seen before. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop, drinking in the beauty before her.

Finally, the woman spoke, her voice low and husky. “Why are you staring at me?”

Flushing at the question, Blue stammered, “S-sorry!”

“You didn’t answer my question!” The blonde woman said, her voice cutting. She hadn’t moved her gaze from the princess’s face, nor had she lessened its intensity.

Mind racing, Blue wracked her brain, trying to come up with an excuse. In the end, the truth tumbled out, much to her chagrin. “You’re just so beautiful!”

Hands flying to cover her mouth, Blue looked horrified, her face turning a bright red.

To her surprise, the tall woman laughed, a hearty sound coming deep from her chest. She doubled over, wheezing as she leaned on her legs. Blue noted how her face lit up with the softer expression, her heart nearly bursting.

When the blonde finally caught her breath, the grin stayed softly on her lips. Her sun kissed cheeks were now red, although it was equally likely to be from her laughing fit than from bashfulness.

A grin appeared on the smaller girl’s lips, unable to contain her joy. “Who are you?” she breathed, stepping in closer.

The smile disappeared from the other woman’s lips and Blue frowned. She searched the alluring face in front of her, looking for answers. When she found none, she opened her mouth to ask again.

Then she noticed the necklace around the woman’s neck. It must have slipped out during the laughing fit, when she had bent over. It glistened in the sun.

Blue’s cerulean eyes widened, and fear sprang in the amber eyes across from her. “Yellow!?”

The woman took a step back, suddenly shy. A hand reached up to rub the back of her neck. Still, she was silent.

Realization crashed through Blue’s mind. The same intense gaze, the curt speech, the golden hue. She ran forwards, wrapping her arms around the strong body, noting the same warmth radiating from the soft skin. Blue buried her head in the taller woman’s chest, feeling Yellow’s chin on the top of her head.

“How? You can turn into a human? Is this just a glamor, or did you really shapeshift to look like this?” Her questions rolled out, muffled by Yellow’s leather jerkin.

At first the other woman just stood there, her arms out to her side. But after a few moments, she wrapped her arms stiffly around Blue’s smaller body. “I didn’t shapeshift. I am human. Half.”

The bitterness, still just as cutting in her smoother human voice, caused Blue to pull away slightly. “You’re a half human? I didn’t know that was possible!”

Yellow’s body stiffened, all the muscles in her body hard. Blue rested her head on Yellow’s chest and sighed. “Is that why you kept saying you’re not a real dragon? And why you have to prove yourself to your parents...parent and king?”

“Yes.” The submission in her voice made Blue look up, meeting Yellow’s eyes.

She felt herself staring again, her heart so full and light. Not only was this woman stunning, she was also her friend, and they were safe from danger.

“Will you let me go?” Yellow asked, her cheeks dusting red.

Blue giggled at the question, thinking of a few days previous. She tightened her grip around the larger woman. “No.”

An evil grin spread across Blue’s face. She just gazed into Yellow’s eyes, savoring her warmth. Her heart was so full and soon she was giggling again, unable to contain her joy. Her eyes closed, and she felt fuzzy joy swirling around her head. Then Yellow’s lips were pressing against hers and--

Yellow’s lips were pressed against hers.

Recoiling slightly, Blue’s eyes flew open.

“I’m s-sorry,” Yellow began, warm body moving away from her. “Another one of my flaws, I--mmpf!”

Blue pushed her lips back against Yellow’s, deepening the kiss until they both had to gasp for breath. “I told you these ‘flaws’ aren’t as bad as you think,” she growled.

A gasp left the taller woman’s lips and then they were pressing back against hers. They embraced once more, until she felt Yellow wince and stiffen.

“What’s wrong?” Blue asked, her voice still husky with emotion.

The look she was given was gentle, if pained. “My shoulder.”

That snapped her back into reality, and Blue frowned. “It was a terrible wound, may I see? Again?”

The younger princess was delighted that Yellow only hesitated a second before pulling off her jerkin. Delight faded to concern when she saw the wound taking up most of her back, wrapping around over her shoulder. “Do you have any more of that salve?”

Blonde locks bobbed as Yellow shook her head.

While Blue was trying to remember what the healers put in their healing pastes, Yellow said softly, “I can’t change to my dragon form, the wound will only grow larger. Your kingdom is days away by human foot.”

“More time with you, then,” Blue said lightly, grabbing a strong hand. “We can find a healer in the next village we come across.”

Yellow hummed, and for the first time, she appeared content. Blue tugged her to the grass, leaning into her good shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have two pillows and blankets left in your necklace?”

“Many pillows, but only one blanket.” The golden pendant glowed, and the items appeared before them.

“Then we’ll just have to share,” Blue said, not at all disappointed. She grabbed the duvet, flopping down onto the cushions. Yellow laid down next to her and Blue snuggled into her, feeling strong arms wrap around her. The now familiar warmth radiating from her body instantly soothed her mind, bringing sleep like a wave crashing over her.

“Goodnight, Princess,” Blue murmured happily.

The light chuckle and honeyed words were the last thing she heard before falling asleep.

“Goodnight, Blue.”

#my writing #bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #steven universe #steven universe fanfic #steven universe au #Blue's Dragon

26 notes · View notes

treytheyouthguy · 4 years

Text

From the Journal of Craven

(I’ve recently gotten to be apart of a new D&D Group from the Geeks Under Grace Community, and one of our players wrote a summary of the first session from the perspective of her character, and it got me wanting to attempt it myself. So here goes nothing!)

Name: Craven

Race: Kalashtar

Class: Barbarian (Eventually Path of the Totem Spirit)

Age: 25

Alignment: Lawful Good

Appearance: 6' 1", Dark Brown Shaggy Faux-Hawk Hair, Medium Length Well Kept Beard, Glowing Cerulean Eyes, Pale Skin

Fun Facts: Often will speak telepathically to strangers before meeting them to scare them. Has been apart of civilized society, but is somewhat socially awkward and often described as "literal". Sometimes talks to himself, or at least seemingly to himself.

It seems my travels have brought me to a city known as Galandel.

Usarus has led me to believe that we will find the help we need here, though he is getting less and less helpful. I swear, sometimes I think he likes to watch me get into strange circumstances and awkward situations.

I stumbled upon a scuffle in an alley involving a devil girl and a hooded figure. I attempted to ask the devil girl if she needed assistance, but I don’t think she likes intrusions of the mind, because she screamed at me in devil tongue.

Then, almost out of nowhere, a man claiming to be a champion of a deity named Tier? Tyr? Tire? named Valzan. He honestly looked just like the heroes from the book of stories father would read to me. The stories seemed to become even more real when he began to interrogate a ruffian. I surmised that the evil-doer was there to apprehend the devil girl.

Valzan seemed eager to help these two alley dwellers for some reason. The Devil-Girl seemed even more uneasy, yelling and calling the villain a “Slavers Lapdog”, which I couldn’t help but chuckle at. I once again attempted to establish a telepathic connection, but to no avail; the naughty nair-do-weller ignored my plea and was bent on making things worse. Two more bad men came from out of the shadows, and it was clear that this group was in for a fight.

I drew the blade that father gifted me as I became a man. I couldn’t help but think that he and mother would be proud of me: though I didn’t know these individuals, I was upholding the virtues instilled in me as a child.

I pulled my first swing, merely attempting to show that I meant business, but as I missed, I could feel Usarus’ rage coming over me. Father always taught me that if there was a way to settle a score without shedding blood, then to do so. However, the Spirit of the Forest was not as honorable, or at least not since the injustices that has fallen upon the Forest back home. His anger and fury bubbled like the stew from Mother’s cauldron.

The Heroic Valzan and the Angry Devil-Girl aided in the fight, and the Hooded Mystery Woman made sure to stand her ground, protecting the devil girl at all cost.

I could feel my body tensing up and my eyes radiating even brighter. My hands clenched the hilt of my blade ever-so-tightly, and I grit my teeth so tightly my gums began to bleed. I raised my blade high above my head, and I could hear my own voice inter-mingling with my Usarus’ as I bellowed, “YOU HAVE ANGERED THE SPIRIT OF THE FOREST!” My blade cut into the man in front me as if Usarus’ own razor sharp claw was mawing him. His torso was cleft in twain, and his blood sprayed across the brick walls between us.

I stood there, panting. I turned to see the spiritual visage of Usarus; he looked at the carnage and snorted, and then looked at me and nodded. It was as if the bloodshed pleased him.

I know that Usarus isn’t evil; he’s a protector. He can be gentle and kindhearted. He can even be playful. But lately his anger has overcome him, and he is becoming vengeful and stoic.

The other dispatched the other foe, and only one assailant remained. I had finally calmed down and rejoined reality.

Valzan literally scared the piss out of the man. I know for sure it was piss, I could smell it. But the fool decided to run. The Champiom Valzan took off and I followed. I liked his style, and desperately wanted to see how this ended.

By the time I caught up to them, the fool-hearty thug had gone limp on the ground, defeated.

