#fantasci

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #242

“Sorry, sunshine, I don’t do love potions no more. The ethical quandaries were keeping me awake at night.”

“Oh, no, no,” said the other apothecary. “I don’t need one made; I was wondering if you could taste one of mine.” Then, as if only just realizing the sound of their words, they flushed bright red. “Not in a weird way, I just have a hard time finding test subjects and I’ve admired you’re work for a long time so I trust your judgment and I know as a professional you keep antidote around so it shouldn’t have any problem being reversed. I just want to know if I’m doing it right before I try putting it on shelves! It would just be a little taste, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to! I just thought since I’m in town, and in your shop, it wouldn’t hurt to at least ask.”

[yourheartonfire]

The battle ended not with a bang but a whimper; no glorious triumph or mad retreat but a long, slow dying as exhausted soldiers fell until the few still on their feet all were on the same side.

Not the protagonist's side.

Desperately they tried to will themselves back up to their feet, tried to force numb fingers to close around the sword that lay in the mud beside them. But their body was done, helpless as the tired enemy soldiers picked their way closer and closer, methodically stripping bodies of any small valuables and finishing off any wounded still alive.

The protagonist prayed frantically to any god they thought might hear them. The god of war. The god of peace. The god from any temple and roadside shrine they could ever remember visiting. They wracked their brain. Dead. They'd have to pretend to be dead. They could do that. They were half there already, just slow their breathing and don't catch anyone's...

They turned their head and saw the god of war looking straight at them.

Like everyone else on the battlefield the god was spattered with blood, from her cropped hair to her armored boots. She could have been any soldier from any nation - except for the terrible red joy in her eyes as she beheld the devastation wrought.

"Hello, little sacrifice," she said without moving her lips. She pointed, and as if puppeted, one of the enemy soldiers started to turn their head -

A clean boot crunched down next to the protagonist's head. Then another, stepping carefully over them to place themselves between the god and the protagonist. The protagonist looked up at a figure straight out of their childhood.

The god of war stopped.

"Are you serious?" she sneered.

The god of the protagonist's childhood village shrine shrugged, strumming his fingers thoughtfully over the lute in his hands. Unlike the murals, the statues, he was not dressed in fine court robes but in simple traveler clothes, his hair pulled back into a plain knot. But just as the protagonist remembered, he seemed impossibly tall. Impossibly beautiful.

"Spare this one," the god asked, stilling those long clever hands on the strings. "Please. This one is mine."

The god of war laughed. "You think you can challenge me, godling? Me? Here? At the height of my strength? Flee back to whatever muddy temple you escaped from and maybe I'll let you survive, you jumped up deity of bad chords and tasteless lyrics."

"Oh, I'm no god of anything so prevalent," the protagonist's god murmured humbly. "And I'm not here to challenge you, great one. Say rather, we're here to bargain. After all, this one has something that can benefit you."

The god shot the protagonist a look. The protagonist knew this line from the stories of their childhood.

"A song!" they blurted. "A - an epic about what happened here, about you, to make all who hear it shout and weep and... and honor your name."

The god of war... paused. Tilted their head.

"A fitting tribute to your potency," their god chimed in, the melody from their lute drifting into a martial fanfare. "From a god-touched bard. Surely that makes them worth more alive than dead."

A shout went up from the other side of the field. Someone was up and swords were swinging. The god of war waved an impatient hand, already disappearing towards the fight. "Fine. But I expect my song. I'll hold you responsible, godling. I don't forget!"

She was gone and the god of the protagonist's childhood turned to look down at them. "Well," he said, reaching out a hand to pull the protagonist up. "I hope you can actually write music."

"Seems like a priority to learn," the protagonist said fervently, and their god of trickery and bargains laughed and hauled them away.

[monstermag]

We're One!!

That's right Monster Lovers. It's been a whole year since we birthed this magazine.

Of course we're sharing this special occasion with you! By releasing the Spring Edition from its formatting dungeon just like we promised. Available to download now!

Our only wish this year is for you to get those download numbers up by liking and reposing Monster Magazine. Tell your irl friends about us. They probably like monster too, who doesn't?

Download

Keep your 3000 ocular appendages open for the opening of the summer submissions.

[watercolorfreckles]

hi, thank you so much for your wonderful writing :))

I've especially loved reading Deep Blue and I was wondering if you...do continuations? if not that's totally okay, just thought I'd ask :)

have some ice cream :) 🍦

Thank you, thank you! Sorry for taking so long to get to this request. Hope you like it!

Deep Blue - Pt. 4

siren x pirate

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

When his eyelids parted again, the midday sun split the room, haloing the sleeping siren in a honey blaze. Her hair pooled around her head in golden spires where she'd sunken against the cotton pillow during the night.

Her shoulders swam beneath the gauzy knit of the pirate's shirt, pearl-pink skin peeking free. She smelled of the ocean, all salted breezes and chalky sands.

She seemed peaceful, chest swelling with even breaths. An outsider may have labeled her harmless.

The pirate knew better.

His fingers itched to caress the delicate curls framing the siren's forehead all the same. The supernatural charm of a siren, he told himself. He caught his hand when it twitched halfway to action.

He stood up, tearing himself away from the magnetic pull of her. He turned around, shaking out the clumped waves of his hair. His clothes, too, were scratchy with the crust of dried salt. The folds of fabric creased like paper.

He stepped outside and cranked out several pumps of water from the rusted spigot, scrubbing it over his face and hair. The cool droplets streamed fissures down his neck and chest. He pumped fresh palm-fulls to spread over the rest of his exposed skin.

"If you're trying to drown yourself, I can do a much better job of it."

The pirate startled, straightening. "Golden. You're...- How are you feeling?"

Clinging to the open door, the siren stood awkwardly on foreign limbs. The hem of his shirt hung a few inches above her knees; a curtain brushing against his clumsy first aid.

Though her posture painted her a wounded damsel, her eyes were predator-sharp. It set his teeth on edge and sent something primal in his instincts jangling.

The siren's nose crinkled, scanning their surroundings. He tracked her gaze as it roamed over every rock and tree and bump of the earth. "What is that smell?"

The cabin boy snorted, cranking fresh water into his hands to dump over his head. "Dirt."

"Repugnant.”

"Yeah, well... As much as I love it, the smell of salt water and fish can get old as well."

When he glanced up again, he studied the siren more closely. Instead of itchy, irritated skin--sun-dried and chapped--she was glowing as ever. Her golden hair hung in silken waves hardly so much as mussed by his rough sheets, not gritty and salt-riddled as his own locks had been. Her skin faintly shimmered in the daylight.

The only thing about her that wasn't perfect was the red stain weeping through the muddied fabric of her bandage.

Her eyes followed the drip drops puddling beneath the spigot. She wet her lips.

The cabin boy watched her. "Are you thirsty?"

As he'd learned from his hours of curious reading, most sea creatures didn't drink water. They gained their hydration through the food they ate, or their bodies were designed to filter out the harmful sully of salt from the seas they swam in.

Though, his siren was a sea creature no more.

Her feet twitched, seemingly with the urge to take a step, but she hesitated, toeing the wooden step's treacherous edge without letting go of the door.

A small smile cracked the pirate's lips. This creature who had held his life in her hands mere hours prior, capable of capsizing ships and carving out the hearts of men, was afraid to walk. Afraid to fall.

Gravity did have an unforgiving vice above water that it didn't below, weightless and languid in all its honeyed drifting.

He found himself standing in front of her. Ever drawn to her as a moth to its fiery death.

She hissed at him when he offered his hands toward her, sounding like a startled housecat. Jerking back, her heels snagged the rim of the top stair and she fell with a yelp. "Don't touch me!"

Though the cabin boy held up his palms in surrender, the mermaid swiped at him with dull, paddy fingers for good measure.

"Easy," he said, "I was only going to help you."

"Why?"

His brow creased. "...Why?"

"Why are you trying to help me at all?" she demanded.

"You saved my life."

"I tried to drown you! You should have left me there, I would have been better off! Your 'help' is a scourge, a curse!" She pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, smacking his hand away when the pirate reached out again, reflexively, to assist her.

He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “You would have bled to death.”

“It would have been better!” There was something terribly broken in her voice. A windchime once ringing melodic lullabies now cracked and shrieking. She staggered down the remaining two steps, swaying unsteadily on her heels. Her voice softened. “It would have been better than this.”

Guilt twisted the cabin boy’s stomach. “Golden…”

“No. I am now a prisoner in this…weak, defiled body. I have been stripped of every last thread of my identity. My tail, my strength– The ocean has disowned me, I am cursed to die a fumbling human. There is no greater disgrace! I want nothing more from you.” She shoved past him, limping and teetering as she went.

