#fantasci writing

[thepenultimateword]

A continuation of @some-messed-up-writing-for-you's prompt #1211!

The human trudged through the snow, harsh wind billowing against them and biting at their skin. Frozen-over stairs nearly slipped from beneath them. At the last step, their exhaustion won.

They fell into the snow, just barely shielding the bundle in their arms. And between their frozen eyelashes, the human saw a sliver of light before a pair of clawed feet slowly approached them.

The end of a metal spear hovered in the air, ready to strike as the monster growled at them. With arms heavier than lead, the human unraveled the cloth in their hold.

A tiny snout poked out and scrunched up at the cold, yowling unhappily. The growling stopped.

"P-Plea-ase..." the human begged, teeth chattering relentlessly. "S-Save t-t-them..."

The monster pried the woman's frozen fingers from the child's blankets, cradling their little body close to his heart and the boiling blood coursing through it. The child immediately quieted.

"Th-thank you," the human woman murmured, slumping onto her hands.

The monster spared a flick of his tail as he climbed the first couple steps toward the wall. He hesitated. Too many questions. He swung his spear over his back, essentially holstering it, and crouched in front of her, impressed that she did not flinch. "Is it yours?"

"What?"

"The monster dipped his head meaningfully toward the bundle of fur and fangs. "Is. It. Yours?"

The woman's lashes and lids were already too frosted to produce tears, but her lip trembled. "Y-yes. B-but...please...he's half creature. H-he'll l-learn. H-he'll f-f-fit in. Please."

"No, that's not what I was..."

The woman swayed a little on her hands, head lolling. The monster still had so many questions, but obviously not much time to ask them. With a rumbling sigh, he looped an arm around her middle, eliciting a quiet whimper as he tucked her next to her child.

"They're going to suspend me from wall duty for this," he muttered. Well, he never much liked wall duty anyway.

***

" Magnum!" The woman shot upright, arm stretched out in front of her, reaching for the bleeding, wolf-scruffed figure she could still almost see behind her eyes. He faded as quickly in dream as in reality, replaced by the dusty floors and weapon-decorated walls of a bedroom. A crackling hearth illuminated the room in dim, orange light, stretching her shadow as she pulled back the roughspun covers and stepped one bare foot onto the hardwood.

As she turned around the room, a realization struck. Everything, from the twin-bed to the chipped armoire to the fireplace ledge, was enlarged or stretched. Unnaturally so. An image of Magnum, scrunched up in the bed at home, tail tucked tight, the odd limb dangling over the mattress, flashed across her mind, and everything cleared. This was no human bedroom.

On cue, the door squealed, and a tall, mawed creature, covered from head to toe in black feathers, stepped across the threshold. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her awake and standing.

"I wouldn't be on your feet just yet. You're badly frostbitten."

The human blinked, shifting her gaze down to her mottled toes, suddenly accosted by a warm, almost burning sensation beneath her skin. She slowly held her hands out in front of her, finding equal coloring as well as a mess of cracks and blisters. She could only imagine what her face looks like after such a trek.

She did not sit.

"Where's Finch?"

The creature stared a moment, then making the connection said, "I entrusted the child with a friend who knows much more of younglings than I. I will take you to him, but first, answers."

"Answers?" the human ignored her stinging soles and took a challenging step forward. "That should be my line. Where am I? Who are you? Why am I still alive? Where is my baby?"

The creature took an equally aggressive step, looming over her squared shoulders and raised chin with born fangs. "Beyond the wall, where I so graciously allowed you passage when you trespassed our land. My name Dionyus, aka, your savior. You're alive because I've allowed it, and you're baby is safe and sound two doors down. Satisifed?"

"I'm never satisfied."

"It shows. My turn. What possessed you to enter ada territory?"

She frowned. "Ada?"

"Your kind call us creatures."

"Oh." A thin wash of shame traveled over her. She hadn't realized there was a proper name for the people. Magnum hadn't told her. Magnum probably hadn't known. Another injustice to the long list of injustices that made up his short life. "I was searching for the wall. I heard creatures--er, adas--here take in refugees. And orphans. So I brought Finch. Who I'd like back now by the way."

Dionyus scoffed. "You were all too keen to pawn him off on the nearest bystander yesterday."

"Yes, when I thought I was about to die, but obviously, I did not, so give him back."

The feathers on the nape of Dionyus's neck and the backs of his arms stood on end. "Has anyone told you that you're a much different person when you're dying?"

"I wouldn't be caught dead dying." She swept passed him much more awkwardly and wobbly than she'd intended, but still managed a few steps toward the open door before the ada stopped her with a clawed hand. She briefly noted they did not match their opposite extremities, which were more like the dark, avian, feet of a crow, whereas these were something like paws.

"Is Finch really yours?"

The human jerked her arm free, and rather than digging in, the ada's claws skimmed off her. "Yes, he's mine! Look at his mouth! Look at his eyes!"

"Why does a human woman have an ada child?"

"Well, when two people love each other very much--"

"You know that's not what I mean!"

"None of your business!"

It all came out too harsh, but she'd been interrogated, shamed, and threatened over Finch too many times now for patience.

She dropped her raw face into her hands, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry. You helped us, helped him, and I'm acting horrible. I'm just... Do you have kids?"

"No." Dionyus's tufted ears flattened. "But I had littermates."

"Then you understand. What it's like to love someone too deep? Like a fire that burns too hot, willing to incinerate everything else around it? The fangs that come with the desire, no the need to protect them?"

He shifted. "I do."

"I will try to answer your questions later. But please, please take me to my son."

Dionyus's jaw clenched, but eventually, he nodded, stepping out of her way so she could hobble to the door.

"Last thing," he asked as he took the lead, barely looking at her. "What's your name?"

"Maeve."

Part Two

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii i @deflated-bouncingball l @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia a @bouncyartist t @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 3 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax x @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin remlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516

[raineandsky]

#82

“You, young sir, will be appointed to watch over my son—my rightful heir to the throne,” the king says breezily, and then he’s moving onto the knight next to him.