Valzan complimented me, and I him. He then asked if I would take the bow shell of a man to something called the Church of Tyr. I asked what a Tyr was, but he just looked at me puzzled. I mean, I’d heard of churches, but had never been to one. Valzan was heading back to find the girls from the alley. I even tried asking the criminal now in a headlock under my arm who Tyr was, but he didn’t bother to answer.

Upon reaching the church, I was greeted by an elven woman named Alyssia. I took the man down stairs to the basement as instructed by Valzan and found out from Alyssia that apparently Tyr was a deity that she and Valzan worshipped. I had no idea that people worshipped deities! The people of my village thanked and served the Spirits like Usarus. I turned to ask Usarus about the deities, but he still wasn’t very talkative. I’m beginning to be worried about him at how long these bouts of stoicism were lasting.

Eventually my fateful allies made it to the Church and Alyssia offered us food. FOOD! Glorious food. The Devil-Girl, who was acting suspiciously cat-like, clearly wanted to eat, but was extremely timid. I tried offering her my father’s jerky, but she wasn’t having it. In retrospect, I may have knelt down and gotten a little too close when I offered.

After some convincing, the Hooded Mystery Woman convinced the Devil-Girl to eat. Later Valzan, the Mystery Woman, and myself descended to the basement to question our “guest”. Valzan asked if I wanted to be a “good cop or bad cop”, but I had no idea what that meant. He then asked if I wanted to hurt the captured criminal, and I obliged. I’m not a bad guy, but this man clearly was, and I’m pretty decent at hurting things.

Valzan poured water on the unconscious fellow, so I poured the whole barrel. Apparently that was not the way to go. Valzan payed the man a compliment, so I called him beautiful. Again, that was wrong. I could hear Usarus laughing at me, so I decided to let Valzan take the lead. The Hooded Mystery Woman held back, just watching.

The man was hired to “bring the Tiefling back to his employee”, but she had fought back and escaped. Fiery, that one, which is funny, what with her being a Devil-Girl and all. The man pleaded with Valzan and had decided to repent of his crimes and wanted to serve his time and be turned over to the authorities. I was stunned, but held my tongue, when Valzan went along with this. I mean, in the Forest, justice is decided by the strong and able creatures, and those who were weak and in the wrong suffered. But, Valzan was showing mercy. It was refreshing, honestly. I had shed quite a bit of blood in the name of “Justice”. So Valzan took the man to the proper authorities.

Upon his returning, Valzan and Alyssia explained what this church was, a place for the wronged where they could find peace and justice. They offered to let the Devil-Girl a home there. They assured her that she would be safe, fed, clothed, and that she would have her justice. The Devil-Girl seemed uneasy, and then the Hooded Mystery Woman spoke up and approached her, and for the first time, I could see the Devil-Girl resting easy, or at least somewhat. This Hooded Mystery Woman was helping her feel more comfortable.

So for the next week we all stayed together.

The Hooded Mystery Woman, or Strive as I found out her name was, seemed to have an affinity for caring for this Devil-Girl, who we took to calling her Shadow since she was glued to Strive like she was her personal Shadow. Valzan and Alyssia continued to be hospitable and accomplidating to us, as well as patrolling the streets to find evidence of the wrong-doers who descended on our little Shadow.

As for me, I just rested. I had been on such a long journey and constantly on the move that it was nice to just sit and catch my breath. Usarus finally spoke again and told me to stay put. “This group will help you find answers.” At night I would sift through the memories of my ancestors with the aid of Usarus, searching for any answers there may be for the plague that is descending on my home.

We eventually decided to leave the church and spread our wings. Alyssia stayed at the church, but Valzan served as our guide. He led us to an axe throwing game that I technically won, but decided to be chivalrous and neglected to accept the prize.....

Valzan accepted the prize offered which came in the form of free drinks at a near by tavern, which apparently is where a woman works that Valzan desperately needs to speak with. Shadow also stumbled upon some shiny glass. She liked shiny things. She reached for the glass, but Strive stopped her and Valzan offered a shiny bauble instead.

We first went to a library, which was recommended to stop at by Strive. I was happy to go, actually. I was able to ask the librarian about plagues and magics that affect plant life, and found a book on the history of plagues. I over heard Strive ask about herbalism and curitive properties and turned to Usarus. I said that she could help us, and he agreed. Finally, something to go on!

I approached her and asked about her help with my quest, and told her that I felt she was key. I blushed as I realized this may sound like I was courting her. I then stumbled over my words and finally walked away. I turned and yelled Usarus, exclaiming that he could’ve stopped me. He laughed. She laughed. I walked and check out my book, hanging my head in embarrassments shame. There was something about that woman, and it left me with my words tangled and trampled on the ground.

We then found an exotic pet store, but soon left after finding out that the OWNER WAS AN EVIL MAN! No bears?! Fine. But hedge-hogs are bear like?? USE SQUIRRELS AS BAIT!?! What a monster! I turned to Shadow and said we should leave! It was traumatic for us all.

We finally made it to the tavern on the top of the hill. We entered and Shadow immediately went to a table. The rest of us followed and soon the very woman Valzan had saught after came to take our orders. I ordered all of the sweets they had in an attempt to win over Shadow, and after Valzan asking to speak to the woman alone, we had our food and Valzan was asked to wait until things weren’t as busy. We sat and began to enjoy our food, but suddenly an elderly unkept man burst through the door, exclaiming that his daughter had been taken. Our group began to ask for details, when the entire tavern erupted in laughter.

Things are getting strange.....

3 notes · View notes

lightningenergy · 5 years

Text

Pokeshipping Week 2019 - Day 7: Engagement/Wedding

art & half the writing by @zdbztumble

⚡-⚡-⚡

"...You're sure this is enough food?" May asked, for the twelfth time that morning.

"Are you asking for the groom, or for you?" Mallow asked, rather sharply.

"... It could be both," May shrugged. “You don’t need to get so snippy about it.” Sure, she may have asked after the food twelve times now, but planning a wedding – especially Ash and Misty’s -- was a huge responsibility.

"Well, I'm sure.” Mallow sighed, a hand to her brow. “I've done the math, like, fifty-seven times. Which was annoying."

"Hmm... still, maybe we should've hired Brock and Cilan too..."

"May, there's enough!" Mallow finally snapped. "I've been working on it since that rehearsal dinner!"

"OK, OK, yeesh! So, food's ready... now what about..." May gazed around the open grounds of the Pallet Town shrine. The shrine was the largest one near Pallet Town (which wasn't saying much) with a small temple at the front. The shrine itself rested atop a cliff overlooking Pallet Beach, and a wide, open, grassy area spread out behind it. A few dozen empty chairs waited quietly. "Hey Dawn!” she called. “All the flowers are in place, right?"

"Just so!" Dawn hollered back, having set the last few in place. "Now relax! This isn't your wedding!"

"I just don't want Misty yelling at me!" May responded.

"We planned it together - she'll yell at me too!"

"We don't want her yelling at all!"

"And everything's perfect, so she won't!"

"How do you know she won't?"

"Because you two are eating up all the yells allowed at a single wedding," Drew deadpanned as he passed behind May, arms laden with laundry bags.

"Just like I'll be eating up all the food once I'm allowed to!" May shouted at him. "Geez, you try to be helpful and look where it gets ya..."

"I'm standing right here," Drew noted, dryly and quietly.

"I know!" May screamed, beaming. "Ooh, are those all the kimonos for the bridesmaids?"

"You know they are," Drew sighed. "You called me twice on the road after you sent me for them."

Screeching tires caught their attention, and they all turned to witness a car drift around the corner and come to a sudden, violent stop in a parking space.

"Tell me Daisy's not driving the car," Dawn groaned.

"Never again!" they heard Misty gasp. "I don't care how bad the traffic is in Cerulean City, you are never getting behind the wheel of a car with me in it!"

"Chill out, sis!" Daisy said with a wave of her hand. "We're all here, right?"

"And our make-up's totally ruined from sweating out your driving!" Lily snapped. She, Violet, Iris, Lana, Lillie, and Misty all filed out of the car in various states of distress; Daisy alone looked calm. The passengers were laden with laundry bags too, and Misty had a disheveled towel wrapped around her hair.

"Morning, sunshine," said May as she caught the bag Misty so unceremoniously tossed to her. "Let's say we get you all fixed up, huh?"

"That'd be nice," Misty grunted. "I don't want to be a bad mood once Ash gets here."

"So, like, Misty," Daisy began. "About your hair..."

"You three staying out of the way will help me not be in a bad mood," she growled, before softening slightly. "Please, Daisy. May and Dawn know what I want to do, and Iris and the other girls were the ones who prepped everything last night. I'm glad you're enthusiastic, but could you just help greet guests and look out for Ash?"

That didn’t leave the Waterflowers with much to do, though May suspected Misty wanted it that way. Besides the wedding party, the only people about were Drew, completing the last of the chores assigned him, the Waterflowers, and a very haggard and bleary-eyed Gary Oak leaning against a nearby pillar.

"Like, what happened to you?" Daisy asked derisively.