“Where are you going? You’re injured, hungry, and wearing nothing more than my shirt,” the pirate protested, following after her. “You can’t venture into town like that. Many men would take that as an invitation–”

The siren rounded on him, promptly stumbling and catching herself against his shoulders. Her eyes were alight like an August day.

“I know perfectly well what your kind feels entitled to when they come upon a beautiful woman. That is the very foundation of why you are so easily captured under our sway,” she spat. “Your desires overwhelm you, and our songs coax you to believe you can have all you want if only you surrender to us. I cannot make you believe what you do not already want to. You invade our home and hunt us in our own waters, you take and take and take, then call us monsters when we do not let you have us too. As if we are sunken treasure for you to pluck from the seafloor and sell to the next hungry pirate.”

Any response he had readied died behind the cabin boy’s teeth. He wanted to protest that they ‘weren’t all like that.’ That some pirates led with honor, and that many men were decent. He was decent, wasn’t he?

And yet… He still felt homesick for his captain, his crew, his ship. The very ones who cast him to his death for the mutinous act of having a heart.

He swallowed. “I freed you.”

“And for that alone, I spared you. Yet you damned me. Spare me further humiliation and leave me alone.” The siren gave his shoulders a sharp squeeze before letting go, limping away again in the direction she had chosen.

His eyes followed her, clumsy and graceless, all the way to the start of the dirt road that led into the village.

She would certainly be a spectacle there. With shimmery skin and perfect hair of spun gold, eyes like winter fire and only half dressed, she would steal the attention of every human she passed.

She might be found out for what she was. She might be overpowered and hurt, or taken advantage of.

The possibilities burned through him.

She’d begged him to stay away…

The siren’s bare feet kicked up dust along the path that sent her coughing, batting at the air with the same fury she’d faced him with moments prior.

The sight coaxed a tentative smile from the pirate’s mouth. Cursing the sky, the earth, the gods of sea and shore and everything else, he followed after the grounded mermaid.

He would not be responsible for any more of her misfortune. Even if it cemented his own.

He’d always thought the ocean to be fair, even in all its cruelty. It did not shrink itself for the convenience of others. Its crashing swells that swallowed ships whole did not ask for any less from the creatures within it.

He had to believe that there was hope for her, his siren, creature of water and night and song. She would be whole again. He had to try.

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkles , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt , @annablogsposts , @lunatic-moss-studio , @medusas-hairband

[fantasci-side-blog]

#Fantasci Tumblr!

(This is me @feline17ff/ @heroes-villains-side-blog, @fantasci-side-blog is my new sideblog)

Results are in!

AND HERE ARE SUGGESTIONS ON HOW TO MAKE THIS COMMUNITY THRIVE! :D

You have been invited to the #fantasci tumblr community on Tumblr!

The new hashtag for creators and consumers of speculative fiction.

This could be anything from pirates in mech suits to fairies trying to survive a zombie apocalypse.

Let your imagination run wild!

If you're more interested in superheroes and supervillains, #heroes and villains and #hero x villain would be more relevant.

Of course, sometimes there can be overlap, so feel free to use a combination of tags.

Next, we need to decide on the exact tags for specific subgenres. This can come out organically over time as more creators and consumers interact, or we can begin to work on some form of standardization if anyone has ideas.

If you'd like to be involved in this community, you're more than welcome!Use the tag to post your content or search for things that interest you! Don't forget to reblog and comment to make creators feel appreciated! 💞

Check out the notes and under the cut for creators who are interested in speculative fiction. They probably have some stuff on their masterlist already!

Reblog, interact, and use the hashtag! 🥰

"Fantasy squad" from that thread @thepenultimateword @writing-on-the-wahl @watercolorfreckles @amethystpath-writes @snowshowerwriting @puddleslimewrites @muses-of-the-mind @surplus-of-sarcasm

People I think would be interested

@tratieisdabest @writey-unicorn for mythological retellings!

@stuck-in-this-mortal-form for Slavic and Celtic folklore inspired stuff!

@just-a-space-rabbit for space rabbit lore and your OC's space adventures!

@callmemeg for my second knight story if I ever think of a plot or characters!

@world-of-fire-and-flight coz you're a fantasy writer!

@raineandsky because you wrote that knight story once!

@inamindfarfaraway for Phantom Knight Afterlife Club, unless it's more heroes and villains idk

@alwaysanovice @nixylubouv @my-lovely-writing @passionate-fruitcake I think you'd be interested :)

@eahravinqueen @the-lavender-creator friendship tag!

@the-likeable-wizard-mack idk you but your blog turned up while I was researching possible tags, and your content seems like it would fit :)

@chaoticgoodthief Dragons?

@faeeclipseruine @faenemy Your usernames haves fae in it?

No pressure ofc! Ttyl!

[puddleslimewrites]

Prompt #12

Deity looked down at their chosen mortal. "They treat you so poorly and yet, you stay with them." They frowned, their disdain as clear as the white of their eyes. "Why?"

Mortal looked away. They felt ashamed to be the subject of Deity's disapproval. "They're my friends. I can't just abandon them."

[im-a-wonderling]

Lowly Soldier ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

Ugh, I have such a soft spot for Prince, and I hope y'all do too. Any and all lynch mobs formed will go towards Guard’s residence and not mine, d'you hear me? 😂

Word count: 2.7k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

A WEEK BEFORE THE WEDDING

In the dead of night, the towering shelves cast long shadows that danced and hid from the light of the few, flickering candles resting in front of Prince on his desk. In this dim lighting, if one tilted their head and relaxed their eyes, they might mistake the library ladder at Prince’s left for a monster. 

But no, the monster stood not to Prince’s left, but directly in front of him, shifting in the way only guilty men did. 

“I know about your relations with Princess.” Prince didn’t bother glancing around the library or lowering his voice. 

Guard didn’t move, but Prince could’ve sworn he paled slightly. “Your Highness, I don’t know–”

“Spare me the act of innocence.” Prince took a deep breath, reining in his anger like an unbroken stallion. 

The soldier wisely went silent, leaving the two men to stare at each other for a few moments.

“How long do I have to pack my bags then?” Guard asked, his chin held far too high for the situation. 

Prince considered it. It would be so easy to simply send him away. Prince wouldn’t have to go so far as to remove him from the King’s service. Guard could be reassigned to a different fort. Perhaps somewhere south where the high temperatures and heavy rays of sun would cause Guard to sweat like a pig and burn like a roast. The image of Guard in full uniform, wiping at his dripping and sunburnt forehead brought Prince such satisfaction.

Then came the image of Princess’s face when she learned Guard had been sent away. 

He sighed, dismissing the image. “You must act swiftly if the two of you are to avoid scandal.”

Confusion colored Guard’s face. “Sir?”

“You must–” Prince’s voice failed him, and he chided it. “You must…marry Princess.”

The soldier gaped at Prince, clearly questioning what he’d just heard. “Your Highness?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Prince said frigidly. It’d been hard enough to say it in the first place. 

Guard stood perfectly still for a while, and Prince impatiently waited for the soldier to get his wits back so they could continue this conversation. 

“But…ho-how?” Guard stammered. “She is royalty, and I am but a lowly soldier!”

A lowly soldier, Prince scorned in his head. Guard rose through the ranks faster than most, and he caught the attention of far more than Princess, even if Princess was the only one Prince really cared about. 

“We must be crafty.” Prince took a deep breath, sitting down, the plush red velvet sinking underneath him. “I can’t simply promote you, it would look too suspicious. We will organize a way for you to receive an increase in rank. It will–”

Guard started frantically shaking his head, making Prince stop and narrow his eyes. Why was Guard protesting? He got to marry and become honorary royalty. He wouldn’t be king, not while Princess’s older brothers still drew breath, but the rank of a prince was nothing to sneer at. 

Perhaps he was simply having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

“It will take some time, of course,” Prince continued, “which brings its own risk, but if we’re going to do this–”

“But a marriage between us would be improper!” Guard interrupted. 

Prince fixed him with a cold, hard stare. “And the impropriety didn’t cross your mind before you stole her virtue?”

“I did not steal her virtue!” Guard snapped. “She’s the one who–”

“I would recommend,” Prince interrupted calmly, “that you don’t waste my time by finishing that sentence.”

Guard shut his mouth, looking quite taken aback as he eyed Prince. 

Prince sighed. “It doesn’t matter how things progressed.” The words tasted like vinegar in his mouth, but he pushed on. “What matters is what we must do to protect everyone in this situation, and we will get started at once.” 

Guard blinked, bringing a hand to nervously fiddle with the chainmail of his soldier's uniform. 

