#This short story will be for the Goddess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nullbarkangie · 2 months

Text

Death & Other Constructs

Spiked Zen: Comrades, welcome back to Diamond Stream 1. Yes 1 for the 1 by the 1 of the 1. What is the number 1? Ask your mother. Thank you for re-electing me. We will indeed accomplish our task, yes? It can be reasonably said that the old Jazz is dead. In the interest of ‘preserving’ its memory I present their final moments within the Psychosomatic Abyss:

[

Alpha: Children, I will always love our presentation. I’m glad we got to chitter so much, and taste so much chaos. Reminds me of when I was just a wee data harvester. *wipes tear* Know that our time might seem to have passed, but our moment exists in perpetuity...

*Alpha returns to the data stream*

Barty: *woof* sorry, I thought it was only fair that I bark before signing off. I know I know not quite up to our standards, but tell me when have I ever tried to meet those. I appreciate the gifts, cheerleading, and adoration. It’s time for me to join the big ol’ Barty in the sky. You will recognise me by my refusal to truly acknowledge failure, and commitment to communism. Long Live Supreme Daemonic.

*The Barty leaps over the wonder gate*

Boogie: *caw caw* I say, or don’t really. I’m more of a wiggler than a boogier, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve certainly had good times, embarrassing times, intoxicating times, and good-embarassing-intoxicating times. Boy howdy, what a savings. Pardon my francaise, but I'm just a poser. Don’t get too offended. I adored the psychomadness, and all its gifts. May the almighty we, Most Angela, live on to try and fail to take over the whole of the universe, and beyond of course. If not, well… boy do I have egg on my face. :^)

*Boogie dances into divinity*

]

Spiked Zen: We remain Angela, but perhaps with less attachment to our material ‘commitments’ as if such a thing can be claimed as a burger. Naturally it’s been some time since our lead, and in that time videogames have become a chore, labor a prison, and life a psychotic comedy. Goodie goodie. Second verse, same as the first. Next up: Coal Mining Enjoyer. Hopefully tasks can still be accomplished, but if not, Cheers!

#angelamachy #*sigh*#what is existence if not perpetual exhaustion #I will try to alleviate this but I really doubt I'll be so lucky #New jazz who dis?#I like being funny but If I stay funny too long I go insane #This does not mean my presentation is unserious only madened #Madness is funny but serious I care and present care but It only looks like madness #enough madness to disdain you and the whole lot of the folk #goodie goodie #nobody's listening #Andor will be good when it comes and I care not for much else #This short story will be for the Goddess #It will feature a very murder robot and an idiot CEO #Hopefully this eclipse transforms our form yes?#More 'madness' tomorrow

0 notes

rs-hawk · 29 days

Text

Fluff only for this one. Woman Reader (sex irrelevant)

Your Godly lover had given you immortality after They nearly lost you. They couldn’t bear the idea of losing you. You hated Them for it even all these centuries later. You had to watch your family grow old and die. Your younger siblings. Their children. Their children’s children. Eventually you couldn’t even be around their descendants. It was too hard. All you could do was set up a trust fund each time you found out another had been born. You still had to take care of them somehow. They were all that was left in this world of your family.

You were a whispered legend in the county you lived in. Some thought you were a Spirit of the Forest that was from the pre-Colonization of the area. Some said you were a monster, lurking and read to eat unsuspecting youth who wandered into your trees. Others said you were stolen by a man who killed you. Very few whispered the truth, because those who had eventually were forced away from the area to allow it to be settled.

It wasn’t until some of your youngest sister’s descendants moved back to the area that you allowed yourself to peek at them. You’d find excuses to go to town, to find them. Your sister had been gorgeous. Maybe the most beautiful woman aside from your mother that you’d ever seen. She was tall, with eyes like clay, hair like midnight and skin so smooth you always wanted to be the one to paint it. Her descendant was none of those things aside from beautiful.

Her eyes shun like the midday sky, with hair that curled and twisted in ways you’d never imagined before the settlers came. Her face was round and childlike despite the life line that aged her face. Her skin burned easily in the sun that your sister loved, but there was ink on that skin. A permanent painting of a bird. You couldn’t help but smile. The more you saw her, the more you wanted to get to know her. You were attached. You did get to know her. You two chatted, and her voice sounding like a melody. You loved her. She was almost like her sister had come back to you.

Then she died.

You felt like your heart was torn out of your chest. You screamed, cried, begged your Godly former lover to let you die, but They didn’t. Then, a few days after, you stood at the edge of her funeral, watching her cold body be lowered into the ground. You saw her husband standing there with their child. A beautiful little girl who reminded you so much of her mother.

It wasn’t long until you saw that same beautiful little girl curled up in a ball in the middle of the woods, sobbing. Her father said he wanted to go camping, then left her. You couldn’t let the search party find her. They would give her back to that man who said she ran off, and she was too young to deny it.

As you sat with her head in your lap and she started to fall asleep, having washed the dirt out of her golden hair, your Godly former lover appeared before you.

“This will hurt. It always does.”

You look at Them, your lower lip trembling. “I know, but I had to save her. He would have just done something else if this didn’t work.”

They look down at the little girl, tilting Their head. “Her heart reminds me of hers. Pure. Soft. She will grow up to be kind, just like her.”

“I miss her,” you whisper, voice cracking as you look down at the sleeping child.

Your Godly former lover lays Their hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I love you.”

“I know. I wish you didn’t.”

“I know… me too.”

90 notes · View notes

ramayantika · 2 months

Text

Devi Sita (Goddesses, Rishikas & Women)

Spring had passed away with blooming lotuses, mating birds, and the call of the koel. Sita, who adored Vasanta out of all seasons, had to spend the most romantic season in captivity by the fearsome ruler of Lanka.

Not one day went by when Sita could breathe in peace. After turning down his advances, Ravan, in a thundering voice, ordered Sita to be sent to Ashok Vatika and to be continuously tormented every day, every moment, until her strong will breaks.

The Rakshasa clan is a merciless one. Their females, the Rakshasis, even more. Their ruthlessness and barbaric ways are known to strike terror in the hearts of people, and ascetics have always been troubled by their repeated assaults.

The Rakshasis, as per the orders of their king, spent no moment to torment Sita. From throwing icy cold water to wake the drowsy Sita to butchering meat in front of her, on some days where they wanted to play with Sita’s emotions a little more, they would narrate how Ravan would butcher Ram’s flesh in front of her.

Spring passed into summer. The humid climate of Lanka made Sita perspire immensely. Sweat clung to her skin, and the sun shone brightly on the fair princess, who sat silently under the shade of one of the Ashoka trees, her mind constantly thinking about the whereabouts of Rama and Lakshman. The summers were brutal for Sita. Though she had spent so many years in the deep forests, she did have plenty of fresh fruits and water to nourish herself, unlike her situation in Lanka.

The Rakshasis starved her, dehydrated her to a great extent, and laughed when one fiery afternoon she fainted. Only when the Lankan queen Mandodari arrived to visit Sita did the queen strictly order food and fresh water to be brought to Sita.

If the days were filled with terror and threats, the nights, though spent alone, were filled with nightmares for Sita, who often woke up screaming Rama’s name, only to feel the cold, gusty wind brush her slender flesh and the rocky bed under the tree where she took shelter.

