#MatchingMarch

[monthlywritingchallenges]

🌼 MatchingMarch

March is all about connections—friendships, rivalries, soulmates, and unexpected bonds. Whether it's about finding the perfect match, clashing personalities, or relationships put to the test, these prompts are here to inspire you!

🌼 Prompts

1️⃣ An Unlikely Duo

2️⃣ First Impressions

3️⃣ A Bond Tested

4️⃣ Love or Duty?

5️⃣ Opposites Attract

6️⃣ A Rival Becomes a Friend

7️⃣ A Promise Kept

8️⃣ The Perfect Partner (or Not)

9️⃣ A Connection Across Time

🔟 Meeting Again After Years

1️⃣1️⃣ Found Family

1️⃣2️⃣ The One That Got Away

1️⃣3️⃣ A Pact Made in Secret

1️⃣4️⃣ Fake Relationship Gone Wrong (or Right)

1️⃣5️⃣ A Matchmaker’s Mistake

1️⃣6️⃣ The Moment It Changed

1️⃣7️⃣ From Enemies to Something More

1️⃣8️⃣ A Friendship Lost & Found

1️⃣9️⃣ A Partner in Crime

2️⃣0️⃣ Written in the Stars

2️⃣1️⃣ Love at First Sight—Or Not

2️⃣2️⃣ A Forbidden Connection

2️⃣3️⃣ Two Souls, One Heart

2️⃣4️⃣ A Dance with Destiny

2️⃣5️⃣ Reunited in Unexpected Circumstances

2️⃣6️⃣ The One You Never Noticed

2️⃣7️⃣ A Competition That Changes Everything

2️⃣8️⃣ When Words Aren’t Enough

2️⃣9️⃣ A Letter Never Sent

3️⃣0️⃣ A Goodbye That Feels Like a Beginning

3️⃣1️⃣ The Perfect Match

🌼 How to Join:

🧡 Write a piece inspired by any prompt—daily, weekly, or at your own pace.

🧡 Share your work and tag it with #MatchingMarch and @monthlywritingchallenges

Explore other entries and celebrate the power of connection! Have fun writers!

[the-ellia-west]

Unedited again bc I'm Lazy - I hate it, but I spent like 30 minutes on it so whatever.

7 - A Promise Kept (Kinda)

@monthlywritingchallenges

-

The Spirit smiled, the twinkling glow from her eyes like a dying star's last breath slowly dimming. "Take him."

Khenan gasped, a hollow, choked sound. "I… I can't. He's…" so small. The words died on his tongue as he stared down at the baby, with his mother's starlight eyes, and serene expression. What things he didn't yet know. Not just a baby. His son.

"Take him, Khenan. Keep him close. I know by law he should not be yours, so keep him as a servant in your home if you must. Don't abandon him." Her words strained as she struggled to swallow.

"But I…" The nobleman chased the light in her eyes, desperate for more of her voice to signal she wasn't yet gone as he grasped her hand, cold and clammy in his. Their child lay still and quiet on her lap, the sounds of his soft, calm breaths in time with his mother's fading wheezes. "Lucia! Luce, Don't leave me… please… H-he doesn't have a name yet! I… I don't know what to do without you…"

Khenan pressed his forehead to her shoulder, squeezing her hand as the raspy wheezing grew more shallow and strained. "Please… please, please, please, please. Don't leave me Luce… I'm not ready, I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"

"H…im…" Lucia pulled her shaky hand from Khenan's, pushing the baby toward him as her voice failed and her breath hitched, body beginning to tremble as she struggled for breath but none came. Khenan stared at her, eyes wide and terrified as he cradled his son close to his chest.

"No… no, no, no, no! Luce?" The noble reached for her with a shaky hand, but flinched back, jumping as the little boy mumbled a soft noise, blinking. He glanced back toward the woman he loved, still and growing colder by the second, her choking already fallen silent. His face contorted as he stared at her, breaths quick and shallow as he hugged his son, chest burning like the lungs of a man drowned in the center of hell, unable to breathe as the air grew heavy.

But suddenly, the room snapped back to focus as a small, warm hand brushed the tears staining his cheeks. A small gasp, and a giggle. Khenan swallowed nervously, gently lowering a his hand, shifting the damp tears on his son's palm with his thumb, hesitating as the tiny hand closed around his finger. He sniffed, trying to choke back more muffled sobs as the infant's familiar silver eyes found his.

His name.

He needed a name.

Khenan brushed the tiny black curls away from his son's face. "Your mother would have wanted you to know your heritage… Wildrun. A Spirit's call, for where your heart belongs, and where hers should have stayed. For the stars in your eyes and the magic I know you hide in your fingers. I promise, my little Wild Spirit… I won't let them hurt you."

~

[Thirteen years later]

The figure towered over him, the same man he knew, but missing something. Dark shadows made their home beneath his eyes, stare narrow, hands clenched into fists, the cuts on his knuckles replaced with bruises. Wild scrambled back, hands flying over his head, instinctively flickering out of view as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed.

A rough hand caught his wrist and Wild yelped, expecting a slap across the face or some sort of object jabbed into his ribs. But as he envisioned all the methods of torture, anticipated the pain, he didn't notice the shackles' weight gone from his wrists until they clattered on the floor, and he flickered back into view out of shock. The Phantom opened one eye carefully, fully opening the other as the cuff clicked and Khenan dropped to his knees, metal encasing his ankle. His eyes found the floor.

Wild stared, speechless as he gingerly shuffled a few inches away from the other figure, bracing himself. "K-Khenan?"

Nothing.

"…Dad?"

At the word, Khenan scowled. "Don't call me that."

Wild flinched. "Yessir."

"...But... Why?"

"Because you're worthless. They wouldn't want you. Go on. Run along back to your new family. You're free." He scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm as he waved a hand, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Dad."

"I said don't."

Wild hesitated. Khenan pressed a hand flat against the small of Wild's back and shoved him forward, making the boy stumble, "Go! GET OUT OF HERE! What is wrong with you? Don't wait! GO!"

The young Phantom hugged his arms closer to himself as he backed up, tears burning in the corners of his eyes as he turned and ran. He didn't know what he'd hoped, but whatever it was, he was an idiot for hoping it.

~

Wild gasped a sob as he ran, not watching where he was going, and ran straight into Rose, her eyes finding him as he flooded back into view. He coughed, wheezing as the dam broke and the tears wouldn't stop, eyes widening before he buried his face in her shoulder and broke down.

"Woah! Hey, Kiddo! Are you okay?"

Wild squeezed her tighter as she wrapped her arms around him, a hand smoothing his hair as he cried. "I hate emotions."

~

Khenan watched his son disappear down the hall and straightened his posture, the worry returning as he lost sight of him. He hated him. He would never forgive him. Khenan would likely never see Wild again. But he was safe. And that's all that mattered. He didn't even care to worry about excuses as the relief washed over him alongside an overwhelming sense of guilt.