This is it, Prince thought. This is the moment when Guard complies, and we plot for the wedding that will soon follow, a wedding I forced Guard into, a wedding Princess isn’t expecting, and a wedding that will break my heart. It would require all of Prince’s strength to sit through, and it would cost him all his self-respect, but he would do it.

For Princess, he would do it. 

But instead of hearing words of agreement, Prince saw a sudden, dangerous gleam in Guard’s eyes. “I’m sorry, You Highness, but I cannot do that.”

Prince simply stared, trying to process what he’d just heard. Was Guard disobeying a direct order? Perhaps he hadn’t understood that Prince’s statement was a command in the first place. “All due respect, this is not a request, Guard.”

Guard’s gleam didn’t dim. “All due respect, sir, but you cannot force me to marry her.” His voice was remarkably calm, as if they were discussing the weather and not the fate of a woman. 

For a moment, Prince couldn’t form any words. He could only stare at Guard, wondering how the man could be so cavalier and care so little about Princess’s reputation?

He wanted to toss Guard out the library window, but that wouldn’t save Princess.

Prince clenched onto his self-control, imposingly rising to his feet instead of rushing at Guard in fury. “Do you realize who you are speaking to?” He stepped closer to Guard, holding his posture as tightly as he held his fists. “I am your prince. I can demote you so that you are guarding a kitchen for the rest of your days. I can have you branded as a traitor and exiled. I can have you flung in the dungeon, facing execution in a week.” Prince raised his chin. “It all makes no difference to me.”

The threat in his tone would make most men concede by prostrating themselves in front of him. 

“If this kingdom finds out that the Tunican princess had affairs with a lowly soldier, the gossip will spread like wildfire,” Guard said slowly. “And if the Tunician King finds out, it will be war.” 

“You would create war for your own country?” Prince seethed.

Guard spread his hands. “This may be the country of my birth, but that doesn’t mean it’s the country of my life.” He pointed at Prince. “That’s your position.”

Prince gaped at Guard.

Had Guard gone mad? All the authority rested with Prince, and yet Guard acted as though he possessed the upper hand!

What pure selfishness.

What audacity.

Prince slammed his hands into the desk, making the candles shake and drip wax down onto the polished wood. “You dare threaten me with war?” 

Guard smiled back at Prince. “Do you know what Princess told me last night?”

Prince froze, sensing the wave of pain about to crash over him, an upper hand that was about to be gained. “That is neither here nor–”

Guard stepped closer to Prince, baring his teeth like a child who hadn’t quite mastered the art of the smile. “She told me she loved me.” 

A groan of pain nearly ripped through Prince’s throat as the knot of pain coiled tightly in his chest. He blindly fell back onto his chair, trying to relearn how to breathe under the weight of this information. 

She…she loved Guard? Truly? It wasn’t merely some youthful dalliance or fleeting fancy?

Prince looked back to Guard with a sharp inhale, realizing too late that he’d given away too much with his silence. 

“You love her.” The triumph in Guard’s voice set Prince’s teeth on edge. “You can’t bear to see her in pain, or you would’ve sent me away instead of trying to get me to marry her. If you banished me or imprisoned me, it would only hurt her, and you can’t bear to do that.”

There was no point in denying it. Unlike Guard, Prince was a man strong enough to admit to the truth. So Prince glowered at Guard. “I’m warning you–”

“No, Your Highness.” Guard smirked. “I’m warning you, unless you promise me that you won’t mention this conversation to anyone, I’ll tell the Tunician King about our affair myself.” The satisfied smile widened. “See what happens to your precious princess then.”

“You are a snake,” Prince fumed.

Guard’s only reply was to grin. 

“Fine!” Prince burst out. “I promise, now get out of my sight!”

Guard wisely didn’t reply. He simply slipped out the library door, likely off to go sleep soundly in his bed.

Now what? Prince thought desperately.

Princess was not the first royal to be in this compromising situation, but the world would see her as damaged goods if they found out. It didn’t matter if it was a year from now when the truth got out, she would be seen as damaged goods, and whatever husband she possessed would turn his back on her, for no self-respecting husband wouldn’t care if his wife dallied with a soldier. Except for Lord perhaps, but Prince couldn’t subject Princess to marriage with him. His breath smelled fouler than the stables, and he was old enough to be her grandfather. 

Whoever married Princess would have to know beforehand.

But who would ever marry her with that knowledge? And even if they didn’t care, Prince would be breaking his promise to Guard, and who knew what the soldier would do?

Prince sat at the desk, his hopes dwindling by the second.

If only status and dignity didn’t matter so much. If only the world could see Princess for her sweetness or even her beauty, and value her for those things instead of whatever station she possessed.

Alas, it seemed the only one who saw Princess’s sweetness and beauty was Prince and Guard, and Guard wouldn’t marry her.

Prince sat bolt upright.

Was that…?

Could it be…?

Prince lifted his hand to his hair. 

Was that really the solution? Marrying Princess himself?

The idea which would normally make his heart soar instead made his stomach turn over. 

He couldn’t marry her, not like this. Not as a last resort to stave off scandal and potentially war. Princess deserved better than that. Everybody deserved more than that. 

Prince leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk. There had to be another way, a way where Guard wouldn’t win without Prince losing so badly. 

But there wasn’t. No other desperate solution in his mind was feasible in the amount of time they had left. 

Prince let out a breath. 

He couldn’t count on Princess to understand. He loved her, but she could be naive. No, Prince would conduct this himself, and it started with talking to his father. 

God help him.

A MONTH LATER

“Well, this is a sorry sight!”

Forever a light sleeper, Prince started from his horizontal position on the couch. He blinked blearily around at his study, trying to find the source of the words. For a wild moment, in the delirium of having one foot in the real world and the other in the land of dreams, he wondered if his desk had spoken to him.

Then Prince’s eyes fell on Brother, standing in the open doorway with folded arms. 

Prince glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he grumbled, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. 

“Yes, and you’re sleeping on a couch in your study alone instead of in your bed with your wife.”

Prince didn’t bother to answer the question asked by his younger brother’s tone. Yes, he didn’t sleep in their bedchamber anymore, but that didn’t mean he had to explain himself, certainly not to Brother, who had yet to be married. 

Brother swept towards Prince’s desk, ignoring the neatly ordered papers as he jumped up to take a seat on top of them. “Your wife says she hasn’t seen you for days. Is there a declaration of war I don’t know about?”

Prince almost bit back, not appreciating the dig. Yes, Prince had assumed the Tunican party had nefarious intent, and yes, it turned out to be a company of soldiers containing Princess’s dowry. But in Prince’s opinion, it was better to be overly cautious than taken unawares.

Getting to his feet, Prince shoved at his brother. “Get off your porcine behind.”

“It’s a royal behind to you.” Brother hopped off the desk to recline lazily on the sofa on which Prince had just woken from. 

“If you’re in the mood to pry,” Prince said bluntly, “go down to the launderers to hear the gossip. I’m busy.”

Brother sat forward, the usual merriment gone from his face. “Why are you avoiding Princess?”

Prince grit his teeth. He’d promised himself that he would only return to the scene of Princess’s encounter with Guard when he was sure he could control his temper. 

As of yet, his temper hadn’t dissipated. 

So he avoided it altogether—which meant he avoided her altogether. 

“What happened?” Brother asked, dropping his voice even though they were the only two in the room. “Did the two of you have a fight?”

Prince shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“If you can’t tell your own brother, who can you tell?” 

“I won’t be telling anyone anything.”

“Maybe not, but that only makes it worse for you.”

Prince wanted to scream at his brother, beg and plead with his brother to stop prying, but it would only make clearer the gravity of the secrets he held. 

“You’re married,” Brother said 

“Believe me, I’m painfully aware of that!” Prince snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to reel in the slip in his temper. 

“You need to get to know your new wife,” Brother insisted. 

“I know my wife!” Prince growled at his brother. A heavy silence fell while he once again tried to get his temper under control. “I know that she loves to spend her entire mornings sleeping. I know that her favorite flowers are white roses. I know that she has a birthmark on the side of her neck. I know that she hates boiled eggs and always wants her eggs fried.”

I know the name of the lowly soldier she loves.

Prince sat heavily on his chair, sagging against the armrests like he’d gone boneless. “I’m not ‘getting to know’ my wife because I don’t need to.” He swallowed. “It’s her that doesn’t want to know me.” 

“You think your wife doesn’t care for you,” Brother said, as if it were some grand realization, the truth behind what kept Prince awake at night. 

Prince bowed his head, wishing that that was all it was.

“You have to give her time,” Brother said gently. “She came here as an effort to strengthen kingdom ties, not to gain a husband.”