The knight dips his head, half in acknowledgement, half to hide his growing smile. The crown prince. He’s going to be following the king’s eldest as he makes his regal trips to the people, as he works towards his rightful place, as he accepts the crown and becomes king.

Honour isn’t a strong enough word for what the knight is feeling.

A young boy—a servant, the knight assumes—leads the knight to the chambers of the prince. The knight will introduce himself, he’ll pledge himself to the prince’s cause, and the knight will get the glory of riding with royalty at the prince’s side.

The servant pauses outside a door and knocks with three rhythmic raps. A maid opens it, not the prince, and the knight holds back a confused frown. He would’ve thought the prince would be ready to meet his personal guard by now.

The servant leaves without a word. “The king has appointed you?” the maid says vaguely.

“To protect the heir to the throne.” The knight can’t help the tiny smile at his own words. “Yes.”

The maid hums and lets him in. It’s a little dark inside, to his surprise, with candles dotted around and shrouding the room in wispy shadows. She gestures rather informally to a golden cot against one of the back walls.

“Don’t wake him,” she says shortly, her voice low. “I just got him to sleep.”

“The…” The knight looks into the cot a little apprehensively. “The baby?”

The maid throws him a glance like he’s lost his mind. “The heir to the throne.”

-

A year passes. The knight asks no questions about his predicament. The king’s eldest rides out with a different knight, speaking to the people of the land and working to take his place at the throne. The knight’s glorious ‘watching over’ of the prince is mostly staring into the cot as the baby stares back.

Two years. The child learns to walk. The king visits, sometimes. He showers the infant in love and praise, but he never entirely lets up his regal persona in front of the knight and the maid. 

Five years. The child talks a lot now. The knight nods along to whatever nonsense he’s saying that day. He shoves things into the knight’s hands, toys and blankets and wooden swords, and the knight oohs and ahhs the appropriate amount before handing it back. The child loves it. 

Six years. Tutors start visiting. Maths and law and economics and war. The child sits with poorly contained boredom and nods along to whatever his teachers are saying. The moment they’re gone he’s back to playing, usually forcing the knight’s hand into whatever game he’s concocting.

Eight years. The king visits less often, tied down with royal matters and dealing with his eldest’s growing impatience for the throne. He arrives with smiles and kindness reserved only for his blood, but he never gets one back. The child hides behind the knight’s legs more often than not, and cries bitterly when he’s forced along with the king. The knight and the maid apologise heavily when it happens. It happens a lot.

Twelve years. The child has a favourite toy—his wooden sword and shield. He constantly asks if the knight will show him how it’s really done. The knight gives him a couple of harmless tips, and the prince lights up like the sun every time he swings his sword.

“You only have a few more years until you’re ready for the throne,” the knight tells him as he swings his sword at the maid, who’s long since learnt to stop reacting. “Are you ready to be king?”

“I don’t want to be king,” the prince whines. Both the maid and the knight freeze—neither of them have heard this before.

“It’s in your blood, your highness,” the knight continues carefully. “It’ll be a privilege to rule. You’ll make your father proud.”

“He’s barely my father. I don’t want to be a king,” the prince reiterates. “I want to be a knight, like you.”

The maid throws the knight a sidelong, entirely unsubtle glance. He doesn’t appreciate the accusation.

“You’ll be in charge of all the knights,” the knight tries a little desperately. “You can lead them all to victory. That’s better than being a knight.”

The child scoffs dramatically. “I doubt that.”

-

Fourteen years. The king’s eldest sits at his bedside and demands the throne. The king refuses him. The king dies, and his eldest flies into a blind rage. He wants the throne, and the king has already told him exactly who is taking it from him. 

Fourteen years of sitting in a golden nursery and watching over a child have led the knight to this moment. He’s meant to feel proud, honoured, to serve the prince. He’s meant to be ready to lay down his life for the child to live in his stead.

And he is. He would do anything for this fourteen year old who loves scaring his maid and demanding fighting tips from his knight and pretending to listen to his tutors.

But when the king’s eldest kicks the door down to the nursery, the knight isn’t entirely sure it’ll be just him giving up his life for the crown.

[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]

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.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Fantasy Masterlist

Reversed chronological order. My favorites have an asterisk. (prompt) indicates when the original idea is from someone else.

Magical Daddy* (prompt): A magic lady wants to transform one of your daughters into a magical girl to fight evil. Like you’d let that happen!

Old God (prompt): The town folks decide to pillage an old temple. They regret it soon enough.

Meaty Heart (prompt): Your friend might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’s such a sweet guy, so when he tells you he’s heartless, you’re...confused.

Talking Frog, Werewolf prompt, Demonic Dwarf, Bloody Drabble: Just tiny things.

New God* (prompt): not fantasy, Greek mythology. Bad luck! Zeus has his eyes on you and won't take no for an answer because that's how he rolls. When you find yourself in the Pantheon after an accidental death, time is ticking to find a solution out of this mess. Fortunately, not all Greek deities are horrible to humans. Have you met my fave?

Bard's Lullaby (prompt): A young knight finds an unexpected host in the horrifying castle she’s trying to storm.

Denial Cake (prompt): Your father comes back after an unexplained absence of ten years. But hey, he has cake!

Tiny (prompt): Sure, you’ll kill the dragon. It’s your job, after all. But when said beast is revealed to be a baby, things get complicated.

The Human Beast (prompt): My first post here. Let’s hope for the sake of both of us I got better since.

*

And now for something mildly different:

Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[amethystpath-writes]

A Pomegranate Sunset

NOT A PR0MPT

******

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.” The sorceress curled her legs beneath her body, against the red and clumped sand of the battlefield. The soldier she sat across from was one she was all-too-familiar with.

“I need your help.”

“You want healed," she hummed, and her red hair whipped around her face in such thin tendrils that Hero was surprised they didn't slice her cheeks like a blade. "Last we spoke, you told me you would defy death so you and I never met again. Now look at you. Blood on your lips.”