No. It wasn't his fault. Wild was safe now. Nothing else mattered. They'd find him, he'd be reprimanded, he'd be the one tortured. Not the innocent little boy with his mother's eyes, and the heart of the woman who'd raised him. The little boy who brought death wherever he went.

The Phantom of the Wolves.

Wildrun Talos.

His son.

Please comment your thoughts! It would be greatly appreciated! <3

@an-indecisive-nerd @sunflowerrosy @urnumber1star @homelessnerd @vesanal @darkandstormydolls @supercimi @corinneglass @sm-writes-chaos @thebookishkiwi @blargh-500 @lunaeuphternal @write-with-will @yolbert @thewritingautisticat @carb0n-m0n0xide @theweirdbox123

@vyuntspakhkite-l-darling

[crushing-on-hunks]

5.Opposites Attract. (Rodimus)

Prompt from @monthlywritingchallenges

A fiery (metaphorically and literally) captain of the LL was exceptional even between the other cybertrons, not to mention the humans present onboard. Never wavering smile and encouraging speeches from the bridge, drawing every individuals attention and relishing in it. Complete opposite from you, a quite unremarkable human, no matter how many times the red bot would argue on that.

"An unlikely duo, they are."

"He will burn them and then himself."

"Nah, he will overcome these feelings just as fast as he burns."

Despite everything, he did not.

Despite the opposing nature, you found the safe haven in each other.

He was a cybertronian. You were a human.

He was bright like a meteor. You were timid and shy as a wild cyberdeer.

His movements - always hectic and fast, yours deliberate and calculated.

Yet, despite all those differences, you two drifted towards each other like two planets caught in each other gravitation fields.

or maybe it was because of those differences.

[tessa-liam]

Betrothed - Chapter 19

Marabelle Series

Choices – The Royal Romance, Book 3, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)  

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?  

Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist  

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F! OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor  

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M! OC Daniel Drake Walker x F! OC Melanie/Riley Brooks                

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence 

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement with sprinkles of Canon 

Chapter Summary – Arriving home, after celebrating her engagement with Liam, Sophie discovers the duplicity and treachery of her Uncle Barthelemy when visiting her home in Ramsford.

Music Inspiration: I Don’t Wanna Wait, David Guetta, OneRepublic  

Words: 4.5k 

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.  

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.  

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series. 

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading 

A/N5: My submission for: March Prompt Challenge, Prompt 8: Health condition @nosebleedclub 

A/N6: My submissions for: Monthly Writing Challenge, Prompt 4: Love or Duty; Prompt 13: A Pact made in secret 

The Royal Yacht 

It felt likely sometime after 6 A.M. The sweet, warm, Mediterranean air ...the sunlight streaming through the front windows, and the sensation of the weight on her body gradually brought Sophie out of her restful state.  

The gentle sway of the yacht rocked Sophie as she lay there, her eyes fluttering open to the soft hues of dawn. She instinctively tightened her grip on the blanket, allowing herself a few more precious moments in the cocoon of warmth she shared with Liam. She could hear the faint lapping of waves against the hull, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror her own heartbeat. 

As her senses sharpened, she felt the strands of Liam’s hair tickling her neck and the tender pressure of his arm around her waist. The scent of the sea mingled with the faint remnants of his cologne, created an intoxicating blend that made her heart swell with longing. 

Turning her head slightly, she caught a glimpse of his serene face, still lost in the tranquility of sleep. There was a vulnerability to him; such a contrast to the regal and poised demeanor he showcased to the world. In this moment, Sophie felt an overwhelming bond with him—a shared intimacy that transcended titles and duties. 

She let her eyes roam the luxurious cabin, its opulence softened by the early morning light, and she thought of the journey ahead. Each intricate detail of the room reminded her of the life she was stepping into, a life filled with both privilege and responsibility. Sophie’s resolve strengthened as she imagined the future, a future where she would stand beside Liam, not just as his queen, but as his equal and partner. 

With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the day ahead, her heart brimming with the promise of love and the weight of impending duty. Groggily, she felt his arm draped across her side and the brush of fingertips on her breast. She gave an exhausted laugh, both because they had likely been entwined like that for hours, but because the words, 'good morning,' ran through her thoughts.  But reality beckoned, and the responsibilities that came with becoming a Duchess loomed over her thoughts. She knew that soon, the quiet mornings would be filled with duties and obligations. Sophie was determined to make Liam proud of her; to prove her abilities and leadership.  

Love and duty will intertwine. 

A secret pact will always be forever cherished between them, a promise that their love would remain untainted by the burdens of their titles.  

The gentle rocking of the yacht lulled her back into a drowsy state, cradled by the luxurious comfort of their shared bed. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night, where the stars had witnessed Liam's heartfelt proposal, and their passionate embrace had sealed their commitment. Even now, with the first light of dawn filtering through the blinds, the memory of his earnest words and loving gaze made her heart flutter. The anticipation of their future together, filled with love and shared endeavors, made her feel indescribably happy. Despite the impending duties and the grandeur of their new roles, Sophie felt a deep sense of reassurance in Liam's presence, knowing that they would face everything together. As she lay there, soaking in the remnants of their intimacy, she found herself smiling at the thought of the life awaiting them in Cordonia. 

 After another half hour or so, she felt Liam gently pull his arm away, and then the press of his lips on her shoulder, silently told her that he had to get out of bed. She could feel the faint traces of regret in her at the lack of his skin, his scent, and the warmth he seemed to generate like the sun itself as her tired eyes roamed to her fiancé as he made for the bathroom. 

She curled in on the spot he had occupied a moment before, hearing the water switch on. She savored the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the salty air of the sea, her fingers tracing the path his body had warmed on the bed. The gentle hum of the yacht’s engines served as a backdrop to her thoughts, each vibration reminding her of the adventure that lay ahead. Sophie felt a sense of yearning as she recalled the intensity of their connection, the unspoken promises that had passed between them in whispers and caresses. Her heart swelled with love and anticipation, knowing that every challenge and triumph would be met together. As the water in the bathroom continued to run, she felt a growing desire to be close to him once more, to feel his skin against hers, and to steal just a bit more time before the world demanded his attention. He would be wet and slippery, so irresistible, and warm enough to almost burn. 

Biting down on the edge of her lower lip, the spark that was waking her from her sleepy state told her she had no intentions of staying put. She didn't waste time in waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed as her eyes set themselves on the door, unblinking, a mischievous smile on her lips. Sophie shifted to stand, at once feeling the soreness between her legs; a reminder of their intimacy after his proposal the night before when Sophie willingly gave her virginity to the man she truly loved.  

Sophie slipped her arms into her silk robe as Liam came walking back out, his torso wrapped in a white towel.  

