A fiery (metaphorically and literally) captain of the LL was exceptional even between the other cybertrons, not to mention the humans present onboard. Never wavering smile and encouraging speeches from the bridge, drawing every individuals attention and relishing in it. Complete opposite from you, a quite unremarkable human, no matter how many times the red bot would argue on that.
"An unlikely duo, they are."
"He will burn them and then himself."
"Nah, he will overcome these feelings just as fast as he burns."
Despite everything, he did not.
Despite the opposing nature, you found the safe haven in each other.
He was a cybertronian. You were a human.
He was bright like a meteor. You were timid and shy as a wild cyberdeer.
His movements - always hectic and fast, yours deliberate and calculated.
Yet, despite all those differences, you two drifted towards each other like two planets caught in each other gravitation fields.
Unedited again bc I'm Lazy - I hate it, but I spent like 30 minutes on it so whatever.
7 - A Promise Kept (Kinda)
@monthlywritingchallenges
-
The Spirit smiled, the twinkling glow from her eyes like a dying star's last breath slowly dimming. "Take him."
Khenan gasped, a hollow, choked sound. "I… I can't. He's…" so small. The words died on his tongue as he stared down at the baby, with his mother's starlight eyes, and serene expression. What things he didn't yet know. Not just a baby. His son.
"Take him, Khenan. Keep him close. I know by law he should not be yours, so keep him as a servant in your home if you must. Don't abandon him." Her words strained as she struggled to swallow.
"But I…" The nobleman chased the light in her eyes, desperate for more of her voice to signal she wasn't yet gone as he grasped her hand, cold and clammy in his. Their child lay still and quiet on her lap, the sounds of his soft, calm breaths in time with his mother's fading wheezes. "Lucia! Luce, Don't leave me… please… H-he doesn't have a name yet! I… I don't know what to do without you…"
Khenan pressed his forehead to her shoulder, squeezing her hand as the raspy wheezing grew more shallow and strained. "Please… please, please, please, please. Don't leave me Luce… I'm not ready, I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"
"H…im…" Lucia pulled her shaky hand from Khenan's, pushing the baby toward him as her voice failed and her breath hitched, body beginning to tremble as she struggled for breath but none came. Khenan stared at her, eyes wide and terrified as he cradled his son close to his chest.
"No… no, no, no, no! Luce?" The noble reached for her with a shaky hand, but flinched back, jumping as the little boy mumbled a soft noise, blinking. He glanced back toward the woman he loved, still and growing colder by the second, her choking already fallen silent. His face contorted as he stared at her, breaths quick and shallow as he hugged his son, chest burning like the lungs of a man drowned in the center of hell, unable to breathe as the air grew heavy.
But suddenly, the room snapped back to focus as a small, warm hand brushed the tears staining his cheeks. A small gasp, and a giggle. Khenan swallowed nervously, gently lowering a his hand, shifting the damp tears on his son's palm with his thumb, hesitating as the tiny hand closed around his finger. He sniffed, trying to choke back more muffled sobs as the infant's familiar silver eyes found his.
His name.
He needed a name.
Khenan brushed the tiny black curls away from his son's face. "Your mother would have wanted you to know your heritage… Wildrun. A Spirit's call, for where your heart belongs, and where hers should have stayed. For the stars in your eyes and the magic I know you hide in your fingers. I promise, my little Wild Spirit… I won't let them hurt you."
~
[Thirteen years later]
The figure towered over him, the same man he knew, but missing something. Dark shadows made their home beneath his eyes, stare narrow, hands clenched into fists, the cuts on his knuckles replaced with bruises. Wild scrambled back, hands flying over his head, instinctively flickering out of view as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed.
A rough hand caught his wrist and Wild yelped, expecting a slap across the face or some sort of object jabbed into his ribs. But as he envisioned all the methods of torture, anticipated the pain, he didn't notice the shackles' weight gone from his wrists until they clattered on the floor, and he flickered back into view out of shock. The Phantom opened one eye carefully, fully opening the other as the cuff clicked and Khenan dropped to his knees, metal encasing his ankle. His eyes found the floor.
Wild stared, speechless as he gingerly shuffled a few inches away from the other figure, bracing himself. "K-Khenan?"
Nothing.
"…Dad?"
At the word, Khenan scowled. "Don't call me that."
Wild flinched. "Yessir."
"...But... Why?"
"Because you're worthless. They wouldn't want you. Go on. Run along back to your new family. You're free." He scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm as he waved a hand, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"Dad."