The great ache in Prince’s chest threatened to swallow him whole. 

He knew he’d practically forced himself onto Princess. That’s how she saw it, and it’s how Prince’s kingdom saw it. They saw him as a man who took what he wanted. But how could this ever be what he wanted? To be married to a woman who belonged in his dreams and yet loved someone else? To know that she wanted nothing more than to spend her time with Guard? 

He heaved a large sigh. “I will give her that time.” 

Brother didn’t say anything more, and Prince didn’t want him to. He didn’t want any more of his brother’s pity nor his brother’s advice. He wanted Guard gone, and he wanted Princess’s heart intact when Guard left. 

Impossible. 

“Leave me be,” Prince said wearily.

Brother hesitated a moment and then got to his feet and walked towards the door. He paused before opening it. “Why would she marry you if she didn’t see something in you?” With that, Brother left. 

Prince knew the question was rhetorical. He knew it was meant to make him believe in the chance that his wife could love him. But all it did was remind him of the answers he couldn’t share. 

At this point, Prince was fairly certain those answers would die with him, and the only way anyone would ever know was if they opened his chest to see the words carved into his heart.

-

Part 4

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list:

@writing-on-the-wahl @thepenultimateword @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars

[amethystpath-writes]

Between Mice and Magic

NOT A PR0MPT

Spicy (but not explicit- and only for a short bit, really)

******

“I hate to admit it, little mouse, but you are becoming quite the nuisance.”

Hero ignored Villain as best she could as she fought with the ropes which bound her. Her wrists stung behind her back and her ankles were screaming from another over-the-top restraint.

As anyone would know it, Hero was weak. Her skillsets relied on nimbleness. Being small and lightweight meant she was the best sneak anyone could afford, but it came at a cost.

This wasn’t to say she couldn’t fight. Swords were no match for her when they were easily knocked to the ground. And after then, it was only a matter of pushes and pulls in just the right places of her opponent’s body.

However, hand-to-hand combat meant nothing in the face of magic. Hero thought such a force was an outdated source of combat- after so many wars, so many imprisonments...as far as the world knew it, magic was a thing of the past, buried so deeply in earth that it could never be found again. It would remain unknown, even to the gods, many had thought.

Yet here she was, trapped.

Of course, ropes were far from magic, but the deadly, deafening pulsing of the room when she had snuck through the window hadn’t been. Hero figured the use of ropes had been within reason; she just wasn’t sure how.

Maybe it was to belittle her- Hero didn’t know magic, and perhaps Villain thought she would want magic. Would feel lesser for not having it.

Or maybe it was to frighten her- magic was so poorly thought of that anyone, even a king, would be scared to witness it. And, if Hero couldn’t escape regular restraints, what would make her think she could face Villain’s magic? He could snap his fingers and she would fall to one knee, or both.

Though, if Villain had been trying to scare Hero with his magic, it wasn’t working. She was more bothered with the scratchy ropes than breath of old gods.

“What should I do with you?” Villain wondered aloud.

Clearly, it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Hero answered anyway. “If I am such a pest, would it not be easiest to kill me?” She didn’t consider the absurdity of joking with Villain as she continued to pull uselessly at her wrists. “Then again, I could never fit in a mouse trap, so if playing is another option, then I guess I should take that instead.”

“I could play with you, if that is what you wanted.”

The confinements were weighing less on Hero’s mind. There was peril in the game she was playing- this Cat & Mouse- but she was confident. She shrugged, as much as she could manage. “Maybe if you untied me-”

Villain laughed, a sound so gaudy and aggravatingly alluring. Like any lord, he was attractive, but Hero was willing to bet it was a guise made by magic.

“But you look so nice all tied up for me.” His voice was mocking now, playful. Just as Hero intended when she started this charade.

“Please,” she scoffed, understanding perfectly well what he was implying- what she implied first. “What could I do to you that you could not do to yourself? I am sure your magic has a better hand than mine.” She rolled her eyes, still in her seat, still in her restraints.

Eventually, she hoped, the lord would tire of this banter. He would untie her, thinking he could make a toy out of a mouse, and she would make her escape.

“You know what I think?” Hero taunted.

Villain hummed, expectantly.

“I think a game is all you ever wanted,” she admitted, and for once, she wasn’t playing a survivor’s role. “If I were such a nuisance, you would have done this already.” She nodded, a gesture to herself. “You wanted me all along; you just wanted a chase first. Am I not right, cat?”

“You think you know me better than myself.”

“An easy observation when you think about it,” she tutted. “You are becoming predictable after so many of my break-ins.”

His eyebrows went flat- unamused. “Tell me again,” Villain said.

Hero stayed silent. There was a stone-cold edge to Villain’s voice. It changed so frequently that Hero almost felt dizzy despite her stillness. At first, he was calculated, then playful, now dangerous. He was insulted, and as scary as he could be.

“Go on. Tell me how predictable I am. Tell me all the secrets I have up my sleeve and how easily you know I could tear this world apart if only I had the patience and will to do so. Tell me how well you know me.”

The air was heavy, and Hero found herself swallowing, before daring to say, “I know that it is neither patience, nor will, which stops you from doing as you say.”

“Is that right?”

She swallowed. Nodded. “Even with all your magic,” Hero said, silently reciting the countless letters she found hidden in the lord’s manor, “you are afraid you will never be enough- that somehow your image will never outgrow your father’s. You fear judgement, Villain.”

“I was so certain you wanted to play”- he admired his hand, turning it as if he held something in it- ”but now I wonder if you-”

Something was glowing in his hand- something so close to a flame that Hero exclaimed, “I do! I do want to play.” The game was no longer about flirting; it was about fear and desperation, chasing each other like a fox and a rabbit.

Please do not kill me. It was such a quiet request, even in her own head, but she knew the urgency which she spoke in was real. Hero was desperate, and she knew Villain understood that by the grin he wore.

“Then run,” Villain spoke.

A weight dropped from Hero’s wrists and ankles but she didn’t make a move. “You are tricking me,” she whispered. He wouldn’t let her go that easily. The moment she stood, Villain would slam her back down with the breath of his nose, or he would spring roots from the ground to drag her into the ground...

“Please.”

“Play the game, or I will end it right now.”

******

[eruden-writes]

Scent Match - Part 3

(Note: Started with an anon asking for the phrase prompt, “Oh. Oh.”)

Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan hearthrob, Augustine Prime.

But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.

However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.

All because of her scent.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

First Part | Previous Part Masterlist

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The VIP lounge was simultaneously underwhelming and overwhelming. While the environment was remarkably drab - reminding Amber of a sad office party with business-grade navy carpet and neutral grey walls - being in the midst of celebrities brought her anxiety to a heart pounding ten. She was just thankful to have Addie by her side, helping to field questions

She just had to focus on calling the actors by their actual identities, rather than their character's names.

"So, did you think you'd get the Augustine Prime's attention with this drawing?" From across the coffee table, Tarias - Theo Delaney - leaned forward in his chair. A smile spread over his features, his eyes alight with amusement. On the table was the aforementioned drawing.

Amber glanced down at the piece, ignoring how Augustine - from his spot on the floor - watched her so... closely.

For the most part, Augustine simply basked in Amber's presence. He was thankful she agreed to venture into the VIP area. At the time of his request, he hadn't realized he'd be able to inconspicuously take in her scent for an extended time. Augustine had merely wanted her to stay near him.

Now, not only was he committing her scent to memory, but Amber's mannerisms. The way her gaze bounced from one companion to the next, trying valiantly to give them all her attention. She even turned slightly toward whoever spoke, making them aware she was listening. Augustine found his eyes often wondering. Taking in her straight back, but slumped shoulders and the way her hands shifted, her feet fidgeted.

He wanted to skim his hand down her back, release her tension. Or bring her hands to his lips, brush light kisses over her knuckles to still her nerves.

"I didn't know it was him talking to me at first. I was focused on my drawing." As Amber admitted that, Laira - Delilah Moonsbayne, Amber reminded herself - barked out a laugh from her armchair next to Theo. The actress made a flippant comment on Augustine's lack of presence, but Amber didn't acknowledge it.

With her heart still pounding, Amber simply smiled weakly at the woman and let her momentum continue to propel her words, "If l had known he was lurking about, I might not have chosen Montos for vent art."

At her words, Augustine's ears twitched with concern, but Theo beat him in asking, "What were you frustrated about?"

Theo Delaney's intense look of concern brought a soft, awkward laugh to Amber's lips and a lick of heat over her cheeks. It felt odd explaining her everyday gripes to a celebrity.