Liam's presence was magnetic, drawing Sophie’s attention across the room with an eagerness that belied her earlier tranquility. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, each step bringing her closer to the man who had effortlessly claimed her heart and body. She moved with a grace that was almost feline. The sight of his lean and muscular physique, sculpted as a Greek God, captivated her senses. As their eyes met, the playful tease in Liam's words lit a fire within her. 

"You seem to like what you see," he murmured, his European accent adding a tantalizing edge to his voice. Her gaze roved over his newly shaven face, the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, the perfection of his torso. She undid her robe with deliberate slowness, revealing the soft curve of her thigh first, luring his attention.  

"My queen, come, and shower with me?" he invited, his voice a low growl of need ... using his deep, baritone voice she craved.  

"My king," Sophie replied coyly, tugging at the front of her silk robe before it gave and fell, her breasts bouncing lightly as the material slid down. Her smirk returned and her heart skipped a beat as Liam did nothing to resist her allure.  

 Liam let his fingers tangle themselves in her silken dark chocolate strands, coaxing her head up to then taste her lips. Feeling the jolt run through him with the sensation of her fingertips travelling down the ridges of his back; to caress his tight, rounded glutes. Liam groaned as Sophie wrapped her legs around his waist, as he hoisted her up, and walked them to the bathroom, closing the door behind them with his foot. 

Dukedom of Ramsford/House Beaumont 

The warm breeze whipped through the open window as the SUV drove down the paved drive, the late spring foliage whipping by in a flurry of greens and blues. Sophie gazed out at the verdant countryside, her thoughts wandering back to the night before. 

All too soon, the capital was fading in the distance, and as Sophie, along with her personal guard, Mara and driver drove down the empty roads, memories of the past several months started to drift into her mind. Everything that had led up to this point.  

There was still so much more ahead. A lifetime of happiness, adventures, challenges... Sophie reached her left hand up and watched the gleaming diamond’s facets. Everything was in place, yet there was one more piece of the puzzle left. One last place that beckoned her, promised its unconditional love and welcome. 

After Liam had announced their engagement to the nobles of Cordonia, the gossip and speculation had run rampant. To Sophie's surprise, she had quickly become an unofficial member of the royal family, her life splashed across tabloids and websites throughout the day. The nobility had shown support, and the public outpouring of support had astounded her. For many citizens, Liam and Sophie's engagement symbolized the promise of a new beginning. A promise of a peaceful, prosperous future. 

Even though their engagement aboard the Royal yacht was an instantaneous thing, every move they made after that was well thought-through, organized and presented in a way that is best for them and for Cordonia. No spontaneity was allowed, no surprise appearance and announcement as of now, while the wedding had to be official and handled with proper respect. They hadn't been able to truly enjoy the first weeks of their engagement; everything has been put aside to keep their family happy and Liam to step up the throne. They needed to be available to all corners of the nation to shake hands and answer questions. There was always an interview, an engagement, an inauguration or a press conference to attend and Liam had been rather busy with all that. 

Sophie had asked herself repeatedly, what does becoming a Duchess entail? Or, in her case, the Queen of Cordonia. At first, the thought of becoming royal was overwhelming and Liam’s advisors quickly began an array of crash courses on international affairs, while Queen Regina advised on royal traditions. Most days, it felt as if her brain might explode, she had so much crammed into her memory. She was grateful to have people to talk to and practice with, to ensure that everything was right. She wanted Liam to feel confident that he had chosen well. Having a personal staff was something she never thought she would have or need ... and now, quickly became the norm; an essential part of being Royal. 

And despite all this, she could not bring herself to feel anxious about anything. Today she had one errand left. She reached a familiar brick road that curved off from the main thoroughfare, heading straight toward a cluster of vineyards just visible in the distance. A smile grew across Sophie's face as the SUV drew near, bouncing along the uneven path. She turned down a grassy trail and watched the trees flash by, feeling that familiar sense of anticipation well inside her. 

Not much longer. 

Up ahead, the road curved toward an overgrown house, a mass of bricks and foliage intertwining before her.  

House Beaumont 

As the SUV parked at the base of the front steps, Sophie hopped out. For a moment, she took her time, drinking in the familiar sight of her home, the scent of freshly mown grass   and the sound of wind chimes in the distance. 

It was funny to think, when she first set foot in her family home in Cordonia, that she never would have imagined things would transform like this.  

Back when she lived in New York with her mom, she had never envisioned such an important life change was coming. If it weren't for the letter her mother wrote to her sister, Bethany shortly before she passed. The letter that told of the heartbreaking story of her mother’s battle with cancer and devastating prognosis.  

Would she be here today? 

Would Liam be in her arms with his ring around her finger? 

Looking out at the sprawl of the estate and up to the large bay windows of her bedroom, she couldn't help but think about how lucky she was. Cordonia may not have turned out quite the way that anyone would have predicted, but the seeds planted here have flourished and brought her to exactly the place she needed to be. Exactly to the man she was meant to meet. 

Inside the car, the buzzing of her phone alerted her to the time, and Sophie reached over the console to grab her cell. Glancing at the caller ID, she chuckled. 

"Is this about Liam's meeting starting?" she spoke, pulling herself away from her reminiscing. "Did it already start without him? What's up?" 

"Er," Maxwell panted on the other side of the line, the noises of rushing crowds in the background, the whine of his microphone carrying on the wind. "I can explain all this!" 

"Explain what? Where are you?" 

"At the palace," he shouted. There was a dull roaring sound, a squeal and then the loud pop of confetti canons. "The reporters are being seated and everyone is... settling down for the press conference." 

"Oh," she said with some satisfaction, looking around her estate and staring back at the winding road leading towards the city. "I'm just wrapping up the last bit here so I can come back and celebrate Liam’s coronation with you." 

"Can you wrap... faster?" Maxwell gasped, like he was running from an invisible foe, a horn honk blaring in the background as Maxwell let out a muffled yell. "Actually, forget that—take your time and I'll see you back at the palace?" 

Sophie couldn't suppress her laughter. "You'll be fine. Maxwell? I think Hana said your jacket was already at the stage, go change—" 

"Right. I'm on my way. But," he said hesitantly, before lowering his voice, "Liam says to hurry up." 

"I'll be done soon, I promise." 

Hanging up the phone, Sophie moved away from the SUV and walked to the front steps, jogging up the stairs and opening the door. She hadn't visited home since before summer started. So much had happened since, and she wondered if Bethany was busy and out tending to the grounds or if she was sitting inside the living room reading a book like she usually was. It was strange to think the last time she was here she was before the graduation. 

Taking the winding halls and stairs with Mara behind her, she walked toward the back of the estate. Suddenly, a muffled but distinct noise filled the silence; the voice of her aunt and Uncle Barthelemy shouting incoherently to one another. Not wanting to witness or interrupt a possible quarrel, Sophie quietly slipped off to the kitchen where she hoped the sound of her luggage rolling over a bump in the floor wouldn't interrupt.