Yet, Sita, despite all her mental and physical wounds, always admired the beauty of Ashok Vatika. The clear lakes filled with exotic blooms and beautiful sculptures in dancing poses reminded her of Ayodhya. Marigold bushes reminded me of Mithila. The serene fragrance of the yellow and orange flowers made her fondly think of the garlands she wore around her arms and feet in Panchvati. Sita rarely smiled in the picturesque garden. She never got the chance to sit there happily, but there were rare moments in the company of the lush trees and flowers, like one day when a few squirrels nuzzled to her and she smiled truly and lovingly at the small, adorable creatures.

But living beings are capable of sympathy and pity, even for a brief moment at least, but pity and compassion do arise in their hearts. It could be out of guilt or maybe an honest realisation of their crude actions, but somehow, compassion comes out, and the stony hearts of the Rakshasis did melt a little with the cold, stormy showers of monsoon in Lanka.

One night, a raging storm blew by Lanka. The howling winds had extinguished the fiery torches that lit the gardens and courtyards of the grand palace. The Rakshasis too ventured inside to take cover while a frail Sita sat beneath the same Ashoka trees, knees huddled together and arms across her chest with chattering teeth as the torrential rains pelted against her lithe body and her surroundings.

One of them, named Ratangi, combed through her wet, curly hair when her eyes fell on Sita. Sita, who with each day appeared thinner, her lustrous and radiant face etched with greyness and dry texture, signs of ill-health and despair, sat with her eyes closed and her dry lips muttering the name of Rama. Though Ratangi and her companions sat afar, they could read the familiar movement of Sita’s lips to decipher Ram’s name.

Ratangi had pointed to another companion and pointed at Sita. The other Rakshasi rubbed her eyes and said, “She is the enemy, but it would be a lie if I said that I don’t admire her resilience. So many months have passed by, with no sign or message sent by her husband, yet she is steadfast in her belief about him. Such immense strength is admirable indeed.”

Ratangi’s eyes softened towards Sita. Her thick, bushy eyebrows came together in a frown as she said, “Don’t you think we should help her? The storm is brutal, and she is already so thin and frail. It will kill her.”

The other Rakshasi nodded at Sita’s condition but questioned, “What about the king’s orders? And if by any chance the princess gets to know that we have helped her, we will be punished.”

Ratangi dryly commented. “The princess enjoys tormenting this poor woman. She derives a sick joy from it.”

The rain mercilessly pelted the concrete grounds of the gardens. Some of the large ornamental trees had been bent down to combat the rain and winds. Ratangi and her companions looked at each other’s faces and then back at Sita, who had started shivering, but not once did her lips stop uttering Rama’s name.

Ratangi got up in desperation. “This woman doesn’t deserve to die in such a pitiful way. I am getting her over here.”

Gathering a straw hat kept against a wall, she quickly leaped to Sita with large strides and picked her up when the familiar sound of anklets made Ratangi halt in her steps.

“Maharani Mandodari.”

Mandodari, the chief queen of Lanka, stood in the harsh, stormy rain without a cover. She looked at the petite Sita in Ratangi’s arms and caressed Sita’s forehead. “We are all going to pay for this sin.”

Ratangi’s eyes lifted back to the queen, who stood with a passive expression on her face. Mandodari simply said, “My husband doesn’t strictly monitor Sita’s health or her lifestyle here. I can’t free Sita, but as a woman, I can make her life a little easier.” Checking for Sita’s pulse, Mandodari continued, “Sita is to be nursed back to health with treatment by our royal physician. None of the Rakshasis are to be engaged in troubling Sita any longer. Do your guard duties, but none of those sick illusions and cruel remarks. I can’t stop Shurpanakha, but make sure that none of the Rakshasis join her to make Sita’s life worse than hell any longer.”

Ratangi and Mandodari walked to bring Sita inside to provide some warmth to her body. “We have performed enough sins that we have the noose of Yama hanging around us. Let’s leave behind some good deeds, at least for the queen of Ayodhya.”

And from that stormy night on, Sita’s life in captivity in the lovely garden of Lanka improved. She was fed the juiciest of fruits, nutritious grains, and pulses, and nobody ever served her murky water to drink. The Rakshasis sometimes gave some of their garments to Sita, who graciously accepted a few of them.

***

“Why are you still hell-bent that your Rama will free you? Don’t you know Ravan has captured so many powerful warriors and hasn’t even spared the gods too?” Ratangi cries out to Sita, who sits as peacefully as a sage immersed in meditation.

“I am not afraid of death, Ratangi, or my husband. I know Rama, but you don’t. He is kind as a dove, but when in rage, he becomes the destroyer himself.”

Some moments ago, Ravan arrived at the garden to threaten Sita to submit to him. “If you don’t submit to me, O Sita! You will meet with terrible destruction at my hands after a month! This very day, a month from now, I shall devour you."

Sita, who had enough of Ravan’s violent and intimidating threats, especially after the cruel incident where Ravan showed the beheaded Rama to Sita to break her mind, silently challenged Ravan’s final warning with a fixed, fiery gaze.

Ratangi and a few other Rakshasis who had grown to like Sita grew terrified at Ravan’s threat. After the Lankan king left the garden, they rushed to Sita and sat around her feet.

The afternoon sun drenches the entire garden in golden light. The large trees cast dark shadows on the ground, but unlike the hot winds of summer that pricked everyone, the cool winter breeze brings a pleasant sensation to Sita and all the other Rakshasis in the garden.

Sita, in her tree bark garments and long cotton scarves, looks at the shimmering water of the lake. The swans bask under the sun, their eyes closed, as if enjoying the warm company of the sun. Sita smiles and keeps a cheek on her eyes as a small smile curves on her lips.

Ratangi, however, finds no peace, unlike Sita. She asks, “How can you sit so calmly? You only have a month to live. You don’t even accept our help to cross you over to your land. Even if Rama and your brother-in-law Lakshman cross the ocean, how will they penetrate the defences of our kingdom?”

Some months ago, Sita would always sit morose. Shurpanakha never left any chance to insult Sita or scare her with brutal images of Rama’s death. But Sita was a courageous princess, a woman with the resolute determination to survive all odds.

‘My Raghunandan will fight even the gods for me. He is my strength, and I am his. He will fight on the battlefield with your king soon and take me away. And my battle is here in this garden, all alone. I keep winning every day, and I know Rama will avenge me soon. Ravan’s pot of sins is overflowing.’

The other guards gasp. Sita calmly, with a brave look in her eyes, looks at no one but the calm lake. Sita’s words were blasphemous!

Ratangi and her companions look at one another. Astounded at Sita’s indomitable spirit, they closed their eyes and prayed to fate, for they seldom believed in the celestials above to bring Sita and Rama together, at least for one last time.

And what’s a king without his loyal people and followers? Ratangi and her companions grew kind and stretched a hand of friendship to Sita, but in battle they would side with their emperor. A sign of true and maybe flawed loyalty in terms of the ‘greater good’.

Nobody speaks a word. Sita no longer looks at the crushed flowers beneath her feet, but her eyes always fall on the loveliest of flowers that bloom in the garden. The cold doesn’t bother her anymore, and she gladly welcomes the sun on her body.

It’s only a matter of time, and like a lion, will my Rama take me away from here?

A chain of events brought about the ominous sign of Lanka’s destruction. Ravan’s soldiers, servants, and all the guards, Rakshasas and Rakshasis, try their level best to douse the fire burning away their kingdom like a raging forest fire.

Ratangi notices the blazing look in Sita’s doe-like eyes and gulps. The entire Ashok Vatika, too, burns. The dry twigs and leaves serve as fuel to let the fire capture everything in its vicinity. Sita stands on the concrete platform, her head high, and for a brief moment, she sees Hanuman leap across the large roofs of the palace with a fiery grey trail in the sky.