"I said don't."
Wild hesitated. Khenan pressed a hand flat against the small of Wild's back and shoved him forward, making the boy stumble, "Go! GET OUT OF HERE! What is wrong with you? Don't wait! GO!"
The young Phantom hugged his arms closer to himself as he backed up, tears burning in the corners of his eyes as he turned and ran. He didn't know what he'd hoped, but whatever it was, he was an idiot for hoping it.
~
Wild gasped a sob as he ran, not watching where he was going, and ran straight into Rose, her eyes finding him as he flooded back into view. He coughed, wheezing as the dam broke and the tears wouldn't stop, eyes widening before he buried his face in her shoulder and broke down.
"Woah! Hey, Kiddo! Are you okay?"
Wild squeezed her tighter as she wrapped her arms around him, a hand smoothing his hair as he cried. "I hate emotions."
~
Khenan watched his son disappear down the hall and straightened his posture, the worry returning as he lost sight of him. He hated him. He would never forgive him. Khenan would likely never see Wild again. But he was safe. And that's all that mattered. He didn't even care to worry about excuses as the relief washed over him alongside an overwhelming sense of guilt.
No. It wasn't his fault. Wild was safe now. Nothing else mattered. They'd find him, he'd be reprimanded, he'd be the one tortured. Not the innocent little boy with his mother's eyes, and the heart of the woman who'd raised him. The little boy who brought death wherever he went.
The Phantom of the Wolves.
Wildrun Talos.
His son.
Please comment your thoughts! It would be greatly appreciated! <3
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 2 Broke Girls
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Max Black/Caroline Channing, Andy/
Characters: Max Black, Caroline Channing, Andy (2 Broke Girls)
Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Making Out, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Andy/Caroline Channing, Episode: so2e14 And Too Little Sheep, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, max making excuses to kiss caroline, caroline making excuses to keep kissing her, Idiots in Love, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Bisexual max black, Bisexual Caroline Channing
Summary:
"Listen. There is a window in this door. You want to get back at Andy? A good straight girl revenge plan always includes having a homosexual experience with the friend she told you not to worry about."
or, Max helps Caroline feel better getting broken up with by Andy.
written for @monthlywritingchallenges' "Matching March" Day 14: Fake Relationship Gone Wrong (or Right)
Choices – The Royal Romance, Book 3, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)
Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?
Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist
Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F! OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor
Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M! OC Daniel Drake Walker x F! OC Melanie/Riley Brooks
Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence
Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement with sprinkles of Canon
Chapter Summary – Arriving home, after celebrating her engagement with Liam, Sophie discovers the duplicity and treachery of her Uncle Barthelemy when visiting her home in Ramsford.
Music Inspiration: I Don’t Wanna Wait, David Guetta, OneRepublic
Words: 4.5k
A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.
A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.
A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.
A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading
A/N5: My submission for: March Prompt Challenge, Prompt 8: Health condition @nosebleedclub
A/N6: My submissions for: Monthly Writing Challenge, Prompt 4: Love or Duty; Prompt 13: A Pact made in secret
The Royal Yacht
It felt likely sometime after 6 A.M. The sweet, warm, Mediterranean air ...the sunlight streaming through the front windows, and the sensation of the weight on her body gradually brought Sophie out of her restful state.
The gentle sway of the yacht rocked Sophie as she lay there, her eyes fluttering open to the soft hues of dawn. She instinctively tightened her grip on the blanket, allowing herself a few more precious moments in the cocoon of warmth she shared with Liam. She could hear the faint lapping of waves against the hull, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror her own heartbeat.
As her senses sharpened, she felt the strands of Liam’s hair tickling her neck and the tender pressure of his arm around her waist. The scent of the sea mingled with the faint remnants of his cologne, created an intoxicating blend that made her heart swell with longing.
Turning her head slightly, she caught a glimpse of his serene face, still lost in the tranquility of sleep. There was a vulnerability to him; such a contrast to the regal and poised demeanor he showcased to the world. In this moment, Sophie felt an overwhelming bond with him—a shared intimacy that transcended titles and duties.
She let her eyes roam the luxurious cabin, its opulence softened by the early morning light, and she thought of the journey ahead. Each intricate detail of the room reminded her of the life she was stepping into, a life filled with both privilege and responsibility. Sophie’s resolve strengthened as she imagined the future, a future where she would stand beside Liam, not just as his queen, but as his equal and partner.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the day ahead, her heart brimming with the promise of love and the weight of impending duty. Groggily, she felt his arm draped across her side and the brush of fingertips on her breast. She gave an exhausted laugh, both because they had likely been entwined like that for hours, but because the words, 'good morning,' ran through her thoughts. But reality beckoned, and the responsibilities that came with becoming a Duchess loomed over her thoughts. She knew that soon, the quiet mornings would be filled with duties and obligations. Sophie was determined to make Liam proud of her; to prove her abilities and leadership.