After hearing a door slam the sound of both voices halted, silenced. Footsteps approached as her uncle strode out of his office door. 

"Excuse my rudeness," he said, not sounding the least apologetic, but still stopping, realizing that she was there. "Bethany," he called over his shoulder as he glanced back, not acknowledging her aunt who had followed out after him and cleared his throat. "Sophia," he greeted with a terse, somewhat formal nod. "Your sudden visit isn't... unappreciated." 

His gaze narrowed, looking past her shoulder at Mara. "If the last several weeks have taught you anything," he drawled, "it should be to think very carefully before doing or saying... certain things to the Royal family." 

His rigid posture spoke volumes to his level of impatience. 

Sophie sighed and turned toward her aunt. Bethany stayed silent and fixed on a spot of the wall beside her, chewing anxiously on a hangnail, a habit Sophie only saw her adopt during her nervousness.  

Bethany finally gave in and met her eyes, the grey streaks at the top of her hair and her reddish-purple attire complimenting her. "Oh, Sophie. You're... just in time. There's plenty of time before you're due at the coronation. Do you... want some tea? I just made a pot..." 

"Beth," her uncle tried to reason, running his hands over his wrinkles as Bethany moved forward. "Don't humor her." 

She looked pointedly at him, pursing her lips. 

"There's a matter we still haven't settled. What will we do?" 

Bethany blew out an exasperated sigh, whipping around to face Barthelemy, jabbing a finger towards him as she enunciated each syllable. 

"Why are you like this! Can't I enjoy this one good thing in this house while it lasts and make a cup of tea?!" She balled her hand in a fist and looked up. "Tea, please." 

With the boiling kettle as a sign to move, he pushed open the doors to his office and closed himself within its privacy, ending any hopes that Sophie had of picking up some extra details. Bethany filled up the cups, her motions mechanical. She handed one to Sophie, and they sat down to wait for the liquid inside to cool. 

At that moment, Sophie realized that there was no waitstaff in House Beaumont. Is that part of the mystery too? Did Uncle Barthelemy want to save on paychecks or something, she wondered idly, remembering a story from a book about someone hiding wealth by living simply... that was a bizarre thought. 

Barthelemy strode out of his office, adjusting his cufflinks and muttering under his breath as his icy gaze fell on Bethany, his countenance far less severe than when his discussion with her began. Bethany set the silver strainer on a clean cup and held it up in offering; her uncle shook his head, declining as he spoke. "We shouldn't keep Sophie waiting. We will finish this later." 

Bethany raised the kettle, her expression stubborn. "Your health." 

Barthelemy drank dutifully before walking over to where Sophie had set her tea down and cleared his throat, his hard countenance looking over the rim of his spectacles. He set his cup and saucer down carefully before motioning for her to begin her news. Sophie fiddled with her ring and grinned up at him, her thoughts returning to their past interactions. 

"Uncle Barthelemy ...Auntie Bethany.” 

Barthelemy's stern demeanor softened as he awaited Sophie's news. The room was charged with tension as Sophie met his gaze, hesitating before sharing her significant announcement. Her uncle's expression mixed curiosity and concern, while Aunt Bethany's excitement was clear. With a deep breath and a pounding heart, Sophie whispered, "I am a duchess." 

They both looked shocked and slowly it was dawning on Bethany what this meant. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a hand came to cover her mouth in utter surprise, not believing her ears. 

"Sophie," her aunt breathed out slowly as if she came back from a trance. 

Sophie swallowed, waiting for her uncle to interject. They were still waiting on him for confirmation or congratulations, but Barthelemy kept staring at Sophie silently with a firm expression. 

"Oh, that's lovely, dear! 

Barthelemy remained motionless, his gaze unwavering as it rested upon Sophie, the weight of his scrutiny felt by all in the room. Bethany's breath hitched, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The air was thick with anticipation, a collective holding of breath as emotions surged and mingled. Finally, Barthelemy's stern expression softened slightly, and he nodded, an unspoken acknowledgment that left no room for doubt. 

"Not the queen yet," Sophie offered, waiting for the inevitable questions. 

Aunt Bethany covered her cheeks with her palms and grinned in absolute bewilderment. "It feels as though just yesterday I was welcoming you in Cordonia and now," she pressed a hand to Sophie's heart, "your heart is marrying the King." 

"So," her uncle began sardonically. There was a strained pause. "Are we expected to curtsey when we meet you, Your Highness?" 

"I hope you will treat me in the same manner you always have, I am your niece," Sophie answered easily, rising her cup, ignoring the ice in his voice. 

"Now isn't that rich," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms. "A few months of pampering and a fancy ball or two, and all of a sudden you forget who took you in." 

Sophie took a breath in preparation to fight back before Barthelemy clipped in again, cutting her off. 

"No," he held up his hand and paused, "Your marriage to the king will be beneficial to this house. With that I am pleased, and I also want to give my congratulations. I should give you fair warning though. Cordonia has not been without her share of infighting. Ever since the monarchial system was first conceived the royals of Cordonia have played a balancing act between competing interests in order to hold the power to rule." 

"So, what you are saying?" 

"Power comes with responsibility," her uncle reminded her with an insincere smirk and a single nod, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wish you well, your highness." 

The corners of his mouth lifted to a slight grimace. It was something. 

"That will be all." 

"Well," Aunt Bethany stepped forward, smiling fondly and extended an arm to her in greeting. 

Sophie looked down at her left hand, fingering the warm gold on her finger. 

"I love him so much," she looked up at her aunt's flushed cheeks and radiant eyes.

'She'd been drinking, Sophie could tell, the strong wine smell was mixed with something sharp on her breath.'

"Congratulations," Bethany threw her arms wide, but her embrace seemed hollow as it lacked enthusiasm. Sophie stood with her arms glued to her sides. 

Sophie caught Barthelemy roll his eyes and run his fingers through the little remaining hair he had before the door closed in her face, leaving them alone in the room. Sophie took a deep breath as Bethany sank back into the bench and buried her face into her hands. 

"Are you alright, Aunt Bethany?" Sophie questioned her as she slumped over and laid her cheek flat on the counter. She shrugged indifferently as a beeping sound interrupted the tranquility. "Just like that... it's been so quick." 

Sophie returned to her room at Beaumont Estate when the lunch was over. Feeling a little tired, she decided to take a break before packing up the remaining personal items into her luggage. She sank down gently and laid down on the soft bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a faint sound of conversation crept through the wall and unexpectedly into her ears. 

The voice was low and vague, and seemed to come from the next room. Sophie perked her ears curiously, trying to make out what was being said. By and by she realized that they were Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Barthelemy's voices, and they seemed to be speaking not in a calm tone, but with a hint of suppressed anger. 