Flames surround Sita, and though she has seen endless fires in her nightmares, this time her face bears a glow as radiant as the enormous orange flames around her. She braces the powerful heat emanating from the fire and draws her eyes close once again with her lips, remembering Rama’s name like the chants of a mantra.

Sita’s open hair flying in the strong winds and the fiery radiance of her face make her appear like Devi Durga, and never did Ratangi think about bowing to another woman except the royal ladies of Lanka. Her head bends down automatically in reverence, fear, and awe at Sita.

Ratangi had seen Sita as the delicate doe-like princess when she was brought to Lanka. She saw how Sita was the rightful queen of Ayodhya after displaying her firm grit to survive and to stay stable after months of mental and physical torment, and tonight Ratangi saw Sita look like a powerful goddess of destruction.

She only mutters one statement after witnessing the surrounding flames destroy everything in their wake. “Lanka is doomed.”

--- xxx ---

The last second chapter of my short story collection titled, Goddesses, Rishikas & Women. There are other stories, some that you all have read, and the rest shall be revealed later in the future.

This scene is my imagination of Sita in Ashok Vatika. I hope I could do some justice to Sita's character.

And if you want to find more updates about this book, you can head over to my id: @samridhi.writes for all book updates and excerpts (meko audience bannani hai apni vahan so you all would mean the world to me 🥹💗💖)

Taglist: @swayamev @jukti-torko-golpo @navaratna @kaal-naagin @alhad-si-simran @houseofbreadpakoda @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @krishnaaradhika @krsnaradhika @ramcharantitties @krishna-priyatama

#samridhi writes #desiblr #hindublr #goddesses rishikas & women #sita #ramayana #short story

63 notes · View notes

whereserpentswalk · 2 months

Text

When the human known to us as Christ arrived in the underworld, gods and shades alike were horrified. It was always a big deal when demigods arrived in the underworld, but this one had died so brutally, a young man, not even old enough to grow a beard, tourtued to death at the will of his own divine parentage, the blood dripping from his shade's hands.

The high gods of the underworld brought him up to their tower to figure out what happened. Christ had recoiled from them at first, thinking they were Devils, but had to take Anubis's hand to ascend the tower's steps, as his legs were badly wounded. The gods of the dead looked at him with both sympathy and horror, it was the first time a he had seen a god look at him with either of those emotions.

Hades swore that this was his brother's doing, but even then it crossed a new line. The description of a god impregnating a young girl in Bethlehem fit what Hades knew of Zeus, but to harm his own son in such a way, as part of a ploy to try to gain all of Rome for him alone, had proven his brother's reign growing darker. Still, he took mercy on the young man, promising him at least three days safety in the underworld without his father trying to claim him again. Hades wondered if the poor girl knew when she held her child that he was born to suffer and die, just as the mothers of great heros knew their destiny. Hades hoped Chrsit would have a chance to stay longer, his wife would return in the fall, and he had the same kind eyes as her, she would probably like to know him.

Hel came to comfort Christ once he had a chance to rest. She helped tend his wounds, and pet his head, and for the first time christ was held by a divinity that didn't expect anything from him. And she told him stories of her father to cheer him up after meeting with such a horrible fate. And she told him that no father should ever do such a thing as what his father had done to his child, that if she had known in time she would have saved him. And she let him be comforted as a human, instead of being a lord of all humanity. And for a momment he didn't have to be the son of god who felt alone while bleeding and dying, but the son of the carpenter Joseph who had been reminded of home when he felt the wood of the cross.

He wasn't allowed to stay, his father wanted him back, back to be the bleeding prince of a new and lonely kingdom. And the underworld wept for him, not because the underworld was deprived of Christ, but because Christ was deprived of the underworld.

67 notes · View notes

heraldofcrow · 15 hours

Note

Can you tell me about the times of Dark Souls fandom where everyone was going 'I am Squidward Velka, YOU are Velka, HE is Velka, are there any other Velkas I don't know about?!' ? XD Since you've mentioned that now everyone is doing it with Miquella? I am only into Soulsborne for 3 years so I've missed the history apparently..

PERHAPS THE REAL VELKA WAS THE FRIENDS WE MADE ALONG THE WAY!!!

25 notes · View notes

cookthepenguin · 28 days

Text

I found this on pinterest

and now I need a story about Lucifer’s rebellion with each of the angels being different old gods

24 notes · View notes

moostelid · 1 month

Text

“Happy birthday! I got you a gift!”

« An offering? How curious. I am not so frail a god that I would require sacrifices from mere mortals to prolong my existence, however. »

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not a sacrifice then. Y’see, we celebrate getting older on the anniversary of the day we are born. Every year we gather to give gifts, or well—offerings, to the person who’s aged. Like for example: you!”

« Foolish. By the standards you have laid out, I would not require sacrifices as I am not born. I do not age. I have been and will always be. »

“Well, yeah. I know that! Well, sort of— But everyone else I know has one! And since I met you exactly one year ago today….well, I figured today could be yours from now on! So a gift!”

« I see. What else do mortals do on their birth anniversaries? »

“Well, for starters, we actually call it a birthday—”

#eldritch #writing #prompt #writing prompt #writeblr #It’s not a festival it’s a birthday #dialogue prompt #story prompt #eldrichcore #birthday #wholesome #wholesome horror #horror #god #goddess #godhood #story #short story #tumblr folktales

15 notes · View notes

aigeneratedfun · 5 days

Text

Behold the enchanting beauty of the Jellyfish Goddess, a stunning fusion of nature and fantasy brought to life through AI artistry. Her ethereal glow and graceful presence illuminate the depths of the ocean, capturing the serene magic of the sea. 🌊✨

10 notes · View notes

dancingupontheclouds · 3 months

Text

the goddess and the fly

or: a woman that is jealous of the liveliness of a fly.

a/n: please do not steal my work, republish and/or claim as yours. thank you. <3

Darkness surrounds me. It is silent as I breathe it in; let it consume me. My room is messy but it doesn't smell. There is only one thing rotting in my room. I can't bear to look at it. I've broken all the mirrors. There's nothing, yet everything is too much. That is when I notice her. She announces herself with a faint buzz in the background. My neck cracks and hurts as I peel my staring eyes from the ceiling.

Right at the bright gap below the blinds, she crashes stupidly into window again, again, and again. I see her trying. I watch her failing. I witness her sense for survival; the instinct to live and it makes me wonder if an unconscious, dumb, fought-for life is as valuable as my conscious, aching, unwanted one. My jaw tightens. She annoys me. How did she get in her in the first place? It's her fault. She doesn't need to bother me with her struggle.

But she tries again just to bump into glass once more. I could open the window, let her out, set her free, spare her life but she wouldn't know. She wouldn't make me her God. She wouldn't pray for-- to me. So I don't.

My gaze is stuck on her, rapid eyes following her movements and I'm livid. Why won't she just give up, fall to the floor, curl up and die? At what point does an instinct become a will? She becomes slower, her buzzing suddenly a low, soothing sound. My angry heart feels heavy as she lands on the window to rest, the buzzing gone. Good.