"Bachelor party. Hungover," he grunted. Even his own voice caused him to wince and put a hand to his temple.

Dawn, giggling, hurried over to her boyfriend and put her mouth very close to his ear. "SO IT HELPS IF YOU TALK IN A LOUD VOICE--"

"For the love of Arceus, babe!"

"Killer couple," Daisy muttered to May, who could only shrug.

A large truck came up the road, at a much slower, careful pace than Daisy’s car. ("At least, like, one person in this relationship knows how to drive," Violet sneered.) Tracey stepped out and hurried to help Professor Oak and Delia do the same.

"Hello, everyone!" Professor Oak greeted. He, and everyone in his party, were already dressed for the wedding. Oak and Tracey were in simple kimonos, red and teal respectively, while Delia was in a pink yukata with white trim. May approved of all their choices. "I hope everything's going swimmingly. We have a beautiful day for this - er, is everything alright, Gary?"

"HE'S HUNGOVER," answered Dawn. Gary doubled-over and shoved past his companion, head in his hands.

"Well, I hope no one else is in such a state at this wedding," Delia said sharply. "I've been waiting too long for this day!"

"I know, right?" Daisy squealed.

"Er – haven't Ash and Misty been waiting, too?" Tracey asked quietly.

"Details!"

Tracey shook his head and pulled a large container off the back of the truck. May watched with interest as he lugged it over to the designated spot to the left of the shrine, set aside for all of Ash and Misty’s Pokemon. With a few quick flicks of the locks and a release switch, Tracey had them all out on the field, though it was a rather tight fit.

("Screw this,") Charizard grunted. He yawned and flexed his wings in the afternoon sun. ("I'm watching from the skies.")

("I hear that.") Pidgeot, Noivern, and the other Flying-types followed him into the air, while Gyarados lead a few of the Water-types over the cliff and into the sea off Pallet Beach, where they still had a decent view of the hill.

"How many weddings do you think have this kind of attendance?" chuckled Iris.

"Tease later," Misty said. “Prepare now.” She took Iris by the shoulder, then Lana, Lillie, Dawn, and finally May, and started herding them to the women’s changing rooms.

"Make sure the groom gets cleaned up!" May hollered over her shoulder. “Misty’ll kill ‘im if he’s not!”

“Not funny, May!” Misty snapped.

“No sense of humor on the wedding day, I see,” May muttered to Dawn as they were hurried along.

-----

"Iris, this headdress is amazing!" Dawn gushed.

Iris beamed at the compliment. "I know my way around hair."

"And this shade of polish is perfect, Lana! Put that together with the flowers we picked out and the dress we made, and we - Misty? Are you OK? You look a little pale..."

"Just still shaken from my stupid sister's driving skills. I'll be okay, promise," Misty said. She cinched her bathrobe a little tighter around her and started pacing the room again. Noting everyone’s concerned looks, she added, "I want this, believe me."

"Oh, we might've figured that out ourselves," Lana giggled. She and the other girls were already dressed, in kimono-converted dresses of the same cut: May in red; Dawn in pink; Iris cream; Lillie white; and Lana blue. Misty's was the only one with a pattern: white with red trim with bubbles and flowers at the sleeves and hem. It sat atop a chair as its intended wearer paced and wrung her hands.

"It's finally happening," she said softly, to herself more than anyone else. "It's really, really happening!"

Dawn's Poke Gear started ringing: she quickly answered it. "Hello? ... Okay, thanks! Ash and everyone else got here!"

"Surprisingly? The least of my worries."

"It was at the top of our worries," May whispered.

"We'd better start getting you dressed," said Lillie. "We only have so much time before - "

"Before I'm MARRIED!" Misty jumped for joy and threw herself down on an empty chair. "Get to work, ladies!"

---

“Do we really need all this, Mom?”

“Ash Ketchum, this is your wedding! Of course we need all this! And don't think I'd let you go out and get married without me helping you get ready!"

"Mooom..." Ash protested, but he still wasn’t let up from the chair in his changing room. He hadn’t even been allowed to greet the few people at the shrine when he arrived; his mom, Brock, and Cilan shooed him inside right away. The two men were sitting in the corner: Brock in the ceremonial dress needed to conduct the ceremony; Cilan in a forest green kimono.

"This is the most important day of your life, young man," Delia insisted. "I want you to have a perfect time of it! Now let's see.. .your montsuki is clean... your hair needs a little bit of work... do you have on some clean -"

"MOM!"

("He does,") chirped Pikachu helpfully.

"Oh, Pikachu! Don't you look handsome in your own little kimono!"

As embarrassing as his mother's attention was, Ash couldn't help but feel a little insulted that his Pokemon was upstaging him.

("I got it made special,") said Pikachu, turning and posing. ("And Lopunny, er - she has a matching one...)

"Yeah, Dawn insisted that she get to do it," Ash muttered. "Everyone's got something they want out of this."

"Oh, sweetie." Delia pulled Ash in close and wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders. "What we want most of all is to see you and Misty happy, of course. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, though you all have a funny way of showing it..."

Delia smiled and kissed his forehead. "Alright... ceremony's due in a few hours, so let's get started."

It was amazing how long "a little bit of work" on his hair could take. Of course, forced rehearsal of his wedding vows, tearful anecdotes about Delia's own wedding, and relating stories to Cilan and the other groomsmen as they arrived (Clemont, Kiawe, and Sophocles, in sky blue, scarlet, and yellow kimonos, respectively) helped eat up the time. Then there was the shared attention of his future sisters-in-law...

"Daisy, if you don't let go, I'm gonna need my hair fixed again!" Ash protested. No matter how he squirmed, he couldn't get free of her grip.

"Aww...but then I could, like, do it right!" Daisy teased. "A bit more mussed up in the front, we can finally frost the tips..."

"NO! No, no, no! That's a veto, Daisy! This isn't the 90s anymore!"

"Y'know, that's what Tracy always says..."

Ash stood up and picked up his kimono. "Okay, I'm getting changed, so anyone not named Pikachu needs to leave."

("Why do I have to stay?!") the Pokemon protested.

"You're the Best Man."

("... Right.")

"He's so touchy sometimes," Daisy complained as they all filed out.

"Now, now," Delia chided gently. "He needs his space before the ceremony..."

Got that right, Ash thought as he shut the door behind them. He felt as fired up as he did before any Pokemon Battle - more fired up - but his mouth still felt awfully dry, and his head rather light. "You ready, Pikachu?"

Pikachu answered by leaping onto his shoulder and nuzzling his cheek. ("Of course. I'm ready to zap either of you at a moment's notice!")

"Comforting... alright, let's get myself into this thing..."

And a few minutes later, he found himself standing under the shrine, looking out at the crowd of people assembled for his wedding. Geez, I knew we invited a lot of people, but...

A good number of them were the extended relations of his friends and traveling companions: Dawn's mother, Cilan's brothers, representatives from Iris's village, and so on. There were Gym Leaders, Frontier Brains, and professors as well. Ash smiled and waved at Riley as he came in, dressed in the same blue suit as always.

There were a lot of Misty's friends - Casey, Marina, Sakura - and an assortment of Trainers they'd both known over the years. The front rows were reserved for close friends and family. Mallow was already seated, along with Drew, Gary, Miette, the Waterflowers, Professor Oak and Tracey, Professors Kukui and Burnett, Max and Mahri, Ritchie and Serena, and his mother.

Brock stood at the center of the shrine, with the groomsmen aligned behind him. Pikachu stood on Clemont's shoulder, beaming. Ash looked over at the bridesmaids: Lana, May, Dawn, and Iris all smiled and waved. He grinned back but quickly straightened up: the music was starting, which meant...

Bonnie scurried down the aisle in a fit of giggles. Azumarill and Rowlet, with matching floral crowns, came along either side of her as she slowly walked back up, tossing pink cherry blossom petals about. Ash was only vaguely aware of this, and cared even less. All his attention was on the fiery-haired woman in the white-and-red dress slowly following them, her hair wrapped up in a white gold headdress, a bouquet of roses in her hand, and a nervous smile playing at her lips.

Nothing else mattered. He only had eyes for Misty, watching as she slowly made her way up the aisle. Her eyes shone once she stopped next to him, and Ash was only vaguely aware of his own reddened face and Brock's light sobbing.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey yourself."

"Arceus I love you."

She winked. "I know. And you clean up nicely."

“My mom and your sisters had something to do with that,” Ash admitted, chuckling softly as he rubbed the back of his head.

“You still went through it for me.” She tugged lightly on the front of his montsuki before they both turned to face Brock and the shrine.

"D-d-dearly beloved," Brock choked out. Tears dripped down the sides of his face. "We are gathered here t-today to witness the joining of... of these two in h-h-holy m-matri - sniff - mony. If anyone has any reason these two should - should not be wed... please leave immediately."

Laughter rippled through-out the audience, and Brock seemed to relax a little. "Ahem... I've known these two for a long time, and I am very glad to be here for this special day... now, um... I guess we should start with the vows..."