Sophie's heart was racing, and she leaned her ear against the wall, trying to hear better. Sure enough, the sound of the conversation soon became clear, but the content shocked her. 

"How can you play favorites like that!" Bethany's voice was full of anger and disappointment, "Bertrand is your elder son and the heir of Ramsford, and you openly support him ...I have nothing to say about that. But what about Maxwell? He's our child too! You're like a stranger to him, and you've always been a terrible father and husband for years!" 

Barthelemy's voice was cold and dismissive: "Maxwell? He's just a spare son, eating his head off and doing nothing. It's a disgrace that the Beaumont family has a son like that! ' 

"You... How can you say that about him!" Bethany's voice trembled with grief. "Maxwell is your son! Are you worthy of me by being so cold to him? Is it worthy of all these years of our marriage?!" 

Barthelemy's voice was even grimmer: "Marriage? Well, it was just a trade. How much good do you think your family can do me? Now Bertrand is old enough to need you out of the family business. As for Maxwell, he's nothing!" 

"Shame on you!" Bethany roared, "I will no longer tolerate your duplicity with me and my family! I'm gonna tell everyone the real reason you've been in a nursing home so long! I'll show them your true face!" 

This sentence is like a bomb, that instantly brought the temperature in the room to a boiling point. 

"Don't you dare!" Barthelemy's voice went up an octave and threatened viciously, "Don't forget who you are, Bethany. If you dare to tell anyone, I will make your and Maxwell's life a living hell!" 

Then there was a violent quarrel, mingled with slamming doors and heavy footsteps. Soon a muffled cry faded away. Clearly, it was that Aunt Bethany had left the room. 

Sophie's heart sank, deeply shocked and disturbed by the actions of her uncle, Barthelemy, and even more saddened for her aunt. Her heart felt like a big stone, and she couldn't breathe. But she also knew that it wasn't a good idea to ask Bethany directly, since she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown after such a furious fight. 

Sophie sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself. She picked up her phone, hesitated, and then sent Maxwell a message:

"Max, do you have a minute? I have something to tell you. See you in the garden?" 

Soon after, the phone vibrated and Maxwell replied,

"Sure, I'll be there. Let me know when you are back at the palace." 

Sophie put down her phone, stood up, arranged her clothes, and slowly walked out of the room to the SUV downstairs. She was full of doubts and worries, not knowing what was in store for her, but she knew she had to face it. 

☆☆☆

@choicesficwriterscreations

@monthlywritingchallenge

@nosebleedclub

Using my new tag list ...please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

Perma-tag: @beau1811 @bascmve01 @twinkleallnight @dutifullynuttywitch @lovingchoices14 @alj4890 @busywoman @bardic-tales @kingliam2019 @malblk21 @selina012 @differenttyphoonwerewolf

Liam x Sophie: @snoopdogcone @jared2612

[june-rambles]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mean Girls (2024) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Regina George/Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike, Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard & Gretchen Wieners, Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike & Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard, Regina George & Gretchen Wieners Characters: Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard, Gretchen Wieners, Karen Smith | Karen Shetty, Cady Heron Additional Tags: Minor Karen Smith | Karen Shetty/Gretchen Wieners, Lesbian Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike, Lesbian Regina George, this started out as angst and it just quickly devolved into crack, Angst and Humor, Fluff, Time Skips, During Canon, Partners in Crime, Matchmaker Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard, Matchmaker Gretchen Wieners, Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard & Gretchen Wieners Friendship, Fluff and Crack, Texting, First Dates, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Post-Canon Series: Part 19 of matching march 2025 Summary:

“I need your help.” She stated bluntly. Damain raised an eyebrow.

“Hypothetically, what would I do if my best friend was in love with someone who she’s convinced hates her?” Gretchen grinned. She knew.

or, Damian & Gretchen bonding over their best friends being useless lesbians. Maybe together they can do something about it.

written for @monthlywritingchallenges' "Matching March" Day 19: Partners in Crime

[timberline-falls]

"He was a jerk. A loud-mouth Ascalonian and I could tell by his arrogant laugh he came from nobility. A real piece of shit do-nothing whose only hobby was mocking the loss of the Arch. He was in Shaemoor drinking, fully geared for godssake, and had the gall to laugh while bodies burned. Piece of shit.

"It still lives in my head, that laugh. But some god must have been watching, because I didn't lay him low that day. I had the right to. I almost did. But I didn't.

I didn't know what to expect when he found me in Amnoon. I was ready to finish what he started. Then he apologized, offered me guide work. I didn't have much of a choice. He said he saw me in a hard place and wanted to make amends. I still resent him for that.

We kept working together. His presence became tolerable, I guess. He was useful.

It wasn't long before we encountered the Forged. It happened that I saved his life then. He seemed sincere in his gratefulness. Maybe that's why he wouldn't let me go into the desert alone.

I'm glad for that. He proved himself capable, more than I was, at times. I don't know how many times we owed each other. At some point, it didn't matter."

-Thelinia Raine, journal entry, date unknown

(@monthlywritingchallenges)

[laudys83]

Vengeance and misunderstandings

Day 19: A partner in crime

The night was well advanced when Alzagar regained consciousness. A rope was biting into his wrists, a pounding headache throbbed at his temples, and the air smelled of damp cellar.

“Bloody hell…” he groaned, trying to sit up.

“Ah, finally awake.”

A rough, bitter voice. Alzagar squinted and made out a stocky man with a fierce expression, arms crossed.

“What the fuck is this?” Alzagar hissed.

“Venec,” the man answered, as if that single name explained everything.

“What about Venec?!”

“You’re his accomplice, aren’t you?” The man crouched in front of him. “I’ve spent years tracking him down, and then bam, someone mentions his name alongside some ‘Alzagar.’ So I thought—why not grab him? See if Venec actually gives a shit about something for once.”

Alzagar rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

The door burst open. Venec walked in, looking annoyingly relaxed, hands in his pockets.

“Well, shit. What’s he doing here?” he said, nodding toward Alzagar.

“He’s with you. Been hearing that for months!” the man spat.

Venec raised an eyebrow and glanced at Alzagar.

“I’m flattered, but you got the wrong guy.”

“Oh yeah?” The man pulled out a knife. “Because I could always slit his throat and see if you care.”

Venec raised his hands.

“No need to waste a perfectly good throat.” He stepped forward slowly. “Tell you what—let’s sit, let’s talk, and you’ll see you’ve made a mistake.”

Alzagar was fuming.

“Oh yeah, you’d better fucking talk well.”

Venec smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t move, I got this.”

He settled in front of the man and started his little routine. Within minutes, the tension had eased. Venec lied effortlessly, twisting the situation to his advantage. Soon enough, his former enemy had set down his weapon and was even considering sharing a drink with him.

Hours later, Alzagar and Venec walked side by side through the night, far from that damned cellar.

“Why do you always have to get me into shit?” Alzagar muttered.