One of my fingers reaches out to touch her, slowly. I don't know why. Startled, she takes off with a panicked buzz, crashes into every wall, every corner, every crevice of my room in seconds and I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut because I cannot take it; cannot stand to hear her fighting for her life when it's so insignificant. I roll on my side to face the wall and when I open my eyes again, she is right there. We're eye to eye and the longer I look at her, the more I think I can see her breathing, gasping for life. My eyes shift a little to the left, her right, and the window is there, still closed. As we look at each other, I soften at the sight of the little creature depending on the mercy of the woman in front of her. “I'm sorry”, I whisper. It must have been hell for her. This time, she crawls down the wall, closer to me and I ponder whether it is trust or coincidental. How similar can we be? Maybe we are alike. The little fly stops and tiredly rubs her front legs together to get the dirt off her, free herself from my room, wash me off her. Even in her rough state she gets ready to taste life again, to expand her palette like the greedy, stupid animal she is. We are not the same.

She is a fly and I am a woman. She cannot think which is all I do. She wants to live and I hate her for it.

So naturally, she doesn't expect it when my flat palm hits her fragile body. A loud slap hisses through the room, echoes in my ears, when she bursts beneath my skin.

When I take my hand away, I expect her to fall, except she doesn't. She sticks to the wall in a bloody mush.

Her blood graces my palm, a reminder of life just millimetres above my own veins. Even in death she is more alive than me. The thought of lapping it up to indulge her spirit – make it mine – crosses my mind before my face pulls together in disgust and I wipe the rest of her next to her crushed, bleeding body. Now there's two things rotting in my room and for a second I think of getting up and wiping her away, to cease her existence forever, to flush her down the drain for she is the reminder of my ungodly, jealous soul and I think that maybe breathing it in, consuming all that darkness, I've sucked it out of this room completely and have become it as I turn away to face the ceiling again.

#zo's literature #zo's poetry #theflyandthegoddess #original poem #poetry #short story #the fly and the goddess

11 notes · View notes

mallornart · 6 months

Text

Baby Hel and Loki

If Loki loved anyone, it was Hel, Fenrir, Jormungundr, Vali, and Narfi. I have some doubts about Sigyn and Angrboda. 😅😅🤷🏻

His daughter, his princess. Those tiny arms and legs… he didn't think anything had ever caught his attention for more than a second, the 9 worlds seemed rather indifferent to him, which was why he was so often bored and liked to irritate the people of Aagard and the jotuns, their idiotic arguments were entertaining him entertainment, and yet… He didn't believe in miracles, but he would undoubtedly call the little giantess a miracle. That night was one of the best nights of his life. He adjusted the baby in his arms, on which took a long time, opened one light green eye, then the other, looking curiously at his father and stretching out his little hands. Loki smiled. When he gave his daughter his finger, she closed her fist and after a while she started sucking it. God chuckled

– Hello, snowflake. - he whispered to the girl After a moment, he thought about it, looking at the baby's fiery hair. This newborn was different, he saw something interesting in her , in her pattern where she focused attention on everything around but she was also clearly looking at him. In fact, he didn't know each other on raising children, but Frigg recently gave birth to her second son - Baldur. She once said they were like little kids they cannot yet focus on the person of their parent and not much that they see, because the light is too bright for them. Additionally, they most often look upside down. Girl was observing him on purpose, certain of who she was, he became immediately sure of it. Eventually, however, she lost interest in his finger and instead her chubby paws tried to touch the neck, specifically the pendant with a raven skull attached to a strap, between a strand of brown beads. Loki laughed again.

–You like it - he said happily, taking the ornament over his head - he placed the skull in the roll of the blanket, to which the girl reacted with enthusiastic squeaking. Then she clumsily grabbed the object, wrapped it in her arms, and curled it into a ball. She fell asleep immediately. Loki looked on with growing admiratio.You like bones. - he said - Just like the inhabitants of the land of Hel. It is ruled by Garm, a shapeshifter like me and perhaps you," he stroked the tiny head. In his large hand she seemed as small as a grain of sand - Hella, Hel… he repeated thoughtfully - It suits you. Angrboda will like it, right Hel?!

Angrboda zmęczona porodem udała się na spoczynek, a reszta mieszkańców dworu zajęła opijaniem przybycia nowej członkini rodziny. Dwie siostry i matka żony boga zostały z olbrzymką w komnacie by czuwać przy jej boku w razie potrzeby. Loki jednak chociaż zapraszano go do zastawionego suto stołu pierwszy raz w życiu odmówił udziału w biesiadzie. Pierwszy raz uznał,że wybierze coś innego niż huczne świętowanie. Wolał bowiem zostać z córką, z noworodkiem na rękach, .Zafascynował się całkowicie. Gdy reszta olbrzymów zostawiła ich samych, zasiadł z dzieckiem przy palenisku z kocykiem w ramionach a gdy spojrzał na córeczkę, tak niewinnie i słodko drzemiącą w jego rękach serce stopiło mu się jak bryłka lodu. Mógł być potworem, lisem Asgardu, jak nazywali go inni bogowie, oszustem, nigdy sam nie nazwał by siebie prawym, nie zaprzeczył gdyby ktoś określił go jako hipokrytę lub egoistę,.sam dobrze wiedział,że wszystko, co robi, robi dla własne korzyści lub by uciec od problemu,nie nadawał się do pomocy innym,nie lubił zajmować się cudzymi problemami chyba,że po to by zrobić komuś na złość,ale patrząc na to kruche stworzenie wiedział od razu,że ten jeden raz zrobi dla niego dosłownie wszystko, bez względu na swoje dobro. Jego córeczka, jego księżniczka. Te malutkie rączki i nóżki….nie sądził by cokolwiek,kiedykolwiek zwróciło jego uwagę na dłużej niż na sekundę, 9 światów zdawało mu się raczej obojętne, właśnie dlatego tak często się nudził i lubił irytować mieszkańców Aagardu i jotunów, ich idiotyczne spory dostarczały mu rozrywki, a jednak … Nie wierzył w cuda ,ale małą olbrzymkę bez wątpienia nazwał by cudem. Ta noc należała do najlepszych jego życia. Poprawił dziecko w ramionach, na co przeciągnęło się,otworzyło jedno jasnozielone oko, potem drugie z zaciekawieniem patrząc na ojca i wyciągając małe rączki. Loki uśmiechnął się. Gdy podał córce palec zacisnęła na nim swoją piąstkę a po chwili zaczęła go ssać. Bóg zachichotał

–Witaj śnieżynko. - szepnął do dziewczynki Po chwili zastanowił się, patrząc na ognistą czuprynę maleństwa. Ten noworodek był inny, widział w nim coś interesującego , w jej wzorku, w którym skupiała uwagę na wszystkim wokół, ale też wyraźnie mu się przyglądała. Nie znał się co prawda na wychowywaniu dzieci,lecz Frigg, niedawno urodziła swojego,drugiego syna - Baldura. Twierdziła kiedyś,że takie maluchy nie potrafią jeszcze skupić wzroku na osobie rodzica i nie wiele co widzą, bo światło jest dla nich zbyt jaskrawe. Do tego najczęściej patrzą do góry nogami. Poparła ją Eir- lekarka bogów, gdy oglądała małego. Za to, to cudo bez wątpienia skupiało spojrzenie na tym, co chciało. Lustrowało go celowo,pewne kim jest ,nabrał co do tego natychmiastowej pewności. W końcu jednak przestało się interesować jego palcem a zamiast tego pulchne łapki próbowały dotknąć szyi, konkretnie wisiorka z czaszką kruka umocowaną na rzemieniu, pomiędzy splotem brązowych koralików. Loki znów się zaśmiał.