The sorceress could arrive on her own, when a soldier, or many, of her kingdom died. She came to clear the battlefield of her people. She did so now, her toes curling in the bloody sand as she reached a hand towards a dead soldier, the one whose blood she sat atop of. The soldier vanished. His afterlife would be a clean slate, no lingering messes which made him wish he were still alive, with comrades or family back at home. He wouldn’t suffer, for he never asked to stay alive. He would reach Bliss- nothingness.

If she were summoned, the sorceress would save the one who called on her. They were easy to spot, for the only way to summon her as a savior was to taste the blood of a fallen comrade. These men always had blood on their lips, just like Hero.

He held a hand against a wound on his stomach. “Please. I have someone to return to.”

“You know what it would mean if you did this?”

Hero took a breath. Being saved meant he broke his vow to his kingdom; he would have rejected a dignified death. He would be banished to an afterlife with the sorceress. He would face a life without sentiment, with a woman who loved him, but whose love he could never return.

“I always wanted you in the afterlife. I never thought it would come at the cost of you loving another woman.”

“We were children.”

“I held out for you,” she whispered. The jagged edge in her voice, the cutting edge which told him she held contempt, was gone.

Then you were naive. But what choice did she have in the matter? She was trained all her life to serve the soldiers of their kingdom, to make them an afterlife worth fighting for, to punish them when they didn’t appreciate the gift, to love them and the wars they fought. She was only ever taught to fall in love.

“You saw me when no one else did.”

“I was being kind.” They warned him not to get too close. ‘She’s dangerous.’ He didn’t understand it then, but he did now. Knowing she had full control of whether he died in this moment and was banished to an afterlife with a lonely sorceress- herself- or whether he went home to the love of his life...it made his palms sweat. His stomach stung from the salt.

Hero prayed. He wasn’t supposed to. The gods were meant to be scorned, while his sorceress received the praise. Right now, he saw no other choice. Secretly, he always worshipped the gods, and believed they would grant him a peace which was deserved, not vowed. They would save him.

"If you love me at all," Hero panted, "you will help me get home."

"You are going to be my Hell, you know that?" She slid across the ground to another body, which she touched, and promptly made disappear. Another soul sent into nihilism. "I will send you home and you will come back to me. Then, I will be forced to love you when you have no care for me at all. We will both be punished, and what will my misery be for? What have I done, Hero?"

"You are kind," he said, "and kindness must be met with consequence. The person who perseveres through that unfairness is the strongest of them all."

"And what if I do not care about strength?"

He was bleeding out. His hand didn't possess the strength, nor his mind the will, to hold his wound. "You choose to be strong like you choose to be kind, to love. If nothing else, you choose it because it is all you know."

She breathed. It was all she could do; it was all she knew. Looking at the bodies around her, she knew she had so much work to do. She would be here for hours- walking to one body, kneeling, touching them, and moving to the next. Body after body after body.

In another moment, she stood and held her palm out to the sky. In her hand, a pomegranate appeared, red and glistening in the sun like every other drop of blood on the field.

"If the woman you love is worth both our miseries, you will crawl to this fruit and eat every aril." She broke the pomegranate between two hands, ignoring the juice that dripped down her white and bloodied dress, and then she dropped both halves where the first soldier's body was. If Hero made it, he would taste the blood on the fruit, and she would be summoned again. She would save him.

***

As the sun set, the sorceress returned to her pomegranate. It was uneaten and untouched, though the whites of it had become yellowed from exposure to the air.

Hero's fingers were curled just short of the fruit. So close, yet so far away. If kindness was always met with consequence, she wondered why the scene before her felt so good. She was liberated, out of love.

Leaning down, she picked up one half of the fruit before plucking an aril and placing it on her tongue as she watched the sun finish setting over the field of red sand.

Every soldier had reached Bliss, and every sorceress, too.

******

[thatwritergirlsblog]

Advice for Creating a Magic System

As a fantasy author, I thought I'd share my 5 tips for creating a captivating magic system.

1. Are you writing low fantasy or high fantasy?

Firstly, it's good to know from the get-go whether you're creating a magic system for a low fantasy or high fantasy story.

Low fantasy doesn't necessarily mean there are less fantastical elements or that the story has to take place in a version of the real world. Low fantasy simply indicates that the fantasy elements/magic is not commonplace in that world. Magic and other fantasy elements exist, but only a privy few know about it.

Examples of low fantasy stories include Harry Potter by She Who Shall Not be Named, the Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and my book To Wear A Crown.

High fantasy, on the other hand, indicates that the fantastical elements and magic are known about and commonplace in that world. The people of the world know that magic exists, that there are fantastical beings, other races etc.

Examples of high fantasy stories include Eragon by Christopher Paolini, Crescent City by Sarah J Maas, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, and Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard.

2. Hard magic systems vs soft magic systems

The next thing that's vital to decide is whether you're creating a hard or soft magic system.

A hard magic system has built-in limitations. There are certain things that magic can do and that's it. Examples of stories with hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo.

A soft magic system doesn't have inherent limitations in relation to what it can achieve. Examples of soft magic systems include Eragon, Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings.

3. What can magic do?

Now that you know whether you're writing low or high fantasy, and whether you're working with a hard or soft magic system, it's time to create some magic!

This is the part where I can't give you too much guidance, because it's all about your creativity.

What do you want magic to look like in your story? What do you want magic to be able to achieve? How big of a role do you want magic to play in the story and your characters' lives?

Do you want different classes of magic wielders, each with mastery over their own element? Do you want magic to be a flexible tool that can be used to achieve almost anything? Do you want your magic to be limited to telepathic actions or creating portals? Do you want different people to have power over different aspects of nature or different magical disciplines?

Can wielders use magic without any tools, or do they need spells, runes or rituals?

The possibilities are endless, but it's important to establish exactly what magic is capable of in your world.

4. How does it work and where does it come from?

Now we know what the magic can do. Next up is why it can do those things. Where does the power of the magic come from and how do wielders command it?