Venec slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, come on. Admit it, you like it when I save you.”

Alzagar pushed him off, half-heartedly.

“I don’t like trouble.”

Venec chuckled softly and stopped. He pulled Alzagar close, resting their foreheads together.

“Well, maybe you don’t like trouble, but you love me.”

Alzagar opened his mouth to protest, but Venec kissed him—a quick, insolent kiss.

“Fuck…” Alzagar exhaled, his gaze burning.

Venec grinned and pulled him into a brief but sincere embrace.

“You’re such an asshole,” Alzagar murmured against his shoulder.

“And you,” Venec smirked, “are still my partner in crime.”

challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[sixsocksscienceclub]

Castle/Bones Crossover (Writing challenges!)

Multiple writing challenges, one overarching story.

Castle/Bones Crossover

@monthlywritingchallenges Prompts: First Impressions

Writing challenge: Start a sentence with each letter of the alphabet.

Installment 2: The Crime Scene

Detective’s Ryan and Esposito - the junior detectives that rounded out her team - had beaten her to the scene. “Par for the course”, Beckett mused, taking one last sip of the cold sparkling water she had snagged from the fridge on her way out the door. She pulled her new cruiser up next to the beater the boys shared, windshields facing a clearly abandoned warehouse, sides to the icy Hudson river. Vagrants frequented a place like this, and she was glad that the presence of cops may have spooked them away for now; too much foot traffic made these types of scenes extremely difficult to solve. This murder call was right on the edge of their precinct boundary- territoriality between the different precincts of Manhattan occasionally allowed some grey area overlap depending on who was busier, or how complicated the case was. Flicking a curt but polite “good morning” to the patrol officer setting up the crime scene tape, Beckett blinked the last of sleep from her eyes, the first beams of the sunrise beginning to deepen the shadows around her. 

Making eye contact with Esposito as she stepped into the warehouse entrance, she took a customary breath to calm her racing brain. “Approach every scene as a rookie. Look at everything, not just what you want to see, but what you actually see,” she let the silent mantra guide her eyes over the scene. Before her lay a woman, young ish - definitely less than thirty, but no longer a teen- sprawled face down on the dirty concrete floor. Neon pink fishnets, ripped and bloodied, tangled the woman’s legs together, while a cheap sequined crop top that was once complete pulled down over one shoulder, stabs and slashes having ripped the other side. Curly short blonde hair framed the woman’s face, frozen in pain, eyes shut; hair still so perfectly curled and set that a small part of Beckett wondered if it was a wig, and if not, she needed to know what hairspray the woman had used. Obvious drag marks ending under her body lead to where she had initially been stabbed, about one hundred yards farther into the warehouse. Xanthic disturbances in the dust telegraphed the struggle, and Beckett was glad the guys noticed as well, setting the evidence barrier farther back to capture any rogue footprints, hopefully from the suspect. Underneath the body, a pool of blood was partially congealed; Beckett had been doing this long enough to know that this body was only a few hours old at this point. Hell of a first impression. 

“ID?” Having completed her initial cursory observation, Beckett turned to Esposito near the garage door entrance, who was wrapping up the rough sketch of the scene from that angle. 

“Zinnia Elegante,” he didn’t normally add small flourishes to information dumps- she had trained them early on to have more respect for the dead and to keep their gallows humor limited to the precinct and each other- but he had a small chuckle as he handed her not only the woman’s driver’s licence with her given name (Alice Chalman), but also her photo id for the club she was a dancer at.  

Quietly cursing the fact that it was around four in the morning, and pushing down yet another unwelcome roll of nausea that reminded her she hadn’t had any coffee yet, Beckett had a shorter than normal fuse. 

“Explain?” she asked, testing his ability to theorize on the spot, demonstrating their training and reputation as an elite squad. He never got the chance to redeem himself though. 

“You need to see this, Beckett,” Detective Ryan interrupted with a quiet reverence to his demeanor, kneeling close to the body and snapping photos of evidence as he went along. 

“What is that?” Becket, who had switched her usual heels for sensible flats in the rush out the door, sidestepped the dried blood indicating where the dragging had stopped and the pooling began. Jutting out from around the victims fingers was what appeared to be a bone, poking a mere inch out of the concrete floor, the victim’s grip concealing anything more. 

“Good catch….” Beckett allowed her observation to trail off as she crouched closer. “Keep this one close to the vest,” she advised her team, recognizing the bone for what it was - human. Reeling just a little from the sudden change to standing, she slid her phone out of her pocket as she stood. This case was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

[rose-of-pollux]

Title: Across Time, pt 1 of 2 Fandom: Back to the Future [musical-verse, Lone Pine] Rating: K Summary: [Twoshot, musical-verse, Lone Pine] Doc is shaken after the events of of November 1955; his mother understands exactly why.

For @monthlywritingchallenge 's Matching March, Day 9: A Connection Across Time

[monthlywritingchallenges]

Good bye to Matching March 🌼

There are still a few days left in the matchingmarch, and it's never too late to join in but I wanted to shout out a big thank you to our participants.

Whether you wrote one piece or completed every prompt, we’re so grateful you shared your creativity with us. Your stories made this challenge special!

❣️ So thank you to: ❣️

@june-rambles @laudys83 @sixsocksscienceclub @the-ellia-west @where-imagination-runs-free @jellybears-posts @timberline-falls @snowberriesromanoff @crushing-on-hunks

And all the readers and rebloggers who keep writers alive!

Hope I see you next month! ☔️🌧

[the-ellia-west]

My first time doing one of these - Sorry if the quality is a little off. It's a little late and I didn't edit it.

@monthlywritingchallenges

Prompt #1 - An Unlikely Duo

-

Finn sighed, a frown twitching at the corner of his lips as he glanced from the others back to Morena. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Get them to safety, I know you don't trust him, but trust me. Neither of us are in a condition to travel. Once you find a place, come back for us. You know where we are, and I can always send a letter if I need you!" The Harpy smiled at her friend, brushing the splint tied to her wing with her knuckles. "It's going to be okay, Finn."

His shoulders slumped and he pulled her into a tight hug. "Realms, I hope so. Be safe."

"I will, don't get your wings in a twist, oh great and powerful leader." Morena squeezed him back, tips of their feathers brushing as he pulled back and gave her a solemn nod. Their eyes met for a brief moment as lightning crackled overhead and thunder shook the wind and drove a shock into her bones before he turned, waving for the others to follow him.

However, Rose lingered for a moment, glancing between the two harpies. "Morena… I… Thank you."

She nodded. "My pleasure, love."

Morena wasn't sure if the faint sparkles catching onto the Fae's lashes were just the rain, but she bowed her head as Rose swallowed any more words, and raced off after Finn and the others.

The Harpy smiled softly, spinning around to face the camp as she tightened her trembling hands into fists, muttering under her breath. "Alright, Morena. You got this." She closed her eyes, a measured breath her only comfort as she calmed her mind and settled down to focus.