Love and duty will intertwine.
A secret pact will always be forever cherished between them, a promise that their love would remain untainted by the burdens of their titles.
The gentle rocking of the yacht lulled her back into a drowsy state, cradled by the luxurious comfort of their shared bed. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night, where the stars had witnessed Liam's heartfelt proposal, and their passionate embrace had sealed their commitment. Even now, with the first light of dawn filtering through the blinds, the memory of his earnest words and loving gaze made her heart flutter. The anticipation of their future together, filled with love and shared endeavors, made her feel indescribably happy. Despite the impending duties and the grandeur of their new roles, Sophie felt a deep sense of reassurance in Liam's presence, knowing that they would face everything together. As she lay there, soaking in the remnants of their intimacy, she found herself smiling at the thought of the life awaiting them in Cordonia.
After another half hour or so, she felt Liam gently pull his arm away, and then the press of his lips on her shoulder, silently told her that he had to get out of bed. She could feel the faint traces of regret in her at the lack of his skin, his scent, and the warmth he seemed to generate like the sun itself as her tired eyes roamed to her fiancé as he made for the bathroom.
She curled in on the spot he had occupied a moment before, hearing the water switch on. She savored the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the salty air of the sea, her fingers tracing the path his body had warmed on the bed. The gentle hum of the yacht’s engines served as a backdrop to her thoughts, each vibration reminding her of the adventure that lay ahead. Sophie felt a sense of yearning as she recalled the intensity of their connection, the unspoken promises that had passed between them in whispers and caresses. Her heart swelled with love and anticipation, knowing that every challenge and triumph would be met together. As the water in the bathroom continued to run, she felt a growing desire to be close to him once more, to feel his skin against hers, and to steal just a bit more time before the world demanded his attention. He would be wet and slippery, so irresistible, and warm enough to almost burn.
Biting down on the edge of her lower lip, the spark that was waking her from her sleepy state told her she had no intentions of staying put. She didn't waste time in waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed as her eyes set themselves on the door, unblinking, a mischievous smile on her lips. Sophie shifted to stand, at once feeling the soreness between her legs; a reminder of their intimacy after his proposal the night before when Sophie willingly gave her virginity to the man she truly loved.
Sophie slipped her arms into her silk robe as Liam came walking back out, his torso wrapped in a white towel.
Liam's presence was magnetic, drawing Sophie’s attention across the room with an eagerness that belied her earlier tranquility. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, each step bringing her closer to the man who had effortlessly claimed her heart and body. She moved with a grace that was almost feline. The sight of his lean and muscular physique, sculpted as a Greek God, captivated her senses. As their eyes met, the playful tease in Liam's words lit a fire within her.
"You seem to like what you see," he murmured, his European accent adding a tantalizing edge to his voice. Her gaze roved over his newly shaven face, the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, the perfection of his torso. She undid her robe with deliberate slowness, revealing the soft curve of her thigh first, luring his attention.
"My queen, come, and shower with me?" he invited, his voice a low growl of need ... using his deep, baritone voice she craved.
"My king," Sophie replied coyly, tugging at the front of her silk robe before it gave and fell, her breasts bouncing lightly as the material slid down. Her smirk returned and her heart skipped a beat as Liam did nothing to resist her allure.
Liam let his fingers tangle themselves in her silken dark chocolate strands, coaxing her head up to then taste her lips. Feeling the jolt run through him with the sensation of her fingertips travelling down the ridges of his back; to caress his tight, rounded glutes. Liam groaned as Sophie wrapped her legs around his waist, as he hoisted her up, and walked them to the bathroom, closing the door behind them with his foot.
Dukedom of Ramsford/House Beaumont
The warm breeze whipped through the open window as the SUV drove down the paved drive, the late spring foliage whipping by in a flurry of greens and blues. Sophie gazed out at the verdant countryside, her thoughts wandering back to the night before.
All too soon, the capital was fading in the distance, and as Sophie, along with her personal guard, Mara and driver drove down the empty roads, memories of the past several months started to drift into her mind. Everything that had led up to this point.