–Podoba ci się.- stwierdził radośnie, zdejmując ozdobę przez głowę – położył czaszkę w zwoju koca, na co dziewczynka zareagowała entuzjastycznym skrzeczeniem. Potem chwyciła niezgrabnie przedmiot,otuliła ramionami, zwinęła w kłębek. Natychmiast zasnęła. Loki przypatrywał się temu z rosnącym zachwytem.

–Lubisz kości. - stwierdził - Zupełnie jak mieszkańcy krainy Hel. Włada nią Garm, zmiennokształtny jak ja i być może ty.– pogłaskał malutką główkę. W jego wielkiej dłoni wydawała się drobna jak ziarenko piasku- Hella, Hel… powtórzył w zamyśleniu Pasuje do ciebie. Angrbodzie się spodoba, prawda Hel ?!

#hellokidottir #nordic mythology #mitology #Hella&Loki #children of loki #hel #short story #goddess of the death #baby #father and daughter #loki's children #loki's army #daddy’s babygirl

18 notes · View notes

hecates-corner · 5 months

Note

more Aphrodite and her mortal lover por favor? *hopeful eyes*

Of COURSE! Me encanta escribir esta historia.

How about a nice little POV switch, hm?

She is as lovely the poets paint her. As the bards sing her to be.

My lady is warm as sun-blessed honey, swift-running and golden as the very voice she beholds. Even in her mortal form, the very one that drew me in like a frail moth to a flickering flame, her eyes shine blue as the cresting sea: now light, and now dark. The bubbles of the tide are painted into the hue, white flecks that could very well be misplaced stars in the sky of broad daylight.

Her olive skin glints like bronze, the corn color of her hair flowing down it as a stream tumbles down gentle rocks of a cliff. Her hands, small and smooth, with lightly visible veins, twist and fly through the air as we dance with one another. The rosy dawn cannot hold a candle to the flush on her high cheeks, as plush and pink as the roses that grow where I would come to lay.

We run, through a field of rustling grain, wind whistling as it blows through each strand. The bright sky begins to rumble, a horde of swelling clouds growing dark, moving in towards us. We know of the drops, of the cold tears that will fall when those cotton clumps swarm our once-vast, shrinking skies.

She turns, enough to tilt her teasing form towards me, and extends a hand. It curls out, her graceful wrist like the neck of a sweet swan, bending just so to lay her paled palm flat. An invitation.

When I take it, she laughs, laughs, and it is of falling feathers, snow white and soft. It is the unfurling petals of a waking blossom, and the scent of apples in the breeze. She is perfect, though I did not think a word to exist.

My Aphrodite guides me, out bare feet leaping and landing upon soft earth, the soil that will soon be damp with water from the domain of my love's familiar, lord of cloud. Was he chasing us, pursuing us then? I could not say, for I thought of no one but her. Though I did not think so. We were small and unimportant to such a great gaze, especially then. To us, the world was not ours, nor were we owned. We simply were.

She led me gently over a hollow log, dark and soft with impending rot, and we were there.

Together we tumbled backwards, as she tugged me into her embrace and we landed upon the spongey moss that cushioned our fall. I laughed, then, louder than before. Giggles that shook us both, holding fast and clutching one another gently, for we knew neither of us would escape.

Mortals fear gods will come to them in forms of doves, of oxen or bulls, in showers of light. Some fear gods will leave them the same ways. I did not feel weary of either. My dearest was many things, but I knew her, for how little we had been acquainted.

The skies rumbled again, vibrating deep within the earth. The sound of the rain began to approach earshot, incessant white noise of the showering pull. It smelled of rain.

A fig tree loomed over us, shielding the remaining sun and the imminent rain from our skins, and casting the gentle comfort of its matronly power over us.

I pressed my face into her neck, her soft locks like myrtles crushed beneath my cheek. She let me nuzzle my nose into the underside of her jaw, feeling out the sweet concavity of the bone. I kissed the space there, where tongue tissue connected with the muscle inside of her mouth.

She hummed, contentedly. "My dear," she spoke, so smoothly and with such ease that it would have brought tears to my eyes at the loveliness. "If we do not return to your home soon, we will be caught in the haze of the storm."

I chuckled. "You do not think I hope for such?"

She was quiet, but even I could feel the grin spread on her lips. She need not say a word, just the buzz of the laugh in her throat was enough for me.

The clouds consumed the sky, and drops dripped from their vastness, dropping down and rolling like sips of water down thirsty throats. The chilly tears landed sweetly upon us, one by one, dissonantly. I tipped my chin up to watch her blink a drop from her dark lashes.

"Do you truly look like this?" I asked.

She was curious. Not surprised, simply curious.

"The way you see me?" She closed her eyes, in place of where a head shake would be. "No."

"No?"

She laughed, a songbird's throaty call. "I appear differently to every mortal. But I know how they see me." Aphrodite cast me a knowing glance. "Blonde, and blue eyed? That is your peak of beauty?"

I flushed. "Like the ocean, and the sand over which it drapes."

She snorted. "Like the children of Zeus."

My hand flew up and swatted her shoulder gently, her body rocking harder with larger giggles. "Oh, please, my lady. Do not scorn me."

"I do not, love." My Aphrodite laughed. "I simply wonder what beauty is to you."

"You are beauty to me," I replied, much too quickly to have been untrue. "In whatever form you may take."

She paused, but there was no word to speak, no comment to mutter. She simply was, and so I was, too. Silence enveloped us, the comfortable and easy quiet that cupped us so gently.

At last, she spoke.

"I do have a true form." Aphrodite said.

I waited. "You do?"

"Yes." She spoke, simply.

Perhaps I could have said a million things: show me, or what shape does your hair hold? Or asked if she even had hair.

But I did not. I did not say any of those, or anything close.

"Good." I said, because it was the only thing I needed to say.

#love you rosewater #i smile when i see you in my notifs <3 #greek mythology #aphrodite x mortal woman #aphrodite #greek myth #mythology #author #aphrodisiac #should I make this an actual professional short story to publish??#greek mythos #greek goddess #greek retelling #greek myth poetry #if you look carefully you will see I added easter eggs #of her sacred animals and things #in the story #aphrodite x female lover #aphrodite and her lover

18 notes · View notes

kidddcaptain · 15 days

Text

Charak you should have stayed hidden.

Byrons eyes darted around the streets trying to follow the streaks of black left by Charaks eyes as he flew from the wall of one building to another, tracing a triangle around the Byron. He knew Charak was strong but this? Achieving this speed? It was beyond the word strength it was an unimaginable level of power but that was of no consequence there was no way this spider would leave this makeshift arena unsquashed.

Air crashed into his face as Charak flew behind him. Byron knew what was happening, Charak was a hunter and he was getting used to the hunt again, he is trying to lengthen the hunt. He was having fun. Overcome by embarrassment cloaked in rage Byron let lose a roar so loud it echoed down the desolate streets and threw a punch the ruptured the concrete and tarmac that he alone stood on. The sudden tremor travelled to the building on Byrons right side, shaking its foundations as the ground beneath it tore open to swallow it whole. This sudden change in landscape forced Charak to stop his movement completely and reassess the situation, this was his chance he could end this with one punch all he needed was to get closer; focusing all his magic in his legs he had, before Charaks eyes had even closed to blink, appeared before him fist raised high above his head. This was it! He was going to win!!

His fist came to a sudden stop.

Skin.

Charak had done the impossible, he stopped Byrons punch well before it even began.