Calm down Morena, you know what you have to do. What are your goals? Protect the camp, work with Jakkon. Good. He's not so bad. Just a little stand-offish, nothing you can't handle! He doesn't like you, and that's okay. He doesn't have to. Jsut make sure he's alright. Current tasks: Get shelter from the rain, and …Find him.

~

Jakkon huffed in annoyance, shifting to get a better viewpoint of the clearing as thick droplets splattered onto the stone, rolling into the cracks and racing past him. He scowled, picking at the bandages tied firmly around his leg.

They should've just let it bleed.

He leaned back, eyes lazily scanning his surroundings. Grey rock, the back of the alcove, the dim outline of a hole where the trickles of water likely drained. The faint ache of the cut. The sour fading taste of blood. Rain. What he wouldn't give to be back in Aqendal, a roof over his head and if nothing else, a book to read.

Stupid. He'd let Finn trick him.

"Jakkon?"

The Satyr tensed immediately at the voice, though some of the fear seeped out of his body when he recognized her. "Fuck do you want?"

Morena's eyes lit up at his voice, good wing above her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain. "I uh… I just wanted to know if you were alright?"

"Right, Feathers-for-brains, and I'm just here for the view. Don't treat me like a child."

Morena flinched at his grating scowl, hesitating before she switched her tactic. "Well, would you like some tea? I can't promise it'll be any good in this storm, but I'd like to try and make some!"

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his stomach and dignifying her not even with a scoff. Morena frowned. Mangrove had been angry and violent, but she at least saw something behind his claws, the eyes of a scared kid. But the Satyr had a different air about him. Difficult. That's how she'd describe him. But that wasn't going to stop her from bringing him something.

~

Morena ducked into the cave, trying her best to ignore the hot fury that greeted her. "Well, you didn't say no, so I made you some anyway!" She pushed the still-warm cup toward him, and when nothing returned, she continued. "Rose said you liked mint. She's a wonderful woman, a good conversationalist and a better friend. She speaks very highly of you."

That earned a snort of contempt from the other side of the cave.

Morena ignored him. "And she's right. I may not see the majority of what she does in you, because frankly, you're rather rude. But she says you're smart, and you calculate every possible outcome before it happens, and I can see it. You want to-"

"Don't pretend like you know me, Birdie. Fuck off."

"Fine. I won't. And I won't pretend like I appreciate the way you treat me either. But like it or not, we're stuck here together. I don't care what you say, or what you do, I trust that you're a good man. Scowls and insults aside, there's someone in there worth believing in. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here with me right now."

He barked a dry laugh. "Bullshit. I knew you were stupid, but I didn't know your mind matched your feathers! Pretend all you want, Birdie, but unlike you, I know you. You wear those pearls in your hair because you could never possibly be pretty enough to be someone he could even consider loving. You live alone because even the thought of true genuine trust makes your stomach turn because no one in your life had the decency to treat you as any more than what you really are, a liar and a thief. You make others gifts and draw them in with compliments so they'll spill every last pretty secret into your lap and you can feel better about your sad pathetic ass by making them feel better with bullshit lies and empty promises. You chase a home because you've never had a place where you were anything more than the dirt these people walk on. Because everywhere you go, no matter what you do, you're worthless. Completely and utterly alone and unloved. I don't want your pity party, Morena. Go fuck yourself."

The Harpy shrank in on herself with every word, eyes widening as she tried to take a breath to calm herself down, but her lungs wouldn't work and her heart struggled to beat. Her chest and eyes burned as she tried to force her breathing to slow and the buzzing in her mind to quiet as every voice whispered, He's right. He's right. He's right. But before she could stop herself, the pain boiled over and spilled down her cheeks in streaks of burning humiliation.

A long silence stretched between them as Morena gasped, whispering through sobs, "I forgive you."

[I know I know, I'm SORRY y'all, I meant to make it more wholesome, but I came up with some fire dialogue for Jak, so... he made Morena cry again.]

Please comment your thoughts, I'd really Appreciate it!

@an-indecisive-nerd @sunflowerrosy @urnumber1star @homelessnerd @vesanal @darkandstormydolls @supercimi @corinneglass @sm-writes-chaos @thebookishkiwi @blargh-500 @lunaeuphternal @write-with-will @yolbert @thewritingautisticat @carb0n-m0n0xide

@vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @ellowynthenotking

[june-rambles]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Emma Swan Characters: Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Episode: s02e22 And Straight On 'Til Morning (Once Upon a Time), Episode: s03e01 The Heart of the Truest Believer (Once Upon a Time), Once Upon a Time Season 03A: Neverland Arc, Canon-Typical Violence, Queerplatonic Relationships, (implied) - Freeform, Bonding, Forced Proximity, Insomnia, Sleep Deprivation, Concerned Emma Swan, Tired Evil Queen | Regina Mills Series: Part 7 of matching march 2025 Summary:

In the morning, they’d arrive in Neverland and save Henry, but right now they couldn’t be heroes or leaders or powerful magical wielders. Right now, they were just two women who had felt too much heartache, had cried too many tears, had put up too many walls. They were just two women who had been broken, over and over, and kept getting back up.

or, swanqueen bonding during the neverland arc

written for @monthlywritingchallenges' "Matching March" Day 7: A Promise Kept

[timberline-falls]

Previous Engagement

When Thelinia moved to scout ahead, the two men left behind watched her depart from the safety of the camp. They were nestled in what passed for brush in the Elonian desert, fortunate enough to have found the river before dusk.

Though he had denied it, Atticus had grown fatigued in his malnourished state. With the addition of Alaric's fresh injury, the two were unfit for further travel. Thelinia had taken it upon herself to insist on an early rest.

They watched her until the desert dust obscured her, not a word passed between them. It wasn't until Alaric eyed the man beside him that he realized the both of them had shared the same focus. He cleared his throat, though Atticus's distant gaze remained in Thelinia's wake. Alaric stared again at the dust cloud.

Now was as good a time as any.

"Hey, Dorse."

Atticus hummed acknowledgement, stretching back against the rock he leaned against.

Alaric cleared his throat, this time involuntarily as he averted his gaze, "What do you think of her? Raine?"

Atticus raised a brow, and those dull violet eyes caught Alaric's for a moment. He shrugged. "You don't need to worry. She's fine."

The Ascalonian hung his head with a brief, uncertain chuckle. "No, I know that much. I meant.." He readjusted his seating, mindful to account for his wounded arm. "I meant, what do you think of her."

Atticus did not immediately return his gaze, and Alaric averted his. The pause between them proved too uncomfortable for Alaric, who spoke again first.

"She… Is she.. Are you, uh.." His stammering frustrated him into silence, and seeming to intuit his meaning, Atticus answered.

"I wouldn't."

"What?"