Does the power/force of magic come from within the wielder? Does it draw from inner life force and energy? Does it draw on energy from another realm or dimension? Does it pull from the surrounding natural elements? Does the power come from a deity or from demonic forces?

Identify the source/origin of the magic.

From there, elaborate on how it works. How does a wielder access the source of the magic? Is it through strength of will, incantations, selling their soul etc.?

For example, let's say that the power of your world's magic comes from the cosmic energy of another dimension. In order for wielders to access that energy, they draw specific sigils on their skin and these sigils act as portals to that world. Once the sigil is complete, the cosmic power flows into the wielder and they can now command it.

5. The limitations

Very importantly, you have to be clear on the limitations of your magic system. Fantasy magic systems often fall flat because they don't have clear confines.

If you're writing a hard magic system, this step is a bit easier, since there are inherent restrictions on what magic can do. With soft magic systems, you have to decide just how much magic is capable of.

But whether you're writing a hard or soft magic system, you need to consider the cost of using magic.

Does the use of magic drain the wielder's energy? Does each instance of using magic darken the wielder's soul or deteriorate their body further? Does using magic damage the natural world around the wielder or drain others of their life force?

Magic without a cost, limitations or consequences just isn't as captivating.

Reblog if you liked these tips. Comment with your own advice. Follow me for similar content.

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 6

Part one here

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

CW: Hunger Strike, disordered eating *summary of chapter will be at the bottom for anyone who wants to skip it.*

Breakfast was delivered via servant a short while after he dropped her off. Her stomach roiled at the sight of all her favorites carefully arranged on the tray. It reminded her, quite forcefully, of how her grandmother used to wrap bitter pills in peanut butter balls or turkey for her ailing dog.

He wanted so badly to preserve the relationship they had before, as if he hadn’t completely obliterated it himself. He must have thought it would keep her complacent when her fear faded out.

He thought he knew her, but he had only ever seen her at her job. And sure, some days were hard and he caught a glimpse of her frustration or anxiety. As the years bled into each other, he learned little things about her, like her favorite foods or the TV shows that she rewatched obsessively.

But he never actually saw her. Even at the height of her newfound crush on him, Val kept a tight lid on any unprofessional slip ups and her personal life rarely leaked over into her job.

He thought patient, reliable, helpful Val was the only facet of her being. He knew nothing of the depths of her rage, her pig-headed stubbornness,

She took a slice of toast and threw the rest in the trash.

“Knock knock, Val. I hope you’re decent.”

The driver’s voice sounded about two seconds before the door opened. Of course, by the afternoon Val had already showered and dressed for the day. Still, it was a little unsettling how little time he’d give her if she wasn’t.

“Does it ever get old, coming here to irritate the shit out of me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“Angel, it got old the first time.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you think it's my choice to be here?”

“Do you actually have free will or are you just a highly realistic robot?”

“Do you want a tour of the castle or do you want to stay stuck in this room?”

“ . . .What?”

“Apparently the rumor goes that your incredibly lavish and luxurious rooms are not good enough for you. So I’ve been tasked to show you around, let you stretch your legs or whatever.”

“Stretch my legs?” she repeated skeptically. “Where? Over the edge of the roof?”

“Or, you know, to the library. Or the zoo.”

“There’s a zoo here?”

The driver waved his hand dismissively. “Technically a rescue animal sanctuary. He calls it a menagerie because he’s pretentious as hell. But let’s be real — its a glorified petting zoo.”

A zoo and a library. Val had to admit both intrigued her greatly. Staying in this room did her no favors, mentally, with nothing to do but stew in her own fear and frustration.

She opened her mouth to comply and then promptly shut it closed.

Bitter pill. Peanut Butter.

Any kindness from him came with strings, no doubt, so he could yank her around like a little puppet.

“No,” she said instead. “I’m staying here.”

The driver’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to kill you unless he asks me to — no matter how annoying you are. And if he does, I’ll snap your neck. Quick, efficient. Shoving you off the roof is cowardly and makes too big of a mess.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but it has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to go. You can tell your king to stick his zoo and his library up his ass.”

The driver gave her a long stare. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn fucking idiot?”

“Once or twice.”

He shook his head. “If you want to go slowly insane in this room, have at it, I guess.”

Lunch came. Her stomach growled at the sight of her favorite sandwich but she forced herself to throw that away too. (she ate the pickle spear though). He wanted something from her and he wasn’t going to get it just because he plied her with food and entertainment.

 A cage was a cage.

She didn’t even bother to check what dinner was. The tray and lid sat untouched on the table for the servants to whisk away tomorrow.

Hunger woke up her up later that night, her mouth dry. Head dizzy. Her stomach cramped with it, a howling beast. It was so tempting to tear the lid of the dinner off and eat it with her hands that she went and locked herself in the bathroom for a while.

A few handfuls of water from the sink was all she allowed herself. When she felt strong enough, she set the tray in the bathroom floor and shut the door to block the temptation. Sleep claimed her for a long time.

“My lady. You need to wake up.”

A hand kept delicately patting her shoulder, chasing her out of another nightmare. She jerked awake, scrambling to sit up in the bed.

One of the servants, a woman old enough to be her mother with a calm but impassive face, stared down at her. Her uniform was immaculate.

“I’m sorry,” Val found herself saying. “What — what time is it? Has something happened?”

“It is nearly eleven, ma’am. His majesty will be here in roughly ten minutes with breakfast. I advise you to dress.”

“Ten minutes?” she squawked.

“Do you need any assistance?” the woman asked.

God her head was splitting now that sleep started to fall away. “Painkillers?” she asked weakly. “My head hurts.”

To her surprise, the woman gave her a stern look. “I’m sure it does,” she said with a bland tone that did not match the look in her eyes.

The woman swept off through the door without another look in Val’s direction.

What was that about? she wondered as she stumbled to the dresser. But the fogginess in her head lay too thick to figure it out. She felt like complete and utter shit and the last thing she felt ready to deal with was him.