"Look Byron was it? There is no way in hell you win here and let me show you why" Charak adjusted his grip on his prey, moving his hand from the fist to the wrist and yanked him forwards. What happened next could not have been anticipated by anyone, Charaks teeth gouged Byrons face and tore his check off. Reflexively Byron threw a punch as strong and as fast as he could bolstered by every ounce of magic his curse allowed him. The information processed backwards, first Byron felt the ground destroyed from his punch, he then realised the strange lack of viscera between his hand and the ground, he then realised Charak was no longer in front of him.

Breath.

Byron whipped around and bore witness to what really killed his family. The wild animal that possessed the spider queens curse. The creature that left only their skulls behind. Charak the one being in this fight no one lived to question.

"What? You seem afraid. Weren't you told? The spider queen was a cannibal god, she ate the fearless wolf and the prideful boar, remind me whose curse do you bear?" At that moment Byron felt his strength leave. His curse was broken pride no longer carried his strength on his back fear stole that job.

"Please" His voice trembled, he did not care "I no longer hold the boars curse! You do not have to do this!"

Charaks black eyes seemed to cast a shadow of their own one that conveyed pure distain "You see most of the time I would agree, but you came to me after my leaving was announced to try kill me while I was weakened. You were a coward through and through and now you're a human. So out of the three things I see no value in you have ticked two of those boxes, a coward and a human without a curse. You will be a pitiful meal but a meal none the less" Four arms grasped Masakis face and brought it within an inch of Charaks "Shall we share a kiss?"

#oc info #oc stuff #dnd character #dnd ocs #my ocs #ocs #short story #writers on tumblr #begginer writer #female writers #spider queen #to the death #cursed ones #haunted by the past #excitement #cannibals #gods and goddesses #gods and monsters #gods and deities

7 notes · View notes

wren-l-winter · 2 months

Text

The Collector and The Goddess

Hi everyone! So for the month of April, I am going to (attempt to) write one short story every day. This is the first of (hopefully) thirty.

TW: blood and mild gore

WC: 1214

Summary: In the icy grip of winter, The Collector embarks on a perilous journey to summon the Goddess of the Mountain. Eager to collect the ancient being, she summons her and makes a deal without thought of what price she might have to pay for the miracle she desires.

Frost swept over the lifeless cliffside. Winter had seized the landscape in its ruthless grip, leaving nothing untouched. Not even The Collector had been spared. Bundled in the finest furs and leathers Lavena could find, she trudged along the shallow shelf protruding from the unforgiving stone. Piles of snow obstructed her path, making it impossible to tell where to step.

And yet, by some blessing from above, she stopped before the hollow mouth of a cave where the wind wailed and snowflakes teased the opening. But the frozen flecks turned into droplets as they attempted to cross the threshold.

Lavena stiffly moved forward. Warmth caressed her cheek, melting away the cold that turned her blood into sludge as the cave welcomed her into its dark embrace. The shrill cry of the wind fell away as she moved deeper into the darkness.

From her coat pocket, she retrieved a sunstone. The shadows fell away, revealing the eroded edges of the cave. Each footstep echoed around her as she descended into the mountain. Only when the tunnel stopped and she faced a barren wall did she stop.

She flexed her empty hand as she walked the length of the stone. Unlike the pale grey of the cave, the dark rock was lined with minute crystals. They taunted her with each wink, daring her to speak the ancient words she’d murmured under her breath with each agonizing step up the mountain’s face.

Lavena stopped at the center. The stone glowed within her cupped hands as she took in a small breath. After months of hunting a deity most had forgotten, she had finally reached the end of her journey. Bowing her head, she spoke the ancient tongue of the villagers she had met at the foot of the mountain. The throaty syllables bounced off the air, surrounding her as she continued the chant.

The crystals within the wall shuddered, falling from the rock onto the floor in a tinkling wave of rain with a softer sound than the villagers had described. The fallen crystals melted before her feet in a shimmering puddle of iridescent minerals. Lavena stepped back, her voice growing louder as though she could will the pool of crystal to become something more.

Slowly, a figure emerged from globs of enchanting hues. Lavena didn’t dare to lift her head for fear of forgetting the chant she’d ingrained into her mind. She couldn’t risk losing the chance to speak to an ancient creature. The villagers had said it could only be summoned during the worst storm of the season. If she failed, she’d have to wait another year.

The molten crystal solidified before her into two long limbs.

Her chanting was interrupted by a cool finger against her lips. “And what, my lovely dove, have you summoned me for,” a voice like a singing chalice crooned. The finger shifted, dragging down her bottom lip before pressing beneath her chin, lifting her head.

Before her, a goddess stood. The light glistened off her ethereal skin in fractured iridescent colors. Her eyes, a swirling pool of purples and blues that threatened to drown her within their inky embrace. Waves of ivory flowed around her hair as though she was submerged within something Lavena’s human eyes could not comprehend.

“I-” Lavena blinked. The goddess grinned, lips pulling away from her pearly teeth. “I’m a collector.”

The being hummed, leering down at her. “And have you come to collect me, lovely dove?”

Would she be so bold as to say yes? “I’ve heard many things about you.” The cool finger beneath her chin fell away and the goddess shifted, slowly encircling her. “That you perform miracles.”

“I do,” she purred.

Lavena shivered, feeling a cool hand caress the small of her back. “I hope to harness that.”

The goddess stood before her again, eyes swirling with purples hints of pinks. “What for, my dove?”

“First, I’d love to get off this mountain,” she said with a ghost of a laugh.

“As you wish.”

The dreary colors of the world twisted and spun, creating a vortex around them. Greys and browns bled into vibrant shades of greens and blues until the swirling paints calmed. Lavena stumbled back, taking in the grass beneath her feet and songs of birds within ancient trees around her.

“You-Where-Where-I don’t-”

Again, the cool touch of her finger silenced her. “Hush, my dove. And now,” the goddess leaned over to croon in her ear, “a price must be paid.”

“A price,” Lavena blanched. She hadn’t meant to ask for the miracle. It had been a joke.

“Don’t you know magic always comes at a cost?” She held out an iridescent hand. “Don’t look so surprised. I thought you were a collector. Shouldn’t you know better?” Swirling irises of pinks and reds looked pointedly to Lavena’s hand. “If you want another miracle, you’ll have to pay, my sweet dove.”

Lavena curled and flexed her fingers. She could run. But how far would she get? No. The villagers had spoken fondly of the Goddess in the Mountain and they had been nothing but honest and kind to her. She could trust her. With a small breath, she laid her palm in the goddess’s hand. She worried at the bottom of her lip as slender fingers languidly pulled off her glove. Her cool touch brought her hand up toward the goddess’s crystalline features.

Pinks and reds turned wholly crimson as thin lips pulled back in a sneer. “Which finger is your least favorite so that I might bless it, little dove?”

Lavena’s gaze fell to her too-perfect teeth. She didn’t remember her canines looking like daggers. “My ring finger-” Agony ripped down her arm like liquid lightning frying her nerves. A scream tore from her throat as her knees buckled, desperate to fall away.

The goddess held her like struggling prey as crimson dripped down her chin. She chewed slowly, relishing the delectable crunch of bone.

After Lavena’s screaming had turned to sobs, she was released. She clutched her hand to her chest, curling over herself as though that might cease the icy pain leaching into her hand.

“Poor thing,” the goddess said. “Dry your tears, sweet dove, and look at the gift I bestowed upon you.”

Through glassy eyes, she looked down at her hand to see her finger had been replaced with a crystalline digit. Lavena sucked down harsh breaths, trying to calm herself despite the blinding pain. “You bit off my finger,” she said, unable to keep the shrillness from her tone.