Thankfully, Addie took over talking duties as she threw an arm over Amber's shoulders. "Despite how talented Amber is, their work - particularly their webcomic - hasn't gotten the attention it deserves."

"I'm not the best at marketing, so it's really just my fault." Amber winced and gave another weak laugh, trying not to sound too self-deprecating.

At her knee, where Augustine had opted to sit on the floor, the actor suddenly snapped his fingers. He smiled up at her, craning his neck as he excitedly asked, "Weren't there books at your table? Hell's Bells or something?"

"Hell's Promise," Amber corrected with a nod. Honestly, she was surprised he'd seen anything other than her little drawing of Montos, given how focused on it he had been. She was lucky he even remembered the commission, let alone invited her into the private realm of celebrities.

He seemed to perk up more, wolfish ears turned toward her in full attention. Something in Amber shivered under his undivided interest. Augustine leaned closer to her, subtly taking in her scent as he prodded further, "Do you have a copy with you?"

Also on the floor, Dsidere - Camry Vainglow - leaned over Augustine. Interest sparked in their wide green eyes as they waved their hand, like a kid hoping to be called on in class. "Yeah! I wanna read it, too!"

Before Amber could break the news that no, she didn't have any of her comics on her, Addie tapped her shoulder repeatedly. "I have some!"

Surprise flicked over Amber's features, turning to her friend. The other woman was riffling around her messenger bag excitedly looking for something. "You do?"

"Yeah, I figured if Augustine actually had come around, I should grab some merch." Triumphantly, Addie withdrew a small stack of Hell's Promise. As she leaned over to hand them to the celebrities, she shot Amber a wink. " You never know! He might become a fan and post about it online, which would be a boon, right?"

"Very smart!" Camry nodded sagely as they and Augustine accepted a book each. Amber tried to hide her surprise and delight as Theo and Delilah also took copies. Along with the books, Addie handed out some stickers, pins, and additional copies of Amber's business card.

Trying to shove off her own excitement - it wasn't even guaranteed they'd even read her comic - Amber opted to give further information. "You can also find the comic online at the website on the back of the book. Online is obviously more up-to-date than hard copies."

Flipping through the pages, Delilah tilted her head to the images before asking, "So what's the story about?"

"Hell's Promise is about a world where witches get their familiars assigned to them and our protagonist gets a hellhound. Which is, like, completely unheard of in this universe." Once again, Addie took the verbal reins, leaning over Amber as she spoke to Delillah with pure excitement. "So the witch starts poking about and unravels a long forgotten prophecy which may or may not involve saving the world."

"Interesting," singsonged Camry as they flopped onto the floor, stomach to the carpet and Hell's Promise splayed open for reading.

"I like to think so," Amber said, just before her phone went off. She blinked, momentarily rerouting her thoughts before realizing it was her own device. Digging it out of her pocket, the phone continued chiming as more notifications rolled in. Confused, she stared at it, trying to understand what was going on.

"Wow, someone is popular." Addie leaned closer, peeking curiously at the device vibrating in Amber's hand. "What's going on?"

"I honestly don't know." Amber's eyebrows furrowed, realizing it wasn't just one app going off. It was all of her social media. If it had just been her texts, it could have been an emergency involving her friends or even the few family that still spoke to her. However, it was as if someone lit a fire in all of her apps.

Why was she suddenly getting so many notifications? Had something she posted riled up people to the point of hunting her down online presence down across multiple platforms? She couldn't even think what she had last posted that would be met with any level of vitriol, specific or general. That didn't mean much, though.

When she realized the reason for the attention, her heart jumped while her stomach plummeted.

She was tagged across multiple platforms by @TheAugPrime. The post, in question, was a selfie of Augustine - taken mere minutes ago - holding up her comic and flashing an attractive grin to his camera. The caption read "Check out this comic by @AmbDyArt! Just got a copy and can't put it down." Following his statement, he even linked to the places Hell's Promise was hosted on.

Startled, her eyes wheeled to Augustine. Embarrassment and dismay, among other indescribable feelings, spiked a fire up her spine. "That's not even true. You haven't even read it!"

"It's not a lie, either. I haven't put it down, since Miss Kline handed it to me." He winked with a grin, waggling the still-held comic in the air. Immense pride puffed out his chest over that little workaround.

Beside Amber, Addie gave a giggle-snort. "He has a point."

"B-but he hasn't read it yet." Amber briefly turned to her friend, shock and betrayal faintly coloring her voice before she turned back to Augustine. "What if you don't like it?"

He gave a lackadaisical shrug, but his smile never faltered. Even as an inkling of uncertainty colored the far parts of his thoughts, a part of Augustine couldn't help but enjoy her reaction. It was unbearably adorable. While he hadn't read the comic yet, he had flipped through it and could feel Amber's care put into the art. "I'm sure I will. You made it."

"You don't know that though!" She wanted to grab him and shake him. How could he just give her a free recommendation so easily? What if he read her comic and found it to be utter trash? Hell, what if his fans read it and deemed it garbage? Further "what ifs" spun around her head with every notification buzz her phone shuddered with.

Something in her expression must have finally struck Augustine. His ears drooped a little, confusion and hurt softening his features.

Oh, he had fucked up. Something in his chest sank, staring up at Amber's flustered horror. Before he could think of something to say or apologize, Delilah had reached over to Amber, patting her on the shoulder. "Sweetie, don't try to make sense of him. He does shit like this all the time."

"Would you like me to delete my post?" He held up his phone, thumbs poised over the screen as if it would just be a matter of thumb taps to erase the posts. Causing her strife had been the furthest thought from his mind. Augustine knew what his celebrity endorsement could do for a small brand, though. He had just wanted to help her.

"I... I don't know." Conflict swarmed Amber's thoughts. It just felt like a lie, but wasn't that marketing? He hadn't actually lied, hadn't given an actual review. Just posted a photo of himself with the book. That alone had her own social media suddenly aflame.

Even if he deleted his posts, there were bound to be screenshots already circulating. Some of those emails pouring into her inbox might be from news outlets, as well. She didn't even want to think about the rumor aspect in what he had just done.

Staring helplessly at her phone, she watched as notifications rolled in from ExaGram, Bumblr, Cheepter, and more. With a shake of her head, she sighed and set her phone to Do Not Disturb mode before tossing it back into her bag. She'd deal with the mountain of notifications later.

"You should've asked before posting that." From beside Augustine, Camry nudged his side. He glanced down to his co-star, still sprawled on the floor with the comic book open. "Some people don't like their timelines blowing up, all because of your mug."

Again, Augustine realized he should have known better. He often forgot. Even when he barely started his acting career, his family's notoriety and wealth - and predisposition to conventional attractiveness - meant he'd always had a following. With drooping ears, he sighed and cast an apologetic look to Amber. "Sorry, Miss Dyer."

"It's fine! You were just trying to be nice." Augustine's puppy dog eyes worked on someone, at least, as Addie wrapped an arm around Amber's shoulders. She gave a laugh, giving her friend a little shake as she pointedly said, "Right, Amber?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm just..." Amber sighed once more, pressing her hands to her warm cheeks. Her cool palms helped to ease the fires of anxiety still churning inside her. She suddenly felt foolish for her reaction. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she centered herself before allowing her hands to drop and looking at Augustine once more. "I'm not used to so much attention on my socials."

Augustine rose to his knees from his crosslegged position, edging closer to Amber again. She tensed, seeing his hands rise briefly to touch her knee. Some sense made him drop his hands, but earnestness still glittered in his eyes. "Let me make it up to you by treating you to dinner."

"Weren't you going to ask her out anyway?" Delilah grinned as Augustine shot her a dirty look. The fact she sat in an armchair and he knelt on the floor razed at his pride, but he ignored it. Just because he planned to eventually ask Amber out to eat didn't mean his colleague had to throw him under the bus like that!

Blessedly, Amber's friend ignored Delilah's interjection. She was all excitement as she bounced a little on the couch. "Food sounds great! We were just talking about what to get for dinner before you caught us!"

Watching Augustine's features shift from somber to excited made Amber feel a little bad for how she had reacted to his post. With that feeling, another wave of frustration swept through her. She'd been acting ingracious to him and the other OWaB cast. After all, just because they were celebrities didn't mean they weren't persons, with flaws and feelings and understanding. Other than talent and luck and connections, they were no different from her. Mostly.

With that thought in mind, Amber turned to the others and smiled, determined to extend the olive branch of friendliness. "Are the rest of you going to join us?"

No one caught the momentary fall of Augustine's expression when Amber posited her question. Nor did they see his further gloom as his castmates chimed affirmatives. It was only a blink of disappointment, before he schooled his expression back into a smile.