The bed beckoned her with its feather pillows and down comforter and high thread count sheets. She stared longingly back for a moment, debating on how convincingly she could pretend to sleep when he showed up, before sighing and putting on a fresh change of clothes.

She had just tamed her hair into another pony tail when a knock came from the door.

“Rise and shine, princess,” said the driver’s voice.

Goddamn it. She had to deal with both of them.

“Can we reschedule?” she yelled out. “I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid not, love,” said the king’s voice.  “I’d rather not wait.”

She did not like the sound of that. “Fine,” she growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

The door opened, the driver propping it open with his foot as the king stepped in with a large covered tray.

“I don’t know why you bother with knocking,” the driver muttered. “It’s not like her permission matters.”

“Because I have manners,” the king sniffed, setting the tray down on the table. “Unlike some people.”

He looked up and gave her a wink, as if sharing an inside joke.

“You don’t keep me around for manners.” The driver hopped up on her unmade bed, pulling a knife from his belt and setting it on the comforter.

“Make yourself at home,” Val said scathingly.

“How generous of you.” He bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. “I think I will.”

The king made himself busy setting out the spread. Toast and jams and sausage links and cubed cheese and a thermos of coffee with delicate china cups.

“Children, play nice. It’s not even noon. Val, please, heave a seat.”

Just looking at the food made her stomach rebel, even as the rest of her body desperately craved it. The smell invaded her nose, making her swallow back a gag. God, why couldn’t she just sleep all day? It’s not like she had anything else to do.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want now?”

“I have something for you.” The king lowered himself down in the chair opposite of her and gestured for her to do the same. “But first, we should eat.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You’ll think differently when you see what it is. Now sit.”

He gave her a warning look, the danger of his true self slipping out from behind the mask. Val sat, feeling the presence of the assassin behind her with a knife like a prickle on the back of her neck.

“Which jam would you like on your toast?” he asked. “We have peach, strawberry, lemon chardonnay, and cherry.”

“No thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. Her stomach felt as if it were trying to eat itself.

“I insist you try the lemon chardonnay, it’s phenomenal. I have it every morning.”

He covered a triangle of toast in a thin layer of bright yellow jam before setting it on a tiny plate and handing it to her. The citrus smell washed over her, intoxicating. Any other time she would have devoured it. She loved lemon flavored pastries and he knew it. Which was why it didn’t cost her much to set her plate down off to the side  and ignore it.

The wave of twisted self satisfaction more than made up for her hunger.

Next he poured her a glass of clear water from another thermos and slid it over to her.

“Water?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

She wanted to drown herself in that glass of water, but she’d rather drop dead than give him that satisfaction. He wanted her to eat and drink so badly. He wanted her healthy enough to pretend that her life wasn’t in his hands. To forget how responsible he was for ruining it.

She wouldn’t let him.

“You are thirsty, though,” he said, his stare cutting her from across the table. “Because you haven’t eaten or drank anything in almost three days.”

“That’s not true.”

She had a pickle slice. And a piece of plain toast. And some water from the sink. His gaze narrowed, though, the previous warmth in his gaze clouding over.

“Oh but it is. The servants have found your food in the trash after every meal, save for last night’s dinner, which they found in the bathroom while you were sleeping.”

“I’m still figuring that one out,” muttered the driver from behind her.

“Why does it matter what I do with my food,” she retorted.

Silence answered her. Silence and that unnerving gaze pinning her down like a push pin in a cork board. She fought the urge to squirm under it, to feel like a student confronted by an angry principal. Though only a decade separated them, she felt like a child around him at times. A silly, clueless child.

But of course . . . He wasn’t actually a decade older. He was several decades older. Over a century older, at least in his mind.

“Val.”

He kept using her name like it meant something to him and it pissed her off.

“Eugene,” she said, his old name still feeling like sacrilege to the part of her brain still clinging to her previous professionalism.

If it bothered him, he showed no sign.

“I know what this is,” he said finally. 

Her hackles raised.

“Breakfast” she said, raising a brow.

“Control,” he countered. “Rebellion. Whittling yourself down to spite me.”

She hated how easily he saw through her. How well he could guess what laid under her professional mask when she couldn’t get a read on him at all.

“Maybe I don’t like the food,” she said, purposefully obtuse.

“Nonsense,” he said dismissively. “I know everything you like.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere because of that,” she snapped. “I’m not a kid you can bribe with candy and a trip to the zoo.”

“So that’s what this is.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not trying to bribe you, Val. I’m just trying to feed you.”

“Well I don’t want to eat it.”

“Would you rather I send you food that you hate? French onion soup and pork rinds and spicy curry? Would that make you feel better?”

“I’m not eating anything that you give me.” She crossed her arms, fingers clenching tight at her sides, feeling as if she were digging and digging further into her own grave.

She would rather die than give him any kind of satisfaction and it scared her that that thought could be literal. But she didn’t know how to back down yet she couldn’t stomach the thought of giving him the one thing she could deny him when he had taken everything else.

“For how long? Because I’m not sure if you noticed, Val, but the only food available to you comes from me.”

She shrugged, not having an answer. It’s not like she planned a hunger strike. But refusing to eat fueled the rage simmering inside her and that felt so much better than the fear. It felt like she could do something, even if it only hurt herself.

His gaze flickered over her shoulder for a moment before returning to hers.

“It stops today. I am not leaving this room until you eat something.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” she retorted with bravado she didn’t feel.

Especially with the hands that dropped suddenly onto her shoulders. She launched forward, even when she had nowhere to run, but the hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms back behind the chair. Tugging only brought sharp pain in her shoulders, the driver’s hands a shackle around her own. 

The king stood up and stepped towards her. “You will eat today, by your hand or by mine. The choice is yours. And if you make either impossible I will chain you to a hospital bed and an IV drip. To be fair you might be close to that already with your dehydration. So we will start with that glass of water.”

He plopped a glass straw into the cup and held it out for her.