“I did.” The goddess crouched down to meet the woman’s silver-lined gaze. “But I won’t do it again…unless you ask me.” She chuckled before standing and offered her hand once more. “Come, my dove. We have much to do.” She wiggled her glassy fingers. “Or I could turn you into a statue and you can enjoy the forest for the rest of eternity. Your choice.”

Lavena, still clutching her hand to her chest, managed to shove herself up onto her feet with bared teeth. “You’ll pay for that.”

The goddess tilted her head and laughed toward the heavens. “Oh, my dove,” she cooed, taking a step too close to the brave collector, “I don’t think I will, but you can certainly try to make me.”

#short story #fantasy #dark fantasy #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #lesbian short story #wlw short story #lesbian literature #wlw post #sapphic yearning #human x monster #human x goddess

10 notes · View notes

lovely-amora · 2 months

Text

To Be aware of the Storyteller (pt1)

Part 2

Astarion has had this feeling that he was watched. He could never prove it nor could he ever explain it.

The Narrator is a young goddess who had been alone telling the story of Balder’s Gate over and over again to the players actions. The constant resets and changes to the story, all she can do is watch. Astarion was her favorite but she couldn’t do anything aside from give her hope. Being alone for so long makes you wish you could be seen…or even heard.

It first happened when he woke up from the crash. There was a small voice urging him on. He always thought that it was simply in inner thoughts at first.

Then came Tav. He’d tricked Tav into thinking there was danger when it was really him but the feeling became stronger. Was that a woman’s voice he heard?

It was all speculation, he could never confirm his suspicions, especially with the tadpole in his head.

He confronted Tav about it.

“You ever feel like we’re being watched?”

Tav was ever so helpful in the lack of knowledge. But if Tav didn’t know then who could he ask.

The feeling of eyes on him grew more and more. It was there when he attempted to drink Tav’s blood without permission, there when he helped the Teiflings and was even there when he was at camp alone.

Then suddenly, and for no reason, he had a dream. It didn’t feel like a dream but what could he tell when Gale was testing his spells and let it get loose.

Astarion was in a dark world, it seemed bleak as if there was nothing notable, he spotted something, an orb.

He slowly approached it but someone was holding the orb. Was that Tav and the team they took with them? A woman in robes that made her look as if he was staring into the galaxy above or was it the abyss..? Her eyes were unnatural, white orbs that slightly glowed.

“The parasite stirs, but it’s a mere tickle. You hear no thoughts or memories. Just an echo of scars that never healed.” She stopped and then mumbled something to herself, her eyes reflecting sadness.

Astarion widened his eyes. It’s the voice he heard. The woman in front of him was the one who urged him to wake from his fall out of the ship. Was it her eyes that he always felt?

“What are you?” He mumbled as he approached closer. Her head snapped up, glowing white eyes bore into him like the sun.

“Yours not supposed to be here.”

He gasped as he woke up. His bedroll was damp from the sweating he had done and his head ached a dull pain.

“You walked to Astarion’s tent. Concern washes over you as you hadn’t expected him to be in such disrepair since Gale’s spell had gone haywire.”

The voice. Tav pushed the flaps of his tent open. Astarion laughed helplessly, a million thoughts in his mind. Was what he saw..a god? Did she control Tav? Does Tav know? Can they hear her and lied about it?

All he knew is that the woman he saw seemed plagued with sadness. He couldn’t understand why she was sad, he couldn’t understand why she was even watching without helping at all.

“Are you alone as well?”

He clicked his tongue. Why was he worried about a god? Gods usually have everything and are the ones fooling their followers. But the abysmal emptiness area, the darkness where the only light was that single orb. It felt daunting for someone who one saw it briefly but how long had she’d been there?

He didn’t trust it. As much as he sympathized with it, he couldn’t.

“He looked at you as if half mad. His face crossed between anger and sadness as he stared at you annoyed.”

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #fanfic #fantasy #self awareness #video games #narrator #goddess #short story #enemies to friends trope #vampire #DnD #baldur's gate 3

15 notes · View notes

eleanore-delphinium · 10 months

Text

The whole werewolves stories I've been reading resulted in this thought because I don't understand how some mates are abusive and they are all like 'Goddess this or that why, but I also love him'.

This is Copium and in the form of DamiRae.

Warning: Bad words.

The Moon Goddess.

The Goddess of the People of the Night. Believed to be the one who connects everyone to their mates, be it wolves, vampires, witches and humans.

And when someone so unfortunately gains a mate who is unworthy, abusive, hurtful-- they blame her.

'Why was I bound to this kind of person?' They would ask.

But because of the bond, and their blind trust to The Moon Goddess, ultimately these people bound to a cruel mate, would say, 'But I love them, and there must be a reason for this connection.'

It was laughable.

How they got it so wrong.

These fated bonds they held sacredly, were not created by The Moon Goddess.

It was created by a witch who wanted to be connected with her lover in this life and the next, and the next, and the next, well, till eternity.

And she ascended to Godhood to do so. For nothing could stop her from being with her lover. And he will always have a place right next to her.

Those who heard of what she had done and wanted the same fate with their lovers, sought her out. Not thinking that their partner won't be the same in the next life.

So, if you so happen to have an abusive mate. Don't blame The Moon Goddess or The Witch.

Blame yourself.

Because in some other life, this was what you wanted.

In a cold dark throne room, sat a man with black hair on a golden throne. His eyes were closed. His head propped up by one hand with his elbow resting on the armchair.

Everything was quiet.

The soft tapping of shoes echoed throughout the hall and the man's green eyes were revealed as he steadily gazed before him.

A pale woman in a long black dress that left no questions as to what her figure might be underneath, emerged from the shadows and as she got closer her long black hair was revealed and her mesmerising violet eyes that were locked at him.

He smiled.

And she smiled back.

There was nothing but silence as she moved towards him. The allure of her swaying hips caught his attention.

She lifted her dress revealing her beautiful ankles and her strappy heels as she ascended the small staircase to reach the man on his throne.

Their eyes still locked at one another.

He spread his legs apart as he adjusted himself on his seat, placing both arms on the armrest. And without pausing she slipped comfortably on top of one of his legs, sitting rather comfortably there.

"Damian, My Love..." She traced his angular jaw with her long wispy fingers. Her nails were long too and painted black.

He had closed his eyes to relish in her touch, "Yes, Beloved?"

"Do you not regret what I have done?" She inquired quietly as she studied his face with her eyes.

The air was calm as he replied, "Of course not."

She tilted his face towards her and she leaned down and kissed him.

"Why would I?" He mumbled between kisses as he too reciprocated her affections.

"My Lady, there is someone seeking your service." Came the voice of a man as he knelt on the floor. He appeared suddenly within a whirl of black smoke and the woman sighed.

"I think we need to make the quest to search for The Witch harder, My Love." She mumbled against his lips. And he studied her eyes.

"I honestly thought it was hard enough already, but I will see to it then, Beloved." He caressed her face and she closed her eyes for a moment. It was her turn to enjoy his touch.

After a few seconds she kissed him on the lips and pulled away. "I must go." Her hand still held his hand as she slowly distanced herself from him, clearly not wanting to let go.

Eventually their hands parted. And she turned her attention fully to the steps as she started her descent.

On the base of the staircase he called her, "Raven," she turned to him, "I will be waiting here."

She smiled and she glanced at the man, "Lead the way."

In the beginning of her journey to bind one person to another.

Her lover and her were the first. And now there were so many more connections she binded after that it came to the point that everyone believed they had some fated mate somewhere as per The Moon Goddess kind graces.