There'd be time to talk to Amber alone, he reminded himself. He was just happy for the continued time together.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Next Part | Masterlist

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on: 

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or  Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

I also love, love, love comments, tags, and reblogs! Seeing readers' reactions motivates me.

[sio-writes]

Movie Night

I challenged myself to write a short blurb in under 1k words, and we capped in at 998 (hell yeah!)

I've been inspired by my writing buddies in the fantasci discord server, so have a bit of a Hero/Villain interaction. It's a bit out of my usual wheelhouse but I think I did the concept some justice! There's some mild swearing but that's all c:

The steam from the shower nearly chokes the small apartment, but Hero wouldn’t turn down the temperature if their life depended on it. It’s the easiest way to release the tension in their joints, ease the tightness of their muscles after beating back Supervillain for the third time this week. It was a victory hard-won, and Hero was still finding bruises and scrapes that they hadn't felt during the heat of battle.

The shower also acts as a ritual of sorts, one that started out of necessity - saving a city was a hard job, and then as Hero got better at that job, the ritual just kind of stuck.

Scrubbed and dry with fresh bandages over the worst of the injuries, Hero knocks back several ibuprofen and changes into pajamas. The fight took everything out of them, and they want nothing more than to relax for the rest of the evening.

Which of course invites a knock on their door, and Hero knows exactly who it is. They barely have a chance to unlock the door before Villain pushes past them and into the apartment. They pace the small living room as Hero closes and locks the door, then turns an accusing finger in Hero's direction. "I can't believe you!"

"You saw the fight, huh?" Hero asks, leaning on one shoulder against the wall. "I assume you have notes?"

Villain's eyes widen, indignant. "You bet your ass I do! Never fight Supervillain alone, your own words! And what do I see on TV first thing in the morning? You! Being flattened into the fucking Metrix high-rise!"

Hero cringes, hating that Villain is right. "It's not like I planned it. I did call for help, but by the time everyone else got there, Supervillain was long gone." They shrug, and the movement pulls at a nasty gash over their back that makes them wince. They kick off the wall to step around Villain, and then flop dramatically onto the couch, ignoring Villain's increasingly indignant stare. Standing takes effort, plus it hurts, so if Villain wants to yell at them more, they'll have to do it from down here.

"Don't you care that they might--"

"Wanna watch a movie?" Hero interrupts, reaching for the remote.

Villain sputters for a second, but this song and dance is nothing new for either of them. One gets hurt, the other gets upset, they brush it off and continue on. So after a long-suffering stare, an arm movement like they're a bird taking flight, and a hefty sigh, Villain drapes themself over Hero's couch as Hero fiddles with the channels.

“Anything but the news,” Villain says.

Hero flips to a channel playing a movie— they haven't seen a proper movie in months— and Villain grunts their approval.

Normally, Hero enjoys war movies, but those pain pills kick in fast, and before the opening credits are over, Hero’s already struggling to pay attention. It's an older movie, made in the 70's, something about the Cold War, and there's so much talking and so little action that Hero is fighting to stay awake, until Villain starts on a tirade.

"It's just like the government, eh? Fuckin' politicians, they just waltz all over--"

Hero groans, thumping Villains leg with their fist. "Knock it off. I heard nothing but this all damn day."

Villain scoffs, cutting off their rant but still broadcasting their frustration. They turn their attention back to the movie, and in sympathy, Hero pats their knee where it's draped over their own legs. "Things'll get better, you know they will."

Villain scrunches their face in displeasure, sinking into the couch as they cross their arms over their chest. "Not fast enough. People are dying."

Hero sighs through their nose, fond yet exasperated. This argument never seems to stale, no matter how often it comes up. They never reach an agreement, only until they run out of talking points and one gives up. Currently Hero is in the lead at 43-42.

At a commercial break, Villain reaches out to gently brush their knuckles over a large purple bruise on Hero's ankle. “This looks bad.”

Hero hums, noncommittal. Supervillain had actually broken that ankle, but with Hero's accelerated healing factor, it was back in place before they got home, and the bruise will be long gone before the weekend's over. “I mean, you saw the fight.”

“You should be more careful around Supervillain,” they say, serious. “They don’t have a conscience like I do.”

Hero scoffs, smiling. “Didn't you gut-punch me last week?”

“I was aiming for the senator," they mumble, looking down. They look back to Hero, eyes still hardened. "They’ll kill you given the chance.” Villain’s expression brokers no argument, and Hero holds their gaze for a moment. Hero’s easy smile fades, taking in the concern of Villain’s expression.

“Don’t worry about me,” Hero mumbles. “It’s part of the job.”

“An avoidable part.”

Hero rolls their eyes. "I can't just quit, and I--" Hero squints at the screen. “What the fuck is that?"

It's not a distraction this time, Hero genuinely can't make heads or tails of why this plane is sitting on its ass-end and taking off like the space shuttle.

Villain sighs, turning their head back towards the TV, and then they perk up. "Oh, that's a Lockheed XFV-1," Villain says easily before tossing back popcorn into their mouth. Hero didn't remember making popcorn, and couldn't recall Villain making any - they must've made it when Hero dozed off.

"It was made for vertical take-off and landing," Villain continues. "Like a helicopter, but shaped like a plane. Oh! That one's a Lavochkin-LA, super big during the Cold War."

Hero squints at them. "Are you a history nerd?"

Villain flushes. "Kind of? I'm not as keyed-in as some people." They snort, and their smile is lopsided. "Don't tell anyone, it'll ruin my street cred."

Hero recognizes an olive branch when they see one, and they smile easily. "I won't tell anyone. Hand me some popcorn."

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Spores

They didn't leave us enough time. It feels ridiculous to admit it, but we really thought the end of the world would come more slowly, or with more warning in advance. A meteor tumbling carelessly through space, its progress tracked a million miles away. The eruption of one of our own supervolcanoes, its bowels having been monitored for centuries. Even nuclear desolation would surely have come with some degree of political posturing first.

It came as spores. A smothering smog of space-dust, each particle too small for our scanners to detect, the total miasma too vast to escape. The mists were upon us before we knew it, drifting across the solar system like the tendrils of some toxic jellyfish, and their arrival caught us entirely unprepared. By then, it was too late to do anything but flee. In truth, it was too late for that as well.

We evacuated what we could, and launched those vessels that we had available. There was no time to build more: with warning, we could have constructed a refugee navy to seek asylum amongst the stars, a colossal ark of humanity, seeking a new Ararat upon some distant rocky sphere. We could have left in time to get clear, to change course, to lose the stormclouds to our stern, to sail onto horizons new.

There was no escape for those who fled the fog with only months left to spare. The spores were faster than our ships: we couldn't outpace them, only raise our shields, institute lockdown between vessels, and do our best to keep them out. We could only watch as they consumed Earth in our wake, and then hang endlessly adrift, their poison clinging to our hulls, awaiting our salvation.

We conserved our limited reserves of fuel, as if expecting they might fill a future need, but if so I couldn't name it. The engines had been primed to allow us to change our course, to enter the orbit of our destination, but that was no longer a possibility: we could not, would not be the vector to further spread this poison, but nor had we been given the choice. We'd passed potential targets for settlement, dwarf planets and giant moons, but all were tainted before we could reach them. The spores were ahead of us now. We were merely one cloud in their galactic storm.

It had been a failure of priorities. We had invested in weaponry, our ships equipped with radioactive rays and laser beams, prepared to ward off an alien host - but not focused enough on speed. In the case of fight or flight, we hadn't expected the latter to be an option - for a whole planet to need to flee, for that to be the better choice. But here was a problem we couldn't blast our way out of. Here was an enemy we could only have tried to escape, and all of those guns only served to weigh us down. If only we could go back in time, and make those choices differently.

"Ready the lasers," I called, struck suddenly with an idea.

"It does nothing to stop them," the second-mate replied, as if we hadn't all seen those initial, pathetic attempts. "Like a bolt of lightning through a cloud."

"Ready them still," I said. "We can't stop them, I know. But think of the number of lifeless planets which would have been consumed in this way, and the number of unsuspecting worlds that lie in this storm's path. We can't stop it happening to us, but we can try to stop this happening again."

We had looked ahead, when there was still a chance of seeking refuge, and found no welcoming planets in sight - but then we had realised that we were actually looking behind, into the distant past. Telescopes from distant civilisations might likewise train themselves on Earth and see no signs of life, receiving images from long before it became habitable. Who knew how the other barren rocks might have developed in that time? Waiting on the sluggish rays of their alien suns, who knew what they might look like now?

"What would you have us do?"