“Why does this matter so much that I live?” she demanded. “That I’m healthy? What does it matter to you what I do to myself?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he set the glass back down on the table and knelt down on one knee beside her chair, hand resting lightly on the arm. It brought him a few inches under her gaze so he had to look up, dark eyes fathomless. She couldn’t tell what emotion shone out of them, but it burned unfiltered.

“I must admit, when I pulled you into the car and onto the plane I didn’t know what I was going to do with you,” he said quietly. “ But I never considered torture or punishment — you’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, it didn’t matter, because you have done nothing but torment yourself since you got here.”

She broke away from his gaze, her stomach twisting uncomfortably, but he didn’t stop. 

“You don’t sleep and then you stop eating. You live in constant fear despite our reassurances that you’re safe. I try to give you comforts, things to make you happy and you reject it all. It’s not meant as a bribe to lull you into complacency or servitude. The reason why you’re here is because you cared about me enough to risk your safety and I refuse to have you punished for it but that’s exactly what will happen when you go back home.” 

Fingers nudged her chin until their gaze met again. 

“I’m trying to give you a life here. Bit by bit. Will you let me?”

He looked so beseeching, so soft. It hurt. She wanted to believe it so bad. 

“You tell me I’m safe but  you’ve threatened my life multiple times since I got in that car,” she pointed out. “You both have. He especially loves to point out how I live on borrowed time and borrowed favor,” she added, jerking her chin back towards the driver. 

Ice settled in those dark eyes as he flickered them over her shoulder. Immediately the driver released her arms, relief following immediately afterwards. She shook them out, then cradled them to her chest. 

“Rook has a penchant for practicality that borders on the sociopathic,” the king said. “And I haven’t threatened you so much as warned.” He took one of her hands in his. “I’ve been building up to this moment for three lifetimes and I cannot allow anyone to stand in my way. Not even you. So long as you don’t actively impede me, you have nothing to fear from me.” 

She swallowed. “You’re a very terrifying person for someone who wants my trust.”

He smiled then, a soft rueful thing. “I was not always so. Will you trust me, anyway, Val?”

And this was why he was elected, she thought with a mental shake of her head, despite his vague past and unknown status. 

“I will . . .consider it,” she said slowly. 

“And will you eat with me? . . . .Please?”

Val sighed deeply, knowing she lost this round. “Yes.”

His smile spread, slow and bright, like the sun coming up over the ridge and butterflies rioted in her chest to meet it. Goddamn it. If kidnapping and captivity and threat of potential murder wouldn't kill this stupid crush, did she have any hope at all of ever being rid of it?

Tag list:

@rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog @clover-sage

Summary: Val goes on a spontaneous hunger strike, not really intending it to be one but because she sees serving her favorite foods as a bribe to get her to comply. She compares it to the peanut butter her grandmother wraps medicine in for her dog.

After three days of very little to eat and drink, the king and the driver visit with breakfast. The king tries to force her to eat, Val and the King have a confrontation when she refuses, and he admits that he isn't trying to bribe her, but to help her make a life here since she will be punished if she ever went back home. He doesn't want her punished just because she cared enough about him to look for him in the parking lot. Eventually Val agrees to eat again and she says she will consider trusting his word when he told her he didn't want to hurt or kill her.

[yourheartonfire]

You are an ancient, sentient cursed sword known for corrupting even the most valiant and well-intentioned of heroes. However, you cannot corrupt the most recent hero whose hands you have fallen into - not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism.

Prompt courtesy of @writing-prompt-s

The Wielder was silent - too silent - during the planning meeting. So Gleamsteel held its thoughts to itself too, and was not surprised at the council's close when the Wielder walked off not to dinner at the campfire but to an empty grove where they drew Gleamsteel and opened their mind willingly.

I need your help, the Wielder thought, stepping smoothly through the first practice sequence. We can break through the tower defense, but once we do there's no way we can stop the sorcerer's ritual and save the princess. Am I wrong?

Gleamsteel thrummed. It's a one in a million shot... it ventured.

The Wielder didn't laugh out loud, but Gleamsteel could hear the tired scoff down their mystical connection. That's what I thought. Okay. They shifted into the second form. Okay. The princess has to die, and it has to look unequivocally like the sorcerer's fault.

Holy shit, Gleamsteel articulated before it could stop itself.

This time the Wielder did sigh out loud. It's not personal. I feel bad for her. I'd save her if we could. But she's just one person, and if that ritual goes off everyone in seven leagues dies. They cut downwards with extra venom. That's not a balanced risk, not for someone just because they have sentimental, maybe symbolic value to the king.

Hm. Gleamsteel pushed its tendrils towards that disgust. Such a selfish order, to put countless other sons and daughters at risk to save his own -

Knock it off. The Wielder straightened out of their form, swishing Gleamsteel's tip down into the dry dust. I told you I don't want to be king and I don't want to be a king maker. Stop with the creepy whispers or it's right into the bin with you when this is down.

Then what do you want?, Gleamsteel snapped. You don't want fame -

Crowd loves to see yesterday's hero fall, the Wielder said, spinning the sword in their hand and slicing through a theoretical foe.

You don't want power -

Ugh. What would I do with it? Make things worse?

You want wealth? Riches?

The Wielder ended the sequence not with a flourish, but with a perfectly controlled thrust. You know my terms. I want my due, and I want to walk away alive. You help me and I'll help you get into the hands of someone more, ah, amenable. Isn't that what you want?

Gleamsteel simmered with rage. How are you... Why won't you let me help you? You must want something!

Momma always said look out for them insisting on giving you something for free. The Wielder stuck Gleamsteel into the soft grass under an oak tree, picked up their flask of water and drank deeply. 'Cause that only means they're hiding the cost until its too late.

If Gleamsteel had lungs and teeth it would've snarled.

Stay focused here. The Wielder crouched beside the blade. Tower. Defense. Princess. Ritual.

"Chosen One?" Came an uncertain voice. "You all right?"

The Wielder stood swiftly, seized their sword and sheathed it, giving a reassuring nod to their companion. "Clearing my head. Big day tomorrow, eh?"