At Cilan’s insistence, Ash had spent all of yesterday writing out vows, with the groomsmen insisting on proofreading. He wondered what they thought as his hands, instead of producing that worn piece of paper, fell gently on top of Misty’s around her bouquet.

"Misty... I had some stuff written, and I got a lot of input on it, and it was good and all... but it wasn't me. It wasn't us."

He was forced to pause briefly as another wave of laughter passed.

"You know all the best and worst stuff about me, and I know the best and worst stuff about you. We've dealt with it ever since we were kids, we managed to be friends - best friends - after meeting in such a crazy way. I mean, you caught me with a fishing rod."

More laughter.

"And you caught me with your heart a few years down the line. I know it took me a while, but...well, now that I'm here, I'm not leaving. Ever."

Misty closed her eyes and inhaled, then smiled. "Ash Ketchum... you are, without a doubt, the most stubborn, arrogant, foolhardy man I have ever known. You stole my bike, wrecked it, and argued with me over more idiotic things than I can count. And yet... there is no one on this earth I would rather have as my prince, my best friend... my soulmate. You want to be a Pokemon Champion, but never forget that you are my Champion. From then, now, and always... I am forever yours."

Several people, including Brock, could be heard blowing their noses.

"Th-the bride and groom will now exchange rings..." Brock sobbed.

One of the snifflers in the crowd, Pikachu had to wipe away his tears before he produced the wedding ring from his kimono's sleeves. True to form, Psyduck only made it out of his Poke Ball right at that moment, bawling uncontrollably as he handed Misty her ring.

Brock coughed and stomped his foot and even slapped himself to get under control. "Do you, Ash Ketchum, take Misty Waterflower to be your lawfully wedded -"

"Brock, didn't we kinda already do this part?" Ash asked quietly. He could hear Cilan and Kiawe's affronted gasps and see May and Dawn's furious looks, but Misty just giggled.

"Yes," Brock said rather firmly. "Do you, Ash Ketchum, take this woman--"

"Yes."

"... Okay." Brock turned to Misty. "Should I even ask?"

"You already know."

Brock sighed, but he was smiling. "Alright... by the power vested in me by the Region of Kanto... and the Internet guys... I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. Now..." he started sobbing again. "You may... y-you may..."

Everyone else in the procession screamed with smiles and laughter, startling the couple: "JUST KISS ALREADY!!"

It was hard to tell which of them moved first. They both leapt at the other's lips as if it were the first time they'd ever kissed. For good measure, Ash wrapped his arms around Misty's waist, lifted her off her feet, and spun her around for the whole duration. It was too much. She started laughing and crying at once, and never stopped kissing him.

Everyone was applauding. Pikachu leapt onto Ash's head, laughing and cheering; May and Dawn collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing wildly; some people in the audience were cat-calling, though in a joyous manner.

Ash smiled up at his wife, eyes gleaming. "We did it."

"We did it," Misty whispered, and kissed him again. "We did it, we did it, we did it!!"

Out of one eye, Ash dared to look around at the crowd. Misty’s sisters were in hysterics; Serena and Ritchie were glancing from the shrine to each other with sheepish, blushing smiles; Bonnie was biting down on her hand in a failed effort to keep the waterworks at bay; Miette had a small and oddly sad smile; and Mom, Oak, Kukui, and Burnett were all beaming.

"OK, everyone!" Dawn disentangled herself from May and wiped most of the tears off her face. "That's the wedding - who's ready for the biggest and best reception ever?"

#pokemon #pokeshipping #pokeshipping week #pokeshipping week 2019 #ash ketchum #misty #fanfiction #zdbztumble

58 notes · View notes

taenchanted · 7 years

Text

the ways of the world

☾ a story of the planet

⤖ pairing: jimin x reader

⤖ genre: magic!au, soulmate!au

⤖ word count: 2k

⤖ warnings: none

⤖ author’s note: this one was a bit of a wild ride for me! I haven’t written much fantasy before, but I wanted to try something new (: please enjoy ♡

Nestled in the ravines of the deepest sea, the gusts of sunlight-kissed wind, the untouched groves of the forests, and in the quiet murmurs of secrets and desire, was the heart of a boy who loved the world more than it could ever repay him for.

Park Jimin was laced into the fabric of time, existing simply as an inherently good soul. He was extraordinary, in every sense of the word, but even he did not know how he came to be. Years slipped by and he remained the same, untethered to the Earth by age. He simply lived, hovering in the nature that he was such a pivotal point in.

He loved his planet, and he was determined to become a part of it.

He lived everywhere that he could, exploring the corners of the world in the hopes that maybe it would provide him with answers. He lived on the tops of mountains, where he learned what it meant to accept being alone. He sailed the oceans, where he learned how to flow with the rise of time just as the water flowed through currents. He ran to the forests, where he learned about the fragility and importance of all life. He took his time, making sure that he felt content with the lessons he had gained. He did not know his purpose, but he wanted to make the most of his eternal gift, so he dedicated himself to the Earth. And in time, he melted into it, fell in love with everything he saw and felt because it was impossible for him not to.

Jimin thought that he could never love anything more than the world.

He was happy in the only way he knew how to be, perfectly content with the forest in which he had chosen to live. He thrived in the cold just as equally as he thrived in the warmth, so the winter did not bother him. In fact, he adored the snow, the frost, the rain. The only complaint he had was the lack of woodland creatures. They had all burrowed away for the season, so he was back to the company of the plants and the weather. He was utterly alone, as he always was during the winter, and he had already learned not to mind it. He had lived for too long to mind a few months of solitude.

But he did not expect to venture out of the woods.

He had no reason to, no inclination to. The heart of nature was his home. He was the most comfortable hidden away in the forest, so he never chose to leave it. The outside world was concrete and unfamiliar, a landscape that he no longer recognized.

And then something unusual happened.

A bright energy, pulsing and transforming, appeared out of thin air.

Jimin was quite attuned to the ways of the world. He saw life as more than just what he could see, he saw it for the beautiful swirls of energy that it was. He saw it in everything, in the animals, in the plants. But he had never felt it so strongly before.

He did not see what was emitting this energy. He was too far away to see it. But he could feel it; the sensation was unlike anything that he’d ever felt before, something raw and powerful and enrapturing.

Jimin did not hesitate to go out on a search for this energy. He would accept the temporary abandonment of his home to go find this light because he knew that surely it would not have affected him if it was not important.

He followed it obediently, focused on its path, the way that it danced. There was nothing in him that shied away, and that fact alone gave him confidence. If it was dangerous, his senses would not lead him straight into its trap. So he ran through the woods, leaping and dodging, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt more than acceptance, he felt exhilaration.

With a final bound over a log, the light glowed as brightly as he had ever seen it, and he skidded to a halt. At first, its presence was so blinding that he could not see what it actually was, so he lifted a hand over his eyes and waited for it to dim.

When it finally cooled, he saw a human, you, standing on a path, looking very confused and very concerned.

You saw a boy, dressed in various loose-fitting fabrics, squinting at you as if you were the sun.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

“Are you… okay?” You asked tentatively, wondering why there was a person crashing through the forest when he was clearly not dressed for such an excursion. He had no shoes on, just a mismatched shirt and baggy pants. His skin was nearly glowing, his hair fell in a perfect frame of his face.

“Are you?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed.

You stood there for another moment. “Well, yes, I’m fine. But it’s freezing out here, and you’re barely wearing anything— and why were you running through the woods like that—”

“That’s where I live— but what are you doing here?”

The forest that Jimin had resided in for the past few decades saw very few visitors. Primarily, they arrived in the spring and the summer, since it was a lovely area to hike in if you knew where to look. But in the winter, no one came. It was blustery and snowy, located snug against a towering mountain. Jimin adored it, but ordinary humans couldn’t stand it. He could not fathom why only one human could.

“I…” You paused, glancing down at the ground, and Jimin tilted his head slightly. He did not encounter many people; in fact, throughout his life, he had only met a good few. They had taught him about the complexity of their race, and Jimin recognized that he was more human than he was anything else, but he was simply not a human being. He had lived for a very long time, and he had become more a part of nature than humanity. Yet there you were, confusing, uncertain, and spectacular. You were so radiant, so much more so than anything else that he had ever seen.

He pursed his lips, and suddenly it dawned on him why you were there. “Were you… drawn here?” The question was not as articulate as he wanted it to be, but it was the only way he knew how to formulate the sensation into words.

You refused to meet his gaze, because of course that sounded ridiculous and obscene and strange, but you did not know that he didn’t think it was odd.

“Yes, I was.” You shuffled nervously. “I don’t know how to explain it, and I know that that sounds fake, but— something drew me out here.”

He moved forward, coming down from the hill, and you did not shy away from him. In fact, you watched him with wonder, as if he were something miraculous.

“I don’t think it sounds fake,” he said carefully, raising his hands in a submissive gesture.

You bit your lip, surveying him cautiously, and he was abruptly certain that you knew. You knew that you weren’t just here for anything, you were there because of him— there was nothing else that it could be. The reason had to be behind this stranger— this stranger, who looked human but was clearly not. The way he moved was not human, it was too elegant, too poetic. He was poetry come to life.