There was still so much more ahead. A lifetime of happiness, adventures, challenges... Sophie reached her left hand up and watched the gleaming diamond’s facets. Everything was in place, yet there was one more piece of the puzzle left. One last place that beckoned her, promised its unconditional love and welcome.
After Liam had announced their engagement to the nobles of Cordonia, the gossip and speculation had run rampant. To Sophie's surprise, she had quickly become an unofficial member of the royal family, her life splashed across tabloids and websites throughout the day. The nobility had shown support, and the public outpouring of support had astounded her. For many citizens, Liam and Sophie's engagement symbolized the promise of a new beginning. A promise of a peaceful, prosperous future.
Even though their engagement aboard the Royal yacht was an instantaneous thing, every move they made after that was well thought-through, organized and presented in a way that is best for them and for Cordonia. No spontaneity was allowed, no surprise appearance and announcement as of now, while the wedding had to be official and handled with proper respect. They hadn't been able to truly enjoy the first weeks of their engagement; everything has been put aside to keep their family happy and Liam to step up the throne. They needed to be available to all corners of the nation to shake hands and answer questions. There was always an interview, an engagement, an inauguration or a press conference to attend and Liam had been rather busy with all that.
Sophie had asked herself repeatedly, what does becoming a Duchess entail? Or, in her case, the Queen of Cordonia. At first, the thought of becoming royal was overwhelming and Liam’s advisors quickly began an array of crash courses on international affairs, while Queen Regina advised on royal traditions. Most days, it felt as if her brain might explode, she had so much crammed into her memory. She was grateful to have people to talk to and practice with, to ensure that everything was right. She wanted Liam to feel confident that he had chosen well. Having a personal staff was something she never thought she would have or need ... and now, quickly became the norm; an essential part of being Royal.
And despite all this, she could not bring herself to feel anxious about anything. Today she had one errand left. She reached a familiar brick road that curved off from the main thoroughfare, heading straight toward a cluster of vineyards just visible in the distance. A smile grew across Sophie's face as the SUV drew near, bouncing along the uneven path. She turned down a grassy trail and watched the trees flash by, feeling that familiar sense of anticipation well inside her.
Not much longer.
Up ahead, the road curved toward an overgrown house, a mass of bricks and foliage intertwining before her.
House Beaumont
As the SUV parked at the base of the front steps, Sophie hopped out. For a moment, she took her time, drinking in the familiar sight of her home, the scent of freshly mown grass and the sound of wind chimes in the distance.
It was funny to think, when she first set foot in her family home in Cordonia, that she never would have imagined things would transform like this.
Back when she lived in New York with her mom, she had never envisioned such an important life change was coming. If it weren't for the letter her mother wrote to her sister, Bethany shortly before she passed. The letter that told of the heartbreaking story of her mother’s battle with cancer and devastating prognosis.
Would she be here today?
Would Liam be in her arms with his ring around her finger?
Looking out at the sprawl of the estate and up to the large bay windows of her bedroom, she couldn't help but think about how lucky she was. Cordonia may not have turned out quite the way that anyone would have predicted, but the seeds planted here have flourished and brought her to exactly the place she needed to be. Exactly to the man she was meant to meet.
Inside the car, the buzzing of her phone alerted her to the time, and Sophie reached over the console to grab her cell. Glancing at the caller ID, she chuckled.
"Is this about Liam's meeting starting?" she spoke, pulling herself away from her reminiscing. "Did it already start without him? What's up?"
"Er," Maxwell panted on the other side of the line, the noises of rushing crowds in the background, the whine of his microphone carrying on the wind. "I can explain all this!"
"Explain what? Where are you?"
"At the palace," he shouted. There was a dull roaring sound, a squeal and then the loud pop of confetti canons. "The reporters are being seated and everyone is... settling down for the press conference."
"Oh," she said with some satisfaction, looking around her estate and staring back at the winding road leading towards the city. "I'm just wrapping up the last bit here so I can come back and celebrate Liam’s coronation with you."
"Can you wrap... faster?" Maxwell gasped, like he was running from an invisible foe, a horn honk blaring in the background as Maxwell let out a muffled yell. "Actually, forget that—take your time and I'll see you back at the palace?"
Sophie couldn't suppress her laughter. "You'll be fine. Maxwell? I think Hana said your jacket was already at the stage, go change—"
"Right. I'm on my way. But," he said hesitantly, before lowering his voice, "Liam says to hurry up."
"I'll be done soon, I promise."