"We have to leave a warning. Deface the Earth, carved like a pumpkin into a pictograms, depicting what has happened to us. The nature of this threat. The spores travel fast, but not faster than light. If there is a future civilisation out there, looking back at us, they should see it before their turn arrives. They might have, or develop, the technology to do something about it. To save the universe, before it's all too late."

[thepenultimateword]

Spooktober Prompt #14

Werewolf wrapped the blanket tightly around themselves. “One of the scariest parts about being a werewolf is waking up in the morning and not knowing what I did the night before. The loss of mind. The loss of choice.”

Human yawned and flopped the other direction.“Ah yes, cuddling so frightening.”

Werewolf bristled. “It is when I don’t remember the cuddling!”

[yourheartonfire]

"Everyone says I shouldn't join the pack," the protagonist said. "They say you're..."

Well. They said a lot of things, eyeing the trio with great suspicion. Co-dependent, they whispered. Intense. A bit odd. They didn't fit in with the rest of the town. They were wilder, more wolf-like, than any of the other packs that the protagonist had ever come across.

"And what do you think?" the other werewolf asked, amused. "What do you want?"

You. Them. The pack.

The answer was achingly obvious; an inescapable tug.

It just wasn't sensible, and the protagonist had always been that.

Prompt courtesy of @the-modern-typewriter 's Patreon!

TW: reference to a past traumatic attack.

The pack came for the protagonist on the night of the new moon. It was barely 5pm but in the winter Northwest woods it might as well have been midnight. A crunch of truck tires on gravel, a sharp rap at the door, and three shaggy haired outlines on the cabin porch silhouetted against the starry sky and the deep, delicious darkness of the pine forest.

"Hey lone wolf," caroled the call from outside. "Don't you think it's time we all hashed this out?"

The protagonist gritted their teeth behind the door.

"Consider it an informative, mutual interview," the extrovert werewolf said. Purred, the protagonist would have said, if it weren't the wrong animal family. "After all, whether you join or not, you're still a wolf in our territory."

That... was true. It was deal with them now or deal with them when the moon changed. The protagonist steeled themselves, put on the kettle, and opened the door.

A few minutes later a pack of wolves were sprawled out on the protagonist's living room furniture, cups of Lemon Zinger in hand.

"I don't mean to offend, I'm just not..." The protagonist took a breath. "I didn't move out here to find a pack."

"And you're not required to join," the first one said smoothly. Clearly the speaker of the group. "There's enough woods for us all if you want to stay independent. The question is, ah..."

"The question is, is that what the wolf wants?" cut in the second one with a toothy smile over the edge of her teacup. The fighter, who walked with her shoulders up and her gaze constantly flicking back and forth.

"I control the wolf," the protagonist said automatically, then flinched.

There was a wave of reaction. The fighter dropped her eyes, the speaker immediately raised his hands to calm, to surrender. "You were part of a W.A. pack? That's fine, we're not judging. Obviously we don't subscribe to the creed," he added with a grin, "but it's no skin off our noses."

"Not much choice for a wolf in the city," the fighter added gruffly, her gaze fixed in intense scrutiny of the protagonist's footstool.

The protagonist forced a smile by habit even as they knew it would do no good. If the flinch hadn't been obvious enough the air practically stank with fear, anxiety.

That was the problem, dealing with wolves. There was just no hiding the truth.

"Yes," the protagonist said, giving their footstool the same scrutiny as they paused. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. The pack had probably puzzled it out anyway. "Victim Services recommended Wolves Anonymous to help me find my footing after..." They shrugged

Immediately all three werewolves bared their teeth. The protagonist was used enough to recognize this was not a threat but an expression of sympathy.

"Unacceptable," the speaker hissed, the most wolflike the protagonist had ever seen him.

"The Change is a gift but also a Change," the fighter snarled. "How dare anyone force it another? I trust the miscreant is a pelt?"

The protagonist shrugged and put down their tea cup with unsteady hands. "Drago Asylum. He was in lunar frenzy, it wasn't intentional."

Around them, the protagonist felt the wolves exchange glances as the pieces slotted together. No surprise though.

"Thank you," said the third wolf and their pack mates jumped, "for sharing."

The third wolf spoke in a voice barely louder than the crickets outside, yet the dry rattle of their whisper cut through the room like a knife. The one who positioned themselves by the door, who hung back and kept a watchful eye. The leader.

"We appreciate your forthrightness," they went on, their eyes cool and intense and locked on the protagonist. "You have free parole in our territory as a lone and a standing invitation to our pack, if and when you decide that's what you want. You also," they added with a dry glance to the others, "have free reign to court, be courted, or to have none of it. Whatever you choose won't in any way be impacting your standing."

"Um," the protagonist stammered, heat rising in their cheeks. The fighter grinned. The speaker winked. "That's, uh, that's it? You just met me and I get to join the club?"

The leader cocked their head. "Yes," they said. "We see. We understand. You have good reason to take slow decision. We will wait for you to decide. You are worth waiting for."

The protagonist bit down on their lip. The air in their little cabin had turned thick and hot with this many bodies in their space. But bodies that smelled like pine sap and rich dirt and just a hint of sharp desire, bodies that were carefully angled close enough to support and defend, but not too close to be a threat or to corner. For the first time in months, the presence of others was a comfort. "Thank you," they said.

The leader nodded brusquely, glanced to the speaker. "Right!" the speaker said cheerfully, putting down his cookie. "We've asked you enough questions. Your turn to interrogate us. Fire away."

It was almost dawn before the wolves left. It was two months before the protagonist joined the pack.

[monstermag]

Heh, Kitten you know sometimes we get a lot of amazing submissions and we run out of time to format everything.

Stuff happens.

So while you wait for us to incubate for a few more days, we would like to ask.....

[watercolorfreckles]

Of Oak and Sparrow

(Part 2 of The Girl Called Sparrow)

Sparrow returned to the fallen oak tree one final time.

To her, it was a skeleton. A creaking spine wrapped in an armor of bark that, in the end, wasn't strong enough to keep the true monsters at bay.

The sleeping hill was a graveyard beneath the weight of the tree that once crowned it.

Its branches reached toward the sky like bony fingers. The wind whispered through its foliage to pluck down the browning decay. Those same leaves crunched beneath the sole of her boot. She imagined her faerie's hair muting into an earthy brown to match it.

Sparrow traced the scars in the exposed wood. Each mark splitting the stump was an open wound. Its roots and its core were a bleeding heart, severed from the rest of its great height and graceful limbs.

In the tree rings, she saw his fingerprint. Her Kind Oak. The fae who'd held her heart in his hands and treated it with gentleness.

Her tears soaked into the wood's cracks and grooves, fingers tightening around the acorn that promised her a chance at a future.

The encroaching winter drained the life of the forest away. When Sparrow left her home, it felt as a hollow corpse.

She walked until her feet ached and her body swayed with exhaustion. She sank down against the cover of a mossy knoll, eyelids begging for rest. But it would be of poor manner not to acknowledge her hosts.

Sparrow picked three long strands of grass and weaved them into a ring, testing it on her own finger before sliding it off and tucking it into the knot of a tree.

She spoke aloud to any fae that might be near. Listening. Waiting. "I apologize for my intrusion. I am merely passing through, and am most grateful for your hospitality as I take a night's rest. I left you a gift in the hole of that tree. I hope you take no offense to my presence."

Shivering even beneath the thick wool of her cloak, she let her eyelids drop closed as the night swallowed her up.

Sparrow awoke to a pale sun and frost on her lashes. Her breath formed clouds in the morning chill. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hand slipped into her pocket, seeking the familiar comfort of her Oak's acorn.

Her heart lurched. She checked again. It wasn't there.

Straightening, she scrabbled through the crust of frost coating the ground around her, searching with a despair that made her dizzy. "No- Where--"

"Tell me, I am dreadfully curious, what is so valuable about this acorn?" spoke a voice like crushed velvet.

Sparrow jolted, swiveling around. Her breath caught.

Before her was a fae that glistened like a winter star. His eyes held the glint of cold steel. A knife's edge, harrowing and beautiful all at once. The gently falling snow avoided him in its path.

Pinched between his moon-pale fingers, was her acorn.

Sparrow's heart gave another awful tug.

She reached for it before she could stop herself. The acorn disappeared into the fae's fist as his lips lifted into a flash of pearly teeth. A little too sharp and a little too amused. Something about it reminded her of the maw of a hungry cat.

Sparrow swallowed. She dropped to her knees. "Forgive me. You startled me."

"Such a pretty gift," the faerie murmured. He lifted his other hand, the ring she'd offered up wrapped around his index finger. Surely he was mocking her. It looked terribly simple against the porcelain of his skin. "It is refreshing to meet a human who still knows the old ways. Are you going to answer my question or do I need to repeat myself?"