“No? Do you have an explanation for it, then?”

He frowned slightly. “No, I don’t. I just know that I understand it. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it.”

You nodded warily. “What’s your name?”

“Jimin,” he murmured, as if he had not said his name in a very long time. “What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

He smiled gently and the expression lit his face up, made the world seem brighter. You felt your heart clench, felt the strange magnetism of his presence flare up. You didn’t know why you were there, all you knew was that this was the most singularly important thing you had ever done. Listening to that instinct was more than just a curiosity, it was an irrevocable need. When you had seen that forest, something within you had flared into existence, something that had been dormant for as long as you could remember. And standing there, in front of this boy, made you feel like you were sinking into the earth, like you were a part of his steady gaze.

You wanted to say something else to him, but there was nothing that felt right to say. Nothing about this encounter was normal— it was the most bizarre and wonderful thing that had ever happened to you, and yet being there felt like you were home. You felt like this beautiful stranger and the enthralling forest was your home.

Jimin had never felt like this before. He thought that there wasn’t much left for him to learn, but he had never been so wrong. You were there for the same reasons that he was: an innate need to meet. He knew that everything he had ever done somehow had led him to this point, and he was astonished. His mind whirled, diving through oceans, soaring up through the clouds, springing through meadows— all of his memories were stained in gold. He slipped through the centuries, kissing the sunsets and the stars, and then he was in front of you, and nothing was as concrete as he had thought. You were muddled with every color, tangerine and cerulean and mahogany, and he had never seen anything so beautiful.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” he said softly, grinning.

The words seeped into your soul, sent a strike of shock through you. You had never known it before, but he was right, you had been expecting to meet him. You had never been aware of it, but this light inside of you had, and that was enough.

“It’s good to finally meet you too, Jimin.”

The wind picked up, but the biting chill felt more like a caress than a slap. A few moments later, a light fluff of snow touched your cheeks, melted against your skin. You looked up at the sky, saw the puffs of snow drifting lazily through the trees.

Jimin stood a few feet away from you, staring up, and you swore that you had never seen anyone look as happy as he did. The snow moved around him differently, as if the snowflakes were waltzing around his frame. He looked inhumanly hypnotizing, surrounded by twirling snow, hair rustled by the wind, eyes far more ancient than his face appeared.

He looked over at you and slowly extended his hand.

“I’ll show you the world, if you’d like.”

You smiled reluctantly. You could never explain it. Jimin was simply what you had been waiting for your entire life, an enchantment, a spell that had captivated you. He was not human, not of this time or any other, but he was there, and he was home. Jimin was a phantom, a ghost that could easily fall through the grip of reality, and you knew that it was already too late. You were slipping alongside him.

“You might want to start with something smaller,” you said, taking his soft hand in yours. As soon as your skin touched, a kaleidoscope of color unfurled from every corner of the planet, glowing too brightly to see anything but each other.

You fell into the world together, becoming as much a part of it as you were a part of each other, hands clasped and hearts aligned.

91 notes · View notes

jeichanhaka · 6 years

Text

If Any Would Avenge: 32

Chapter 32: The Cloaked Beauty

Dream World:

Belle heard her son as though he was far away, her brain wild with thoughts; some dealing with the markings and the magic it gave her, others dealing with whether she did the right thing avenging her father and unborn child by sealing Fortunato. Yet another wondering what would happen if she lost her new magic, and she glanced up at Nemesis. "You said Fortunato lied as a safeguard. What did you mean by that?"

"Exactly the thing you're thinking now. You can break the curse of the gilded bug...mark, but doing so will weaken your seal on Fortunato. Allowing him the leeway he needs to free himself." Nemesis replied, grinning at the stricken expression that appeared on Belle's face. The fair-skinned beauty's cheeks paled further in horror.

"That...that bastard….he wanted me to think my infertility was cursed-caused so he could be freed." Belle's eyes narrowed and her face scrunched up thinking how the assassin's last claim nearly tricked her into undoing her work to seal him. Beside her, Gideon's own expression shifted from trepidation at the curse marks, to one of pondering.

"Yes. But...you have to. At least if you want to have future children." Nemesis spoke, Belle and Gideon glancing towards him in shock at his words.

"But…why?" Belle blinked, her cerulean eyes imploring her unwritten son to answer. "If it was an infertility potion, then certainly another potion could undo it."

"Normally yes. But there is an eensy-weensy detail about the curse mark Fortunato didn't know. The gilded-scarab-curse mark is imbued with the power of the unwritten realm itself. All its magic derives from it. Which in turn makes all those marked with the gilded mark, not exactly unwritten, but enough like it that they can't...procreate." Nemesis watched his mother's face closely, locked on her eyes and their expressive nature. "Fortunato's infertility poison was really redundant. You won't be able to bear another child unless you break the curse."

"But…." Belle blanched, her stomach twisting and heart rapping painfully against her rib-cage. "That'll free Fortunato. That…."

"Mother, it's…." Gideon hugged his mother, noticing the tears starting to well once more in his mother's eyes.

"After I sealed him away, I have to…choose? Choose between bearing another child or revenge?"

Nemesis shrugged, and crossed his arms, leaning against the cold hearth. "...you can always choose me. To help me with my plan to return. It doesn't require birth since I was already part of the story once. Thus you'll be able to have a son and revenge. Revenge you accomplished." He paused, his mouth twitching seeing his brother grimace. "Of course you could undo the curse and then let someone else reseal Fortunato, but...that seems an awful waste. It's you who deserves vengeance the most. Are you really going to let someone else…."

"What do I have to do?" Belle interrupted, staring into her unwritten son's face, cool determination reflected in her eyes, and taut jaw and chin.

"Do? To…?"

"To bring you back. What is it you need me to do? I'll do anything. Anything it takes."

"Mother!" Gideon exclaimed, and grabbed for Belle's arms, his face drained from fear and horror. "Don't...you don't know the price…." He pulled his mother's attention towards him, Belle's cerulean eyes softened gazing at him, before hardening.

"I've lost so much already...I can't lose this chance." Belle whispered to Gideon, before turning back towards Nemesis. "What do you need me to do?"

"You promise to help?" Nemesis asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief as Belle nodded, and he mumbled something indiscernible under his breath. Jerking his head as though shaking off an unwelcome thought or pest, he addressed Belle. "Good. I already have what I need, or at least I'm close to attaining the objects I need. That only leaves one thing." There was a long pause as he mulled over what to say, how to explain what he needed. "A proxy. I cannot manifest for long in Storybrooke or the Enchanted Forest, even using a borrowed form. But the spell required to bring me back takes a while to enact. Thus I'll need you to do the actual casting when everything's set. Will you?"

Belle blinked and drew back, a memory from years back popping up in her brain. One from right before Gold and the others left to rescue Henry from Neverland. She was left behind and tasked by Gold to cast a protection spell, a request that upon reflection always felt discouraging. "That's...all? I'm just a stand-in, a proxy to cast your spell?"

"...would you rather I ask father to do so instead?" Nemesis countered, jerking Belle out of her self-pity. "Of course, the spell wouldn't work if he cast it..." He trailed off briefly, the his words indecipherable for a few moments. Then he shrugged and once more addressed Belle. "So you, mother, are the only one who can cast it. The only one who can return me to the story. It's not some minor spell anyone can cast. You alone can cast it. So...will you?"

Belle stood quiet and motionless a few moments, thinking, before nodding. Her cerulean eyes alight with quiet determination. "Yes, I will. I promise."

"Good." Nemesis muttered, his mouth twitching into a smirk before the whole cottage was plunged in shadow. He sensed his mother shiver as he whispered in her ear. "Because it requires you sacrifice Hook's and Emma's daughter. Her death will mean my rebirth." He grinned, merging with the shadow like a drop in an inky abyss.

Belle gasped and sat up, the blood draining from her face. A chill raced down her spine, and it wasn't until she saw the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, that she realized she'd woken. Next she realized she was no longer in the cavern beneath the library, but rather in a medium sized room sparsely furnished. Aside from the daybed she was lying on, there were just a few average sized tables piled high with papers and books and a smaller table near the center of the room on which something glimmered red.

Hugging herself and sitting quietly on the daybed while the light streaming from the chandelier highlighted her pale cheeks, Belle focused on her unwritten son's parting words. "He can't...he can't really expect me to kill a child…or anyone. Even if it's the only way…."

Her heart cleaved and a terrible despair gnawed at her stomach; throughout her visit in the dream world, after meeting her unwritten son in his grown form, she'd felt hopeful. Even as he snapped at her and rebuffed her, she felt hope. If he existed there, she knew there had to be a way to bring him back. And she had been open and willing to endure or do anything to restore him.

At least until she learned it would require killing.

Belle's lip quivered, her chin scrunching up as she thought of her unwritten son and her promise. 'I can't...I won't be able to keep it. I just….'

Click!