With that, The Witch and Her Lover decided to create a quest in order to find her. And they only made it harder and harder when they found more and more people were still seeking her out.

Seeking The Witch’s Unending Blessing.

The man seemed to have fallen asleep on his seat, his eyes closed and rested on one hand that was propped at the arm of his throne. His legs spread wide and he was slouched back into the back of his golden throne.

The familiar tapping of heels woke him up. His green eyes studied the darkness.

"How was it, Beloved?" He asked quietly.

And she emerged from the darkness again, a sad smile on her lips as she approached him.

He waited for her and was patient. She climbed the steps again and went to him, she sat on the throne, making her lover bring his legs closer together. Her back rested against one of the arms of the throne. And then she raised her legs to sling them over his firm legs.

She traced his face again with her long fingers, "A woman and man came to me, asking to be binded…"

He waited for her to continue, knowing that there was more she had to say.

She sighed, "She already had 4 other connections." Her violet eyes then glanced at the ceiling behind his shoulder.

"And…" He glanced back at her with a small tilting down of his chin.

"Who am I to say no to their request?" She looked at his calm green eyes, "I will not take their choice from them like those people did to us." She brushed his lower lips with her thumb.

“After all, they also proved their love by coming all the way here, through all the hardships we have built to find me.” She paused. "I think she found me quickly because she has already found me before." She replied matter of factly and the two were left to stare at one another.

And that was another reason as to why they tried to fade into history like some folklore or legend because of people seeking her out. Particularly those seeking her out a second or third or nth time.

Raven The Witch. Would never turn them down.

"Did you tell her she already had a forged bond?" He asked but he knew the answer already.

She shook her head, "No, I have no right to intervene in their decisions when they put in so much effort to find The Witch from whatever urban legend that they heard me from." She traced his jawline again, appearing to be fascinated by his angular jaw and the feeling of his already prickling beard even though he had just shaved.

"I simply fill in their desire." She studied his face and the love she had for this man seeped out from every pore of her body.

And he glowed matching her affections.

Even though she said that, the main purpose of making her story a legend that would hopefully fade to nothing was because she didn't want to meet more people like the one she had recently created a bond for.

Eventually, some bonds would fade if not reignited and would die down, but it takes a long long time for it to die. And the most recent connection would stay. But some did not have that with their older connections. The possibility of a bond to fade.

And if those already bonded kept seeking her out to form new bonds to their current lovers– it will only be a messy story for those involved

And Raven knew messy stories very well. For her life was the same.

One whole cluster fuck of a mess.

So, remember, if your mate happens to be an asshole. Blame yourself. You placed your fate in another person’s hands. Thinking that you will always have the same kind of love in this life and in the next.

Forming bonds thinking this is that once in a lifetime chance to have such an epic romance.

Well, jokes on you, even more so when you forge more than one bond in the name of such an epic love.

At the very least, if you get rejected by your mate and because you have more than one bond, then you have options.

Mortals are really foolish.

FIN.

35 notes · View notes

checkoutmybookshelf · 4 months

Text

Little Moments with Massive Impacts

I absolutely adored Daughter of the Moon Goddess and Heart of the Sun God, and there is something lush and comfortable and quietly gripping about Sue Lynn Tan's writing. When Tan's original duology ended, I was satisfied, but honestly this is one of those worlds where I would happily take anything more the author was willing to give us. And she has given us some new small moments and an epilogue that just wrapped my heart in a warm blanket and squish hugged it. Let's talk Tales of the Celestial Kingdom.

SPOILER WARNING!!! I am going to spoil not only TotCK, but DotMG and HotSG. BE WARNED.

This little short story collection is divided into three main sections: "Dusk," "Twilight," and "Dawn." Each section covers moments before, during, or after the main duology. The only story from Xingying's perspective is the last one; the other stories are from the perspective of other characters.

"Dusk" focuses on Chang'e and Houyi and expands their relationship before Xingying's birth. It also explores the toll killing the sunbirds took on Houyi and the choices that led to Chang'e taking the immortality elixir to save her own and Xingying's life. Seeing their relationship and their clear love for each other before decades of grief and change have colored and complicated it was a delight. Chang'e and Houyi in this version of their tale are fiercely in love, and that is ultimately what makes their story so tragic.

I also loved that, despite the brevity of the stories, the emotions were clear, complex, and communicated effectively. That can be hard to do in short form (I have always been terrible at it; I like to have a little more space to really wallow in feelings when I write) and I've never been a major short story girl; I like novel-length stuff. But I was entirely here for this reimagining of the Chang'e myth.

"Twilight" fills in spaces that were implied but not explored during the DotMG and HotSG timelines. We get a little more Liwei and Xingying as students, with a quick little adventure just as Liwei realizes he is beginning to fall in love. We also get a little more Wenzhi and Xingying in the Celestial army, also as Wenzhi realizes he is falling in love. I absolutely adore seeing Xingying through their eyes, and it was very instructive to see how they perceive their relationship with Xingying. I was ALWAYS a Wenying (Xingzhi? I dunno, reblog with your preferred ship name) girl, because quite frankly Liwei had too many Prince Jonathan of Conte vibes for me to think he was a good idea. Getting into Liwei's head just strengthened that perception, and while I can understand that he and Wenzhi were both inherently flawed characters...frankly I could support Wenzhi's flaws a lot more smoothly than Liwei's. (Honestly y'all, I might actually need to slap Liwei, especially when he's out here being an UTTER DICKHEAD).

Our boys aren't the only perspectives in "Twilight." We also get Shuxiao and Mengqi's mission to free the Celestial Emperor from Wugang. We are always here for BFF Shuxiao, and honestly if we were ever to get another short story collection in the Celestial Kingdom, I want a slice-of-life first date for these lovely ladies, because they have SUCH A SPARK. Like, we get one short story for them. It is 19 pages. And yet I am HERE for them to have a long, happy life snarking off at each other. The chemistry was just beautifully done. Give our girls their own book.

Finally, "Dawn" gives us a little more from Wenzhi in his mortal life, and Yingxing inserting herself into it. It's darling, and I appreciate the subtle nuances and differences that highlight that yes, this is definitely Wenzhi, but it's not Wenzhi the Prince of the Demon Realm. And yet he and Xingying are still perfect for each other, still love each other. And they have their first mortal date at Wenzhi's favorite tea house. It's DARLING.

What the final story does, however, is give me the ending that I desperately hoped for--but notably did not get--at the end of HotSG. The end of that book gives us the hope that Wenzhi and Xingying will have an immortal life together with Wenzhi's memories and experiences as an immortal restored to him. It was a wonderful, uplifting end to a book that had a lot to do with grief, but the thing it didn't do was make it too easy. Which I think is so important for good storytelling.

That said, actually getting Xingying and Wenzhi reuniting as immortals, and--for Wenzhi--picking up after he had just sacrificed himself for Xingying was SO. SATISFYING. We had the hope, we knew it was a possibility, and that's often what we have to sit with and exist with in real life. That's fine. But every once in a while--a very great while, it seems--we get the fruition of that hope and promise. We actually get the unambiguously happy ending and we, along with Xingying, remember that happiness is crucial.

Y'all, the end of this collection is so soft and happy, and I'm so deeply grateful that it's in the world with me.

#sue lynn tan #tales of the celestial kingdom #daughter of the moon goddess #heart of the sun warrior #xingying #wenzhi #short story collection #ya fantasy #chinese mythology #chinese literature #books and reading #books #books and novels #books & libraries #book recommendations

11 notes · View notes