Sparrow's fingers twisted in her lap. Her blood ran cold. "I need that acorn to resurrect one who is dear to me."

The fae hummed, holding up the acorn again and glancing it over. "This is magik born of the fae wilds."

Her stare tracked his hand as if he were carelessly handling glass. "I have no knowledge of its origin. Only that the tree this acorn fell from was tethered to a fae who could not leave its shadow. The tree was cut down. I need to plant that acorn to give him renewed life."

The fae's smile was that of a predator toying with its prey because it found the creature's helplessness against it adorable. He crouched in front of her, nimbly balanced on the balls of his arched feet.

His head tilted. "Give me your name and I'll return your precious acorn to you."

"That, I cannot give you," Sparrow said softly. "My acorn is no use to me if I am too intoxicated by your sway to plant it."

"What difference does it make?" The fae's cadence was the crackling of a candle flame; the sparks that rain down from a shooting star. "Even if you plant the seed, years will pass before it grows tall enough to harbor your fae in its shadow; a great many years longer than if this were an ordinary acorn. Magik born of the faerie realm behaves as the fae wilds do. Time is of little consequence there. A moment is stretched for decades.

"Humans age in an instant. What will your dear one think of you when time creases your face and steals your youth? What will happen when you fall away to dust and your love is trapped alone in the confines of a shadow?"

It took the taste of metal in her mouth to realize she'd bitten down on her lip. Her insides swam.

Her mother's voice was clear in her head:

Do not make dealings with the fae.

Follow the rules of fae etiquette.

Do not owe anything to the fae. They will always collect.

But if he could magik a better way... If she could see her love again...

Sparrow forced the fear from her voice. Fae hated weakness, her mind screamed. "Will you make a deal with me?"

The faerie's wicked smile split further across his perfect face. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Look at meeee, i posted twice in a little over one week

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl, @valiantlytransparentwhispers, @distance-does-not-matter, @redbircl, @lilaccatholic, @crazytwentythrees-deactivated, @thelazywitchphotographer, @chibicelloking, @lolafaiy, @thinkwrite5, @putridghost, @tobeornottobeateacher, @sunflower1000, @bouncyartist, @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen, @silverwhisperer1, @distractedlydistracted, @pensivespacepirate, @appleejuicee, @deflated-bouncingball  @maybe-a-cat42

 , @m0chik0furan, @mercurymomentum, @fairysprinkles, @vuvulia, @amongtheonedaisy, @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @scorpio-smiles, @inkygemuwu, @wolfeyedwitch, @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo, @moonquires, @lem-hhn, @fanastywhump, @smallangryfish, @ladybookworm @freefallingup13, @acaiaforrest, @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict, @talkingsperm, @qualitychaoslover, @deckofaces,@7eselt, @annablogsposts, @lunatic-moss-studio, @medusas-hairband

[fantasci-side-blog]

A froggy day in the life of a young prince and a (to be) knight 🐸

Inspired by this prompt by @thepenultimateword! Based on my characters with @callmemeg

“And you confronted the witch head on because…?” young Prince Belir trailed, staring hard with his amphibian eyes at his equally amphibian as well as equally cursed wannabe-knight sister. Though, rather than nestling into the wet leaves for camouflage like he was, she was hopping around in the soil making a spectacle. She didn’t seem to realize that her usual move of athleticism did not transfer well to this small, round body.

“To protect you, of course!” she cried, struggling through a somersault.

"And what protection this is, thank you so much."

"Hey!” His sister’s throat swelled up and she involuntarily let out a croak.

Their bickering and frog-leaps eventually caught up to the witch. There she was, outside their vacation home, lounging in their family’s hammock, eating a croissant that- that- fine, they didn’t know it was theirs, but maybe their parents had bought it and she had stolen it from their kitchen!

“Hey, Witch!” Miana croaked.

The witch raised her sunglasses contemptuously. “Have your parents taught you no manners at all? That’s Ms Witch to you.”

If Belir had eyebrows, one of his would have been raised right now. 

“Oh, apologies,” Miana said without missing a beat. “Ms Witch!”

“Yes, children?”

“Turn us back!”

“Is that all?” She leaned down and turned both frog children to face the opposite direction.

“Not like that!” Miana’s throat swole once more. “We want to be human again!”

“Oh?” Her lips curved into a smirk, but her victims were… not bright enough for her to get the reaction she hoped for, so her face settled back into a tired look instead. “Don’t you know your magic basics and history?”

“Why, yes,” Belir answered. “Just yesterday I read that some cultures used to decorate magic wands with flower petals on special occasions.”

“Very good.” Belir proudly puffed out his little frog chest. “But I meant curses. Particularly the curse of turning people into frogs. Like your situation.” She gestured between the two of them.

“Oh. No, I can’t say I’m familiar.”

The wi- Ms Witch sighed, “Elvara and Doretan are going to hear from me,” she mumbled to herself. Then she sat up straighter and got out her teaching voice. “Turning people into frogs is a very basic and easy-to-break curse. It’s a very common curse, mostly used by people just learning magic or who just want to use a temporary spell. Its popularity is thanks to the famous fairytale The Frog Prince, that I will personally ask your parents to read to you tonight." Anyone else listening to their conversation may have heard some slight snideness at the last comment, but there wasn’t anyone nearby so that snideness was lost.

Miana nodded. “Thank you. But can you turn us back now?”

“No can do, frog princess. Only true love’s kiss will do the trick. You two do know what that is, I hope?”

“True love’s — HEY! No! What if we don’t have a true love?” Their trembling forms gave Ms Witch reassurance that there was at least some intellect in those heads of theirs.

“Well, I guess then you’d better start looking.” She lowered her sunglasses and resumed eating her croissant. 

With great difficulty, Ms Witch was able to control her laughter and her tongue while the two amphibians panicked their heads off.

Her entertainment was unfortunately put to an end when Ms Nerianne and Queen Elvara walked out the cabin door. 

“Jadi, remind me, do you have any allergies —” 

“WAHHHH! NENE! MOMMY!”

“MRS MOM! NENE! I DON’T WANT TO BE A FROG FOREVER!”

The two frog children continued wailing as two very surprised guardians looked on. They looked toward Ms Witch, Jadi, who had a hand on her mouth to try to muffle her snickering.

“My word…” Elvara rushed forward and picked up her kids, her slimy, crying kids, but her kids nonetheless. Memories of her children being small enough to hold in her arms resurfaced before her critical thinking did. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case for Nerianne.

“What did you do, Jadi?” She withheld the second croissant she had brought as hostage till her question was answered.

“Nothing! You wanted me to teach them magic, I’m teaching them magic!” With a wiggle of her fingers the hostage croissant had transferred to her hand.

“You made them cry!”

“Nuh-huh! I turned them into frogs. I never made them cry. In fact, they started crying when you two came. A suspicious correlation, don’t you think?”

“Oh Gods, Jadi.” Nerianne’s so-done voice was undefeatable.

“Sorry.” Jadi finally had the sense to look sheepish. “But, on the bright side, I agree to take them on as my pupils! Also, I’m allergic to eggplant.”

Nerianne sighed and took one of the children from Elvara’s arms. 

“Dory! Dory, come here!” Elvara called for her husband Doretan, still entranced by the fact that her children were so small.

Doretan walked out, still in an apron and flour, “Yes, Elly?” He paused at the sight of the crying frogs. He didn’t know frogs could cry, he realized.

“I DON’T WANT TO MARRY A WEIRDO WHO KISSES FROGS!”

“I DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED AT ALL!”

Those voices were unmistakable. He sighed. It was only a matter of time before his children were turned into frogs, it was a very common occurrence among kids their age, either a curse by a jealous classmate or an accident while learning magic. Thankfully, the curse’s popularity meant its remedy was also very popular.

“So they’re finally frogs, huh?” He wiped his hands on his apron before taking one of the tiny sobbing creatures in his arms. “What kind of frogs are they? They’re so small," he mumbled.

“Aren’t they, Dory?” Elvara responded. “Almost makes me want to keep them this way. So small and tiny,” she freed Nerianne of froggy Miana and cradled her in her arms.

It took a while, but, eventually, Miana and Belir each received a kiss on their heads by their guardians. The kisses had turned them from two sad frogs back to their perpetually confused human selves. It was true love’s kiss. True family love. Tomorrow Jadi would go on to say that they would have known this if they had had better schooling in magic history. But today, they were ordered to get back to their chores and set the table for lunch with her instead.

---

Writing journey:

Had this in my head ever since I saw the prompt (which was... July! maybe) but couldn't write. I finally wrote it :D

I need help with ending paragraphs lol.