Her body tensed hearing the sound of a handle being turned, her eyes darting over the room to figure out where the door was. Fear and confusion filled her when her gaze fell on the room's only door - it hadn't moved, neither was its handle being turned. Her brow knit and she started to rise to her feet, curious about where she was and who'd brought her there. Anything to set aside the what her unwritten son wanted of her and the dread that she'd either have to break her promise or do something horrid and unforgivable.

Belle gasped, another sound breaking the quiet of the room. This one the shuffling sound of a wooden window being dragged against its frame, repeatedly, like someone was trying to open it only for it to fall shut again. "Oh!" She spun around searching for the window it came from. There were five in total, each shuttered tight against the outside world as well as covered by embroidered curtains. She stood motionless for a moment - between the heavy curtains muffling it and the acoustics of the room itself, it was nigh impossible to tell which window it was being opened. At least by sound alone.

"Hm." Belle glanced at each, her blue eyes quietly noticing one windows' curtain swaying more than the others and a few rays of morning light brightening the floor below it. Curious, she approached it, her footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor, and hesitating just a second longer, she threw open the curtain.

"Wha…" Isaac sucked in a breath and froze, a deer frozen in headlights look upon his face. Belle likewise stilled staring at him, and neither moved or spoke until a loud crash broke the silence. Immediately after the noise, Isaac grabbed the window frame and clinged on tightly, the ladder he'd been on having broke free of his legs and crashed to the earth below. Isaac paled. "Shit! Ah! Eeeh...el...help."

"Oh!" Belle grabbed the man's arms, stopping him from falling and helping him into the room. "I got you." She reassured him, pulling him through the open window as quick as she could. And after he was safely over the sill, which was just in the nick of time as the loose window fell shut just seconds later, Belle noticed they were on the third floor.

"Th...thank you." Isaac muttered, taking deep breaths to still his adrenaline palpitating heart. "I'm never doing that again." He shook his head, glancing at the now shut window, a large crack spread across its surface from impact. "I don't care what he wants. He can…."

Belle ignored Isaac's muttering to himself and just stared at the ex-Author, slivers of hope poking through the tendrils of despair in her heart.

Surrounded by towering pines and cypresses, the young woman paced from one end of the small clearing to the other, nearer the edge of a lake. Her reflection on the still water revealed her puffy cheeks and blue eyes reddened from unshed tears. "I can't...but if I don't…."

Sadie shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, her ebony hair falling over her face; a few strands sticking to her wet cheeks. The last vestiges of the setting sun illuminated her pearl skin with an orange and rosy glow, and she gazed fretfully down at her reflection.

Her heart jumped at the sudden rustling noise coming from the twilight darkened trees, and she froze; her whole body trembled listening to the footsteps approaching. She quickly spun around, scowling at the interloper clad in a donkey skin cloak. Her hand was poised to throw a ball of magic at the older woman, but after a brief whispered threat and a glimpse of something in the other's hand, Sadie stifled her spell.

"Please, don't…." Sadie pleaded, staring at what she could see of the older woman's face beneath the cloak hood. "Don't."

"Do what I said and I won't." The older woman replied crisply, before mumbling something after which she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Storybrooke: Present

"Oh, but I don't. " George spoke, while another, more lulling voice also spoke the same words. Its owner stood behind Gold, who tensed in shock at the familiar voice. "On the contrary, I came back to stop that happening."

It was a cherished voice, one he'd recognize anywhere, one he heard daily...yet Gold had never heard its dulcet tone sound so chilling before. Combined with the ex-king saying exactly the same words like some bizarre stereo, proof that the woman behind him was the one holding George's heart, the voice froze the Dark One. He barely cared to consider how easily his interloper had gotten through his cabin's magical defenses.

He swallowed as the woman stepped closer, and recalled a vision he had hours ago within moments of returning to Storybrooke, one in which a 17 or 18 year old Sadie was being threatened by a cloaked figure. A figure he had recognized by voice alone, the same voice as the woman now stepping into his sight holding king George's heart.

His breath caught at sight of the woman's chestnut curls and fair skin, her cerulean eyes catching his brown ones as they roamed over her face.

'Beautiful.' He couldn't help thinking, even as he noticed the aged creases on her face and the single graying curl amid the chestnut ones. Though when she held up George's heart and crushed it without word or hesitance, Gold tensed, shaken by the action and the impassive gleam shining in those cerulean eyes. The expression one he never expected nor desired to see on the other's face. He shivered as she stepped closer, his premonition once more flashing vividly in his head.

"Belle…." Gold spoke, understanding a lot from the coldness in his wife's gaze and tone of voice, as well as the clear signs of age. This woman standing just inches from him now - his wife, the woman he loved - was not from the present. She was the version of his wife from his vision, the one he heard threatening Sadie in the future.

"I prefer Lacey." The chestnut haired beauty interrupted, and smirked smugly as Gold's eyes widened then narrowed, his clever brain understanding even more than before. "To save time with tedious questions and get on with what I'm here for, yes I'm from the future and yes, this…." Here she pulled out a dagger from its sheath on her hip, its magic causing Gold to bristle once it was no longer concealed beneath Lacey's cloak. "Is the Dark One dagger. From the future as well, of course."

Gold stepped backwards instinctively the moment he saw the dagger in Lacey's hand, fear racing through him. Though he trusted Belle and knew she wouldn't stab him with it, he had no certainty about her curse-persona. Lacey had been dark and drawn to power, manifesting the opposite of all of Belle's qualities, including her ability to bring out the best in him.

It still chilled him as he recalled how close he came to killing Henry years back, prodded by Lacey encouraging him to not let anything or one stand in his way. It wasn't farfetched to think that a persona like Lacey's wouldn't hesitate to stab him, desiring his power for herself.

"You trust me even less now." Lacey pouted petulantly, though the gleam in her eyes was more sultry in nature. "Should I have pretended to be my better self?" She asked, rolling her eyes at the word better. For a second it seemed she was about to mimic Belle, but then she merely shrugged and shook her head. "Why bother? After all, you may not sense it through this cloak I have, but you can read, can't you?" Lacey chided, holding the dagger in the light of the sunrise streaming through the windows, allowing clear view of the name it bore.

Belle.

"No." Gold muttered upon reading his wife's name on the ebony blade, his head filling with horrified thoughts, and a gamut of emotions spinning inside him. "It...can't be. You can't….She can't be…."

"I assure you. I am. She is - ur, will be the Dark One." Lacey lilted, gazing at Gold with a look that was a mashup of heartless disregard and lasciviousness. "18-ish years from now. You have time to get your affairs in order, yadda, yadda." She drawled, her words barely heard by Gold as he gawked at his wife's name engraved on the dagger. Shrugging, Lacey shifted her gaze from her - Belle's - husband and towards the baby bundled on the sofa. Her cerulean eyes, not as warm as Belle's, but lit with cunning and ardor, became ice gazing at Sadie.

0 notes

patrick--hockstetter · 7 years

Text

Ahri

Innately connected to the latent power of Runeterra, Ahri is a vastaya who can reshape magic into orbs of raw energy. She revels in toying with her prey by manipulating their emotions before devouring their life essence. Despite her predatory nature, Ahri retains a sense of empathy as she receives flashes of memory from each soul she consumes.

Lore

Abandoned in the snowy woods of northern Ionia, Ahri knew nothing of her original family save the token they left her: a pair of matching gemstones. She joined a pack of icefoxes as they stalked prey on their morning hunt, and before long they adopted her as one of their own. With no one to teach her the magic of her kind, Ahri instinctively learned to draw it from the world around her, shaping destructive spheres and quickening her reflexes to take down prey. If she was close enough, she could even soothe a deer into a state of tranquility, so much that it remained serene even as she sank her teeth into its flesh.

Ahri first encountered humans when a troop of foreign soldiers camped near her den. Their behaviors were strange to Ahri and, curious to learn more, she watched them from afar. She was especially drawn to a hunter who, unlike his wasteful companions, used every part of the animals he killed, reminding her of her fox family.

When the hunter was wounded by an arrow, Ahri felt his life seeping away. She instinctively devoured the essence leaving his body, and gained brief flashes of his memories - the lover he had lost in battle, his children from a strange land of iron and stone. She found she could push his emotions from fear to sorrow to joy, and charmed him with visions of a sun-soaked meadow as he died.

Euphoric at the rush of absorbing the hunter's life, Ahri felt more alive than ever, and traveled Ionia in search of more victims. She relished toying with her prey, shifting their emotions before consuming their life essence. She alternated between dazzling them with visions of beauty, hallucinations of deep longing, and occasionally dreams colored by raw sorrow.

She grew drunk with memories that were not her own, and exhilarated in the lives of others. Through stolen visions, Ahri watched through their eyes as they pledged fealty to a temple of shadow, sacrificed offerings to a deity of the sun incarnate, encountered an avian tribe of vastaya that spoke only in song, and glimpsed mountainous landscapes unlike any she had seen. She experienced heartbreak and elation in tantalizing flashes that left her craving more, and wept at the massacres of Ionian villagers at the hands of Noxian invaders.