"Indeed," the companion said, clearly relieved to be in the Wielder's presence. But Gleamsteel felt their eyes cut to the hilt, felt the threads of doubt and the hunger to be chosen themselves...

That one, Gleamsteel whispered to the Wielder. I'll get you through tomorrow and you'll give me to this one as my next Wielder.

Done, the Wielder said immediately and clapped their friend on the shoulder to go with them to dinner.

[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

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #201

“I’m going to kill him.”

The dragon winced as the knight rubbed the salve a little too hard into her pierced scales, though he was worked up into such a rage his only reaction was a slight gentling of his fingertips.

“I’m going to kill that lily-livered, crooked-nosed, churlish fop for ever touching you. He calls himself a knight? A knight? A title and a tap from the King’s sword does not a knight make!”

Satisfied by the salve’s tightening sensation, the dragon shifted, shrinking beneath her knight’s hands until she was something almost human. Her teeth were a little too sharp, her mane stubbornly consistent, and she couldn’t quite vanish the tail or horns, but she could snuggle into her knight’s lap and wrap her arms around his neck. “I’m fine,” she said, blowing steam into his face. “You got me worse.”

The knight rubbed his ribs with a strange combination of a wince and a smile. A fond memory of a wound long healed. “Not as bad as you got me.”

[raineandsky]

Hi!

Would you write a story about a body guard and a prince?

The prince doesn't trust the body guard at first, because he thinks that the body guard is someone else's spy. But when the guard saves his life from a deadly assassination all by himself and gets severely injured, the prince apologizes and starts to trust him. Hope you have a great day/night!!

ANON. YOU KNOW ME SO WELL :O thank you for the request - enjoy!!

-

The prince is usually woken up by a maid, or his dog, or, god forbid, that goddamn bodyguard barging in for no explicable reason.

It’s not often he’s awoken by the feeling of cold metal against his neck.

Panic crashes through the confusion almost instantly. The prince flails, tangled in royally thick sheets, and his attacker hisses in annoyance. The blade stings against his skin and falls away.

The assassin fumbles after the prince as he scrambles across the bed; they clearly weren’t expecting to deal with him conscious. They grab him by the collar to yank him back into the covers. The force rocks the nightstand, and the flower vase on top of it rocks in tandem. There’s a blissful moment of still nothingness before the vase topples and crashes to the floor with the violence of a swinging hammer.

The door gets battered open with a similar amount of force. The assassin startles, their attention snapped to the giant figure blocking the doorway.

His bodyguard. The prince has seen the way this man’s eyes follow him, how he’s always in the most convenient of places to fall in line with the prince’s day. He’s been spying, he knew it, he’s been relaying information to some treasonous third party—

And now he’s come to join in on the murder, the prince thinks sourly. Amazing.

The guard moves and the prince scrambles to avoid him, but he doesn’t descend on the prince like he was expecting. He takes four assured steps into the room, draws his sword, and throws himself at the assassin.

The assassin lurches to the side, mostly. The guard’s blade catches on their wrist in a bright arc of shining metal and crimson.

The assassin seems to be getting more and more out of their depth with every passing second. They hold their wrist shakily, red leaking through their fingers, stumbling slightly. The prince’s guard moves in for another strike.

He gets too close; the assassin’s ready for him this time. They dart out of reach and breeze their dagger across the guard’s side.

The guard shoves them. It’s almost an instinct. The assassin staggers, making another haphazard swipe to the guard’s chest that he doesn’t even seem to notice. He traps them against the windowsill, his frame blocking their escape, and with one final push they tumble straight out the window.

The silence that follows is more unnerving than the prince expected. The guard leans over the sill slightly to glance at his handiwork, almost unbothered, before finally turning his gaze back inside and to the prince. “You okay?” he asks plainly.

The prince isn’t entirely sure if he’s meant to feel grateful or terrified. The guard steps towards him, a frown creasing his brow, and the prince flinches unintentionally. 

His guard rummages in his pocket before offering him a handkerchief. “You’re bleeding,” he adds after a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed. Now he’s pointed it out, the prince can feel the faint line trailing down his throat. But, Jesus Christ, now he’s said it—

“I don’t think it’s me that needs it,” the prince says faintly.

Blood splatters across the front of the guard’s shirt, leaving unsightly red stains across the fabric like a stark reminder of who he is, of what he can do.

The prince hasn’t really seen blood at all, let alone so much of it. He feels a little weak looking at it but he just can’t seem to avert his gaze. It’s fascinating, in a horrific sort of way.

His guard follows his gaze to the new patterning on his clothes. “Ah,” he says shortly, “I didn’t even notice.”

He stumbles into the plush armchair near the bed, his sword tumbling to the floor. The prince watches with fear that he can’t quite place—the person the prince has always trusted the least—this supposed spy—has put his life on the line, and for what? What does he prove by almost dying?

He moves without thinking, clambering to free himself of covers much too hot and thick. He grabs the blanket from the end of the bed with shaky hands and mindlessly pushes it into the gash on the guard’s side.

The thanks he gets is a sharp hiss and a cringe from his touch. “I— I want to help,” the prince says a little more desperately than is royal.

“Your Majesty, please,” the guard says gently, “I’m okay.”

“It’s a lot of blood.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Not yet,” the prince snaps, and the guard barks a laugh.

He obediently stays put, though, forcing out a long breath as the prince tries valiantly to stem some of the blood leaking all over his lovely velvet chair. His hands tremble, his head light at the feeling of that sickly warmth on his skin, his mind already wandering. 

He was so sure his guard was in on this. If he had been, surely, he wouldn’t have intervened. The prince has spent the last god knows how many months watching him back, waiting for a hint that he’s right, that this man is part of some gang out for his blood.

His waiting was in vain, clearly. The guard’s always been silent—looking back, maybe that was a respect thing—content to just watch from the shadows, unseen until needed—a common trait amongst the crown’s warriors—and Jesus Christ he was just completely normal and the prince misread everything.