With a light sigh, Atticus settled into his seat, such as it was. "You're Ascalonian, yeah?"

Alaric furrowed his brow, "I am."

"You remember that old children's fable, about the young woman and Grenth's curse?"

He thought for a moment. A handful of stories came to mind. "Remind me?"

"There was a young woman. She was deeply in love with a man, and the two planned to elope. When the time came, she waited for him at the tree they first met at. She waited, and waited. Weeks passed. Then she decided to find him herself."

It was beginning to ring a bell. "And she found him."

Atticus nodded. "She found a letter he left behind, and it led her to him. He had tried to bring her a great gift. Something to reflect his great love for her. A proposal."

Alaric was silent.

"She found him, and the cursed treasure he had tried to bring her. But he lived in undeath. The woman called on Grenth, begging that they must be together. So, the god struck her down where she stood."

There was a long pause. Only Atticus kept his eyes on the desert.

"I.. I'm not sure I follow," Alaric confessed.

"Her heart is engaged to a corpse."

A somber sympathy sat in his own, along with an alarming concern. He whispered, cautious, "And then.. Raine.."

Atticus said nothing.

[laudys83]

Meant to be

Day 5: Opposites attract

The tavern was packed, noisy, saturated with the smells of cheap wine and sweat. Drunks were arguing at a nearby table, a barmaid shoved away a sailor who had gotten too handsy with admirable confidence, and somewhere, a guy was playing the lyre with more enthusiasm than talent.

Alzagar, slumped on his bench, turned his cup between his fingers. Across from him, Venec stretched lazily, leaning on the table, a smirk playing on his lips. The kind of smirk that had probably landed more than a few women—and maybe some men?—in his bed.

It annoyed him.

He watched him from the corner of his eye, taking in that annoyingly well-built face, those perfectly balanced features, those blue eyes that caught the light like a finely cut gem. And that body… solid, just the right amount of muscle to be noticeable without going overboard. The bastard knew he was good-looking, and he used it. Always well-dressed—or at least, as well-dressed as a professional thief could be—and impeccably put together, even after days of travel.

Alzagar, on the other hand… That was a whole different story. He glanced down at his own clothes, worn down to the thread, more holes than fabric in some places. His beard hadn’t seen a razor in way too long, and his belly was a testament to years of poorly balanced meals and too much alcohol. He’d always had this in-between physique, neither impressive nor slim, just… average. And not the flattering kind of average, the kind that people forgot about quickly.

He took a sip of wine and grimaced. Shit. He was jealous of Venec. Since when had he gotten to this point?

On the other side of the table, Venec was watching him calmly, sipping his drink like nothing was going on. But in reality, he was observing. He knew that look Alzagar was giving him, that mix of irritation and bottled-up frustration.

What he didn’t know was that Venec thought the exact opposite.

Alzagar’s dark brown eyes caught the light in an oddly captivating way. The exhaustion in his features, the slight bags under his eyes, that rugged, unpolished look—his body, softer, a little rounder, less sculpted... Venec liked it. There was something about him, a sort of rough neglect, that sparked very specific ideas in his mind. Alzagar had no idea he gave off something else entirely. Something that smelled like adventure, danger, a challenge Venec would love to take on.

Venec ran his tongue absentmindedly over his lips and smirked.

"You got a problem?" Alzagar grumbled, noticing the way he was staring.

Venec shrugged and leaned in a little.

"Not at all."

He grabbed an olive from the table and slipped it between his teeth, his expression unreadable. Alzagar watched him warily. He didn’t like it when Venec got too quiet.

Venec swallowed the olive and tapped his fingers on the table.

"I was just thinking about something."

Alzagar raised an eyebrow.

"And what’s that?"

Venec smirked, rested his chin on his hand, and looked at him with an expression that only meant one thing.

"That you’re really my type."

Alzagar nearly choked on his wine.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[sixsocksscienceclub]

A letter never sent (Castle Fanfiction sneak peak)

Banged out a short piece; more of a love letter that isn't really a love letter.

Fandom: Castle

Setting: Detective Kate Beckett has been shot (S3E24) and when her sidekick author Richard Castle, who just confessed his love for her, comes to see her, she "breaks up" with him.

Writing Challenges/Prompts: @monthlywritingchallenges "A letter never sent", and my own challenge to include song lyrics.

This is a small part of a new chapter I'm working on for my story RISE. Follow for the rest ;)

~~~~

Kate,

I haven’t felt like writing lately. I normally write every day. Something, anything; usually just a few paragraphs here or there mixed in with solving crimes with you. Before you, this task had started to get painful. I killed off Derek Storm because the daily exercises became exhausting. Boring. After meeting you though, even when I didn’t feel like it, I could bang out a few pages. I loved it again, because I loved you. 

I haven’t written since you were shot. 

Until tonight. I’m in such a funk sitting out here on my balcony, a little too much of that St. Miriam’s in my glass, stiff and cold. 

I put a mixtape in the stereo, labeled “sad breakup”, a CD I had buried deep in the stacks. I hadn’t listened to it in a long time. Something about tonight warranted the need. 

I’m letting the lyrics float over me as I let the words flow out. 

While this letter is for you, I never intend for you to see it. 

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

I didn’t know what I was going to do when I killed off Derek Storm. I had my money, I didn’t need to keep working this hard. But who was I if I wasn’t a writer? Then I ran into you. You pursued me into the library, and I pursued you ever since. Since meeting you, my world has been on fire. I was so close to telling you I loved you so many times. Then I finally did. 

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

I stayed up late to write about you. I got up early to chase down murderers in shady parts of town with you. I went out of my way to that shop you like, to bring you a coffee you would just get a few sips in before setting down and forgetting it to let it get cold. Because I loved you. I love you Kate Beckett. 

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

Why is it that the thing that attracts you to a person always ends up being that thing that just drives you crazy? 

No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)No, I don't wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)With youWith you (This world is only gonna break your heart)

This isn’t a love letter Kate. It’s just a letter to let you know that I’m still incredibly mad at you. 

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this wayWhat a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of youWhat a wicked thing to say, you never felt this wayWhat a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you. 

I’ll give you the space you asked for. I’ll give you the space that your dad said you clearly needed. I told you my peace. I told you how I felt, more than once, and you burned me. Bad.

I tell you I love you and you die. I try again, and you bleed out from a ruptured suture. Third time, pneumonia. Fourth time, well, you broke my heart into so many pieces I’ll be puzzling them together.

For how long will depend on you.

~~~~

[rose-of-pollux]

Title: Across Time, pt 2 of 2 Fandom: Back to the Future [musical-verse, Lone Pine] Rating: K Summary: [Twoshot, musical-verse, Lone Pine] It wasn't just Marty who benefited from the new timeline--and Sarah Lathrop knows it.

For @monthlywritingchallenge ’s Matching March, Day 11: Found Family

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