Hanging up the phone, Sophie moved away from the SUV and walked to the front steps, jogging up the stairs and opening the door. She hadn't visited home since before summer started. So much had happened since, and she wondered if Bethany was busy and out tending to the grounds or if she was sitting inside the living room reading a book like she usually was. It was strange to think the last time she was here she was before the graduation.
Taking the winding halls and stairs with Mara behind her, she walked toward the back of the estate. Suddenly, a muffled but distinct noise filled the silence; the voice of her aunt and Uncle Barthelemy shouting incoherently to one another. Not wanting to witness or interrupt a possible quarrel, Sophie quietly slipped off to the kitchen where she hoped the sound of her luggage rolling over a bump in the floor wouldn't interrupt.
After hearing a door slam the sound of both voices halted, silenced. Footsteps approached as her uncle strode out of his office door.
"Excuse my rudeness," he said, not sounding the least apologetic, but still stopping, realizing that she was there. "Bethany," he called over his shoulder as he glanced back, not acknowledging her aunt who had followed out after him and cleared his throat. "Sophia," he greeted with a terse, somewhat formal nod. "Your sudden visit isn't... unappreciated."
His gaze narrowed, looking past her shoulder at Mara. "If the last several weeks have taught you anything," he drawled, "it should be to think very carefully before doing or saying... certain things to the Royal family."
His rigid posture spoke volumes to his level of impatience.
Sophie sighed and turned toward her aunt. Bethany stayed silent and fixed on a spot of the wall beside her, chewing anxiously on a hangnail, a habit Sophie only saw her adopt during her nervousness.
Bethany finally gave in and met her eyes, the grey streaks at the top of her hair and her reddish-purple attire complimenting her. "Oh, Sophie. You're... just in time. There's plenty of time before you're due at the coronation. Do you... want some tea? I just made a pot..."
"Beth," her uncle tried to reason, running his hands over his wrinkles as Bethany moved forward. "Don't humor her."
She looked pointedly at him, pursing her lips.
"There's a matter we still haven't settled. What will we do?"
Bethany blew out an exasperated sigh, whipping around to face Barthelemy, jabbing a finger towards him as she enunciated each syllable.
"Why are you like this! Can't I enjoy this one good thing in this house while it lasts and make a cup of tea?!" She balled her hand in a fist and looked up. "Tea, please."
With the boiling kettle as a sign to move, he pushed open the doors to his office and closed himself within its privacy, ending any hopes that Sophie had of picking up some extra details. Bethany filled up the cups, her motions mechanical. She handed one to Sophie, and they sat down to wait for the liquid inside to cool.
At that moment, Sophie realized that there was no waitstaff in House Beaumont. Is that part of the mystery too? Did Uncle Barthelemy want to save on paychecks or something, she wondered idly, remembering a story from a book about someone hiding wealth by living simply... that was a bizarre thought.
Barthelemy strode out of his office, adjusting his cufflinks and muttering under his breath as his icy gaze fell on Bethany, his countenance far less severe than when his discussion with her began. Bethany set the silver strainer on a clean cup and held it up in offering; her uncle shook his head, declining as he spoke. "We shouldn't keep Sophie waiting. We will finish this later."
Bethany raised the kettle, her expression stubborn. "Your health."
Barthelemy drank dutifully before walking over to where Sophie had set her tea down and cleared his throat, his hard countenance looking over the rim of his spectacles. He set his cup and saucer down carefully before motioning for her to begin her news. Sophie fiddled with her ring and grinned up at him, her thoughts returning to their past interactions.
"Uncle Barthelemy ...Auntie Bethany.”
Barthelemy's stern demeanor softened as he awaited Sophie's news. The room was charged with tension as Sophie met his gaze, hesitating before sharing her significant announcement. Her uncle's expression mixed curiosity and concern, while Aunt Bethany's excitement was clear. With a deep breath and a pounding heart, Sophie whispered, "I am a duchess."
They both looked shocked and slowly it was dawning on Bethany what this meant. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a hand came to cover her mouth in utter surprise, not believing her ears.
"Sophie," her aunt breathed out slowly as if she came back from a trance.
Sophie swallowed, waiting for her uncle to interject. They were still waiting on him for confirmation or congratulations, but Barthelemy kept staring at Sophie silently with a firm expression.
"Oh, that's lovely, dear!
Barthelemy remained motionless, his gaze unwavering as it rested upon Sophie, the weight of his scrutiny felt by all in the room. Bethany's breath hitched, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The air was thick with anticipation, a collective holding of breath as emotions surged and mingled. Finally, Barthelemy