“I’m sorry,” the prince blurts before he can stop it. The guard turns his gaze from the window and back to his prince.

“Not your fault people think you’re an easy target.”

The prince doesn’t think too hard about that comment. “You saved my life.”

A half-smile graces the guard’s face for a moment. “As is my duty, Your Majesty.”

Calling it duty is slightly underselling the weight of what he’s done. “No, you saved my life.” The prince keeps his eyes focused on the blanket slowly turning red in his hands, as much as he doesn’t want to, to avoid the way the guard’s gaze is burning into him. “I think a thank you is in order, at least.”

“Oh, uh, a’ight.” The guard clears his throat dramatically. “Thank you.”

“What? No.” The prince laughs, a genuine full-second’s laugh, before he remembers to rein it in. “No, I want to thank you. After I’ve been so… weird to you, you still put yourself at risk for me. I think it’s worth you knowing that I appreciate that.”

The guard flushes for a moment, thankfully turning his interest elsewhere. “Well, your father pays a hefty sum to keep you alive. I’d deal with you actively trying to kill me for the salary I get in this place.”

“And I’m sorry, again” — The guard’s barely finished talking before the words are falling out like they’re desperate to be said — “for being so… so—”

“Suspicious and rude?”

The prince is momentarily incensed enough that his eyes snap up to the guard’s, but he simply grins back. His eyes crinkle slightly, his face brightened. “Your staring wasn’t subtle,” he adds with a short laugh. “At first I thought it might be admiration, but after a while I realised it was only ever me you were looking at.”

It’s the prince’s turn to flush now—mostly out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I inherited paranoia from my father as well as his crown.”

The guard’s smile turns soft, and the prince decides he’s best to avoid it once again. “You’ve no need to worry,” he says gently. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

The prince makes some horrendously unchecked noise before clambering to his feet. “Okay,” he says quickly, “hold this against your side and your chest. I’m going to find a doctor that’s awake.”

“That’s usually my job.”

“You’re not usually the one bleeding all over my silk cushions.”

The guard nods like he’s admitting defeat. “Give my apologies to the maids for all the washing they’re about to do.”

“I will,” the prince says with complete earnest, then he’s out the door.

He reappears with the doctor a few minutes later, the latter of which is wearing a rather telling scowl for four in the morning. The guard lets the doctor prod and poke without complaint whilst the prince flutters about nervously.

He’s so focused on the work the doctor’s doing, making sure he’s careful—as if the palace doctor wouldn’t be—that he completely misses his guard’s gaze. Soft, knowing, relieved that the prince is finally watching him with hope instead of mistrust.

It’s a refreshing change to his usual expression. Maybe one day the guard can change it from hope to unwavering faith.

[watercolorfreckles]

What's Mine is Yours (Prompt/Short Snippet)

"You know that I want you." The villain's nails, perfectly manicured, skimmed over the swell of the king's parted lips. His breathing caught somewhere in his throat, stilling at the touch. "But the only thing that I want more than you...is your crown. Don't you love me?"

Beneath the villain's intent gaze, the king upon his throne was certain that he looked far less like the ever-poised ruler, and far more like a smitten puppy. He wet his lips just to watch the villain track the movement. "You know that I do," he answered, settling his hands oh-so-gently, against her waist, as if the villain were a delicate flower and not a weapon capable of carnage and destruction and world-ending bloodshed.

The villain's fingers closed around the king's chin, leaning closer. Her smile rivaled the brilliance of sunsets. "Then prove how devoted you are to me. I know that you want me, too. And you can have me. I only ask one little thing of you." Her voice softened, narrowing the world into just the two of them. "Get down on your knees and offer me your everything, sugar."

The very air around them seemed to hold its breath. The king rose to his feet, straightening to a height a full head above the villain, though there was still no mistaking who was truly in control. He turned and lowered himself to his knees, tender hands brushing her thighs to guide her to sit back atop his throne in his place.

His throne suited her far more than it ever could him. Surrounded by gold and precious jewels, the villain glittered, all the more striking.

The king lifted his crown, heavy and dripping in rubies, to perch it on the top of the villain's head. He sat back on his heels as their eyes met; drawn together with all the dazzling intensity of lightning meeting water. Deadly to those around them. But gods, such a beautiful sight.

"You are everything to me," the king spoke finally. "All that I am is yours. My kingdom, my throne, belongs to you. I only ask one simple thing of you. Take me to be yours too?"

The villain laughed, a little breathless, heady and cheeks flushed a rosy pink on the high of the moment. Some might interpret the action as patronizing.

The king perceived instead that, just maybe, she felt a little smitten too.

She clenched a fist in the front of the king's expensive shirt, yanking him upright to lock him in a searing kiss.

The world was theirs together.

This is a very short snippet, so I don't mind if you use it as a prompt! Just tag me if you do, please, so I can read it! :) A little piece of this dialogue popped into my head earlier and plagued me until I wrote it out lol Hope you like it. I think this makes for a really interesting power dynamic (and yay for female villains!)

PS, sorry for disappearing again lol I'm really going to try to do better! I haven't been reading much at all lately either so i need to catch up on all my faves' writing!!

[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.....

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Werewolf prompt

She stares at you from behind the bars.

You were ready for it, but still, that’s impressing. She’s curled up in a corner of her cell, but even like this you assume she’s at least one head taller than you, and just as bulky and large under the fur. She raises her head towards you, and her fangs glint in the darkness.

“So the rumors are true”, you say. You are a werewolf.”

She doesn’t have to nod. Her yellow eyes shine. Their pupils are nothing like a human’s, but her expression is easily readable. She has the smile of someone who’d like nothing more than ripping you to shreds. She stands up. You’ve been mistaken: she’s way, way taller and larger than you’ve even thought. Slowly, she moves towards you and puts her head against the bars.

“Why do you care, little knight ?”

She’s close enough. You react fast. In a swift gesture, you cut the ropes that bonded her wrists. The key of her cell is already in your hand.

“The kingdom is in danger. I might take a risk, but we need you.”

*

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