Ahri was surprised when the memories led her to discover the tale of an unearthly fox demon. As she absorbed more life essence, she grew to identify more and more with her victims, and felt guilty at ending so many lives. She feared that the myths about her were true - she was no more than a cruel monster. But whenever too much time passed between feedings, she sensed her own power fade, and could not help but partake once more.

Ahri tested her self-control by consuming small quantities of life essence, enough to absorb a memory or two but not enough to kill. She was successful, for a time, but was tortured by her unending hunger and soon succumbed to temptation, indulging in the dreams of an entire coastal village.

Tormented by her mistake, Ahri could not forgive herself and felt a deep sorrow that forced her to question her own existence. She withdrew to the forest caves, isolating herself in hopes of controlling her relentless desire. Years later she emerged, determined to experience every facet of life through her own eyes. Though she might indulge in occasional essence, she resisted consuming entire lives. With the twin gemstones as the only clue to her origin, Ahri set out in search of others like her. No more would she rely on borrowed memories and unfamiliar dreams.

A Fair Trade

Ahri walks in disguise, but this fortune-teller has her own secret. What are they both hiding?

The market smelled of burning incense and rotting cabbage.

Ahri wrapped her cloak around her nine tails and fiddled with her twin sunstone tokens to distract herself from the stench, rolling them between her fingers and snapping them together. Each one had the shape of a blazing flame, but they were carved in such a way that their sharper edges fit together, forming a perfectly smooth orb. She had carried the golden stones since before she could remember, though she had no knowledge of their origin.

Though Ahri was in a new environment, she was comforted by the latent magic buzzing all around her. She passed a stand with dozens of woven baskets filled to the brim with polished rocks, shells etched with legends from a seafaring tribe, gambling dice carved from bones, and other curious items. Nothing matched the style of Ahri's sculpted tokens.

"Care for a gem to match the blue of the skies?" asked the gray-bearded merchant. "For you, I'll trade a cerulean bauble for the cost of a single cryraven feather, or perhaps the seed of a jubji tree. I'm flexible."

Ahri smiled at him, but shook her head and continued through the market, sunstones in hand. She passed a stand covered in spiky orange vegetables, a child selling fruit that shifted color with the weather, and at least three peddlers swinging tins of incense, each of whom claimed to have discovered the deepest form of meditation.

"Fortunes! Come get your fortunes told!" called a young woman with lavender eyes and a soft jawline. "Find out who you'll fall in love with, or how to avoid unlucky situations with a pinch of burdock root. Or if you'd prefer your future left to the gods, I'll answer a question about your past. Though I do recommend finding out whether or not you're at risk for death by poisoning."

A tall vastaya with feline ears was about to take a bite of a spiced pastry. He froze and stared at the fortune teller in alarm.

"The answer is no, by the way. Yours for free," she said, curtsying at him before turning to Ahri. "Now, you look like you've had a dark and mysterious past. Or at least some tales worth sharing. Any burning questions for me, lady?"

Beneath heavy layers of incense, Ahri paused at the scent of wet fur and spiced leather lingering at the woman's neck.

"Thank you, but no," she replied. "I'm still looking around."

"You won't find any more Ymelo tokens in this market, I'm afraid," the woman said, nodding to Ahri's sunstones. "Like the ones you have."

The back of Ahri's neck prickled and she drew closer to the woman. She would not let her excitement get the better of her. "Do you recognize these? Where do they come from?"

The woman eyed Ahri.

"I think they're Ymelos, anyway," she said. "Never seen a pair in person. He only carved a small number in his time, and many of the sets were separated in the war. Dead rare, those."

Ahri leaned closer with each word.

"I'm Hirin, by the way," the woman said.

"Do you know where I might find this craftsman?" Ahri asked.

Hirin laughed. "No idea. But if you come in, I'll tell you what I know."

Ahri wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and eagerly followed the fortune teller past her booth, and into a caravan decorated wall to wall with animal skins.

"Tea?" Hirin said. "I brewed it this morning."

She poured two cups of liquid the color of plum wine, taking one for herself. The tea tasted of bitter oak bark masked by a cloying dollop of honey. Hirin held out a hand for the stones but Ahri kept them close.

"I'm getting the sense that these are special to you," she said with a wry smile. "Don't worry, I have no interest in peddling stolen sunstones. Bad for a girl's reputation."

"Can you tell me where they come from?" asked Ahri, handing them over gingerly.

Hirin held them up to the light.

"These are beautiful," she said. "I don't know how they fit together so perfectly. I've not seen the like."

Ahri said nothing. She stood frozen with curiosity, and did not take her eyes off the woman.

"Legend says the sculptor known as Ymelo collected fossilized lizard eggs from a thousand thousand years ago that he carved into intricate shapes. These ancient lizards lived long before the Ghetu Sea dried up to a desert, leaving only petrified bones and dust."

Hirin coughed, and Ahri detected a bitter note upon her breath, as if she had been drinking vinegar.

"Ymelo stones are designed as small pieces that fit into a larger sculpture," she continued.

The woman dangled the golden pieces in front of Ahri's face.

"Just as your past has left you with information to be desired, these stones may have many more parts that, when combined, create another shape altogether. Who knows what you'll become when you track down your history. With the missing pieces, you may learn more than you'd like."

"Those are pretty words," Ahri murmured, staring at the woman.

After a moment of silence, Hirin chuckled. "Some threads of truth, threads of my own invention. A fortune teller's weaving must be seamless."

The woman retrieved a hunter's knife from a cabinet.

"I weave in just enough of what you desire to make you stay," she said. "'Til the tea slows your muscles, that is."

A low growl escaped Ahri's lips. She would tear this woman apart. She tried to pounce, but her limbs did not obey. She was rooted in place.

"Oh, there's no need for that, lady. I only need a single tail. Useful for a variety of potions, you see, and extremely valuable. Or so I think. Never seen a vastaya with fox tails before. The tea freezes any pain, along with your... mobility."

Hirin wrapped a bandage around one of Ahri's tails. Ahri tried to resist, but she still could not move.

"You'll wake up tomorrow, good as new!" said the woman. "Well, with one less tail. Do you really use all nine?"

Ahri shut her eyes and reached out to the reservoirs of magic around her. The environment had plenty ripe for the taking, but she was too weakened by the tea to draw them to her. Instead, she reached into Hirin's mind, which was far more malleable, and pushed.

Ahri opened her eyes and stared hard into Hirin's. They deepened from lavender to violet.

"Hirin," she said. "Come closer. I would look into the face of the one who tricked me."

"Of course, lady," Hirin replied, transfixed. The woman's voice sounded hollow, as though it came from the bottom of a well.

She leaned in until her face was only inches away. Ahri inhaled, drawing essences of the woman's life from her breath.

...Hirin was a young girl hiding, hungry and afraid, beneath a market stall. Two men argued above, looking for her. She had nothing but empty coffers to show for her days' work...

Ahri continued to drain Hirin's life, sampling memories of raw emotion. They felt rich in Ahri's mouth, and she relished each unique flavor of emotion.

...Hirin told the fortune of a witch doctor shrouded in veils, receiving a copper for her troubles. She used the coin to buy a piece of bread, which she devoured in seconds...

...In a seedy tavern, a raucous group played cards. A man with eyebrows resembling butterfly wings gambled a golden Ymelo stone while Hirin watched from the shadows...

...Hirin tracked Ahri as she walked through the market. One of her fox tails peeked from beneath her cloak. She drew the vastaya into her caravan---

Enough.

Ahri stopped, her head spinning with renewed vigor. With each memory she stole from Hirin, she felt energy rush back into her weakened muscles, cleansing them of the poison.

Strengthened once more, she slowly shook her limbs awake and flexed her tails with a shiver. They tingled with pinpricks.

Hirin stood wide-eyed and dazed, still very much alive. It was she that would wake tomorrow, good as new - less a few memories that she would not miss.

With knowledge of the woman's life, Ahri's rage had faded. She brushed her hand against the fortune teller's cheek, then wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and stepped out into the sunlit market.

Hirin would not remember her or their encounter. But Ahri had left the trade with a name to hunt - Ymelo - and the image of the man with soft-winged eyebrows was burned in her mind.

#Ahri #She has the longest lore oml

0 notes

infinitehouseofbooks · 8 years

Text

BLOG TOUR - Blood Ice and Oak Moon

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Tea Leaf Tales: Which Yule Tree Will Pick Me?

Fantasy Flash Fiction by Marsha A. Moore

I suck in a gulp of thick, pine-scented air, faced with the difficult question—which one. I tick through the usual criteria—fullness, tightly attached needles, correct height. Beyond that the trouble begins for me when I consider needle length, color, tightness of branches.

Needles crunch under the soles of my shoes as I slowly pass down the row, hoping one tree chooses me. Those I don’t give a full inspection slyly begin to stretch their postures more erect before I turn completely away. If I pause to admire one, branches brush past the backs of my legs until I turn around and give that tree a careful look.

Ahead in the center of the display, I hear voices in foreign languages—hurried bits of anxious dialog that quiet as I grow near.

One small blue spruce tries his best to stretch taller but cannot reach up to his neighbors, so I lean in and whisper, “If you talk to me, I’ll take you home.”

I wait, determined, and the nearby treetops bend over the tiny spruce until finally a gentle tinkling begins deep inside at its trunk, radiating to the tips of the boughs at my side. I caress the singing branch, then wave an arm to the shop owner.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her. Read more Tea Leaf Tales archived in Marsha’s Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales.

Blood Ice and Oak Moon

Coon Hollow Coven Tales

Book Three

Marsha A Moore

Print Length: 211 pages

Publication Date: October 3, 2016

ASIN: B01LWS4V2G

Genre: PNR

Book Description:

Esme Underhill is about to discover a darkness hidden inside her that could destroy her chance for independence and possibly kill her.

Esme’s mother took her young daughter away from Southern Indiana’s Coon Hollow Coven to prevent her from learning about the unusual witchcraft she had inherited. When Esme is twenty-seven, her beloved Grammy Flora passes away and leaves her property in the Hollow to her granddaughter. With this opportunity to remake her life and gain independence, Esme attempts to emulate Grammy Flora as a wildwood mystic who relies on the hedge world of faeries to locate healing herbs. But fae are shrewd traders. When they open their world to her, she must meet the unknown malevolence of her birthright.

Thayne, the handsome king of the fae Winter Court, faces his own struggle to establish autonomy as a new regent. He is swept into the tempest of Esme’s unfolding powers, a dangerous threat to his court. His sworn duty is to protect his people, despite Esme’s beauty and allure, which tear at his resolve.

Both Esme’s and Thayne’s dreams of personal freedom are lost…unless they can trust each other and overcome surmounting dangers.

Amazon

Excerpt from Chapter One: Winter Began

Dear Miss Rebecca Esmeralda Underhill,

Please accept our deepest sympathies concerning the loss of your grandmother, Flora Esmeralda Freestone. She was much loved and well-respected in our community.

As per her documented wishes, the ownership of her property on 10510 East Lost Branch Run passes to you. This transfer has been filed in our office. At the request of High Priest Logan Dennehy, all council members have voted to reinstate you as a member of Coon Hollow Coven after your absence of twenty years.

However, despite Coon Hollow Coven being your birthplace, a majority indicated the lapsed time was sufficient cause to withhold transfer of Ms. Freestone’s ceremonial standing to you, which customarily would accompany a property transference to blood kin of adult age. For explanation of how you may attain ceremonial approval in your name, please visit the council office at 50013 Owls Tail Creek Road.

Enclosed, please find pamphlets describing the expected dress and personal property code of our coven, which adheres to the time period in which the coven was founded in 1935. This is to best protect our witchcraft traditions.

Sincerely,

Nathan Wells

Coon Hollow Coven Council, secretary

Esme’s gaze fixed on the words that acknowledged her as the property owner. She’d never lived alone. First her mom, then a roommate and finally Doug. Esme’s shoulders straightened and chest lifted with strength and independence at the thought of owning her own place. But, why wasn’t she approved for ceremonial status? Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, and her heart raced. It’s not fair. I won’t be accepted as a healer. Only children not yet graduated from the coven’s secondary school were kept from participating fully in ceremonies. Esme loved learning the ways of a hedge witch and helped Gram every summer from grade school through college. Fascinated with tending Gram’s plants, Esme even studied botany in college.

The research company she worked for had already accepted her request to work offsite and study mystic plants…at the stipulation she be reduced to part-time. She needed work here as a healer to supplement her income. She’d assumed incorrectly that her experience with Gram and college studies would’ve qualified her as an accepted healer. Her standing in the coven would be important to patrons, all except Gram’s closest friends who knew Esme well. An attempt at independence seemed bound to fail before she started.

Her gaze drifted to the name used in the letter’s greeting. She hadn’t seen her full name in print for decades. It didn’t even appear on her birth certificate, which labeled her as Rebecca E. Underhill, one of the many things her mother insisted upon. Mother wanted nothing to do with the coven or witchcraft and said, “Esmeralda sounds too much like a witch. No need to encourage the darkness out.” Grudgingly, she accepted her own mother’s middle name for her child to uphold custom. Esme never understood Mother’s view since Gram was well-respected for her kind and gentle strength by all who knew her.

To Esme’s Indianapolis friends, she was Becky. Only her mother addressed her as Rebecca. But inside, she was Esme. Gram had always called her that, or Esmeray in carefree moments. Her middle name suited the mystic inside Esme, something Gram must have known. If only Esme could use Gram’s last name Freestone. Underhill felt like a lead weight.

Esme set the letter aside and paced the length of the rag runner through the small kitchen. Frustration wound her along a circular track through the sitting room, to her closet-sized guest room, and back. The space was too small to work answers out of her tangled mind. On the second pass, she sank onto the goose down comforter of Gram’s iron bed. Billowing fluff sheltered her from the problems. Gram’s linens, scented with homegrown lavender and rose sleep liniment, comforted Esme and tugged on her eyelids.

She forced her eyes open and pushed herself up and off the bed. Hiding wasn’t the way to begin this fresh start in life. She’d done enough kowtowing to stronger wills, letting Doug and her mother run over her. At the back door, she paused long enough to grab a rain parka and pulled it on as she strode outside.

Gram’s cat, Dove, zipped alongside with a sharp meow, slipping out before the door closed. Esme smiled, grateful the tomcat kept Gram company during her illness. She’ doted on the smoky blue stray that happened into her garden one early fall afternoon and never left. Gram swore he was an omen and chose his name ‘cause of his white-winged breast patch. She used to say, “One day soon my spirit will fly on those outspread wings, and together Dove and me we’ll roam the wooded hills.” Gram loved those hills. Thinking about the hills drew Esme to gather Dove and head outside.

Ice still peppered down, adding more layers to the spiky crystalline grass blades. A breeze blew at Esme’s back. She allowed the wind to guide her toward the woods behind the cabin. At the trailhead, ice coating the bittersweet vine berries glistened the same shade of blue she’d rubbed from Dove’s coat. Alert to the strange color, she followed a line of branches dangling sky blue icicles, each one more fanciful and richer in hue than the last. A beautiful play of light, ranging from cerulean to ultramarine. Even worth the chill at her ankles, which were bare in her cropped jeans.

Whenever Esme paused to marvel at the colored icicles, Dove pawed them and then dodged when they dropped.

Minutes later and deeper in the forest, the ice pelted heavier, and Esme reached for the hood of her raincoat. Strands of hair fell forward, woven with frozen ultramarine threads. The same purplish tint coated twigs along the path. Light from the sky reached this far into the woods since all but the oak trees had lost their leaves. The unusual color couldn’t be caused by light refraction. She’d never seen any rain, sleet, or snow like this, not even in the Hollow. Grammy had taught her a little about omens. Was this a sign?

Esme scurried along the trail, sliding at times and spotting richer and deeper shades of purple and red-violets. At the far side of the woodlot, iris-hued spider webs clung to berry brambles. She gasped at the beauty. Tempted to touch, she extended a hand but at the last instant resisted.

A deep groan echoed from the adjoining property ahead.

She snatched her hand back and scanned for some god of nature angry at her ruinous attempt. Grappling for Dove, Esme crouched behind a thicket.

The cat gave a single hiss, then clung to her leg.

In the distance, a big middle-aged man, both tall and wide, staggered behind a shed, dragging a long, clumsy load wrapped and tied into a blanket. His balding head snapped in her direction, eyes wide and face blanched gray-white. “Who’s there?” His booming voice sliced the delicate webs from their branches. Crimson freezing rain assaulted both trail and yard.

Esme froze, afraid to move and attract his attention. Her heart, drumming against her ribs, threatened to give her away. She wanted to run home. But if the colored ice omen was meant for her, she needed to stay and learn its meaning. Could the man see the omen?

Thankfully, her cover must’ve fooled Baldy. He resumed lugging the limp bundle, and didn’t seem affected by the magical ice.

From between the tangle of branches, Esme studied him.

His wet, black shirt clung to his round belly. Blood-red ice coated his load, tracing the outline of a human body. Smaller than his, probably a female. Was she dead? Of natural causes? Or had he murdered her? The thought wrapped around Esme’s breath and trapped it deep in her lungs. Her legs twitched. Gaze riveted on Baldy, she positioned to bolt from potential danger.

He rolled the body into a depression Esme couldn’t see.

She leaned to one side, bracing herself with a hand on the ground.

Over what looked like a freshly dug grave, Baldy grunted as he shoveled and kicked dirt and large rocks. Clumps of red clung to long strands of his comb-over, now hanging along one ear. Was it ice or real blood?

Dove huddled closer, and Gram’s voice from years ago spoke in Esme’s mind. “Blood ice is stained with revenge.”

Crimson liquid dripped from the man’s eyes and fell from grimacing jowls. The face of a demon

About the Author:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

Mailing list: http://bit.ly/MarshaAMooreList

Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage

Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore

Google +: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/marshaamoore/

Amazon author page: www.amazon.com/author/marshaamoore

Goodreads author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore

a Rafflecopter giveaway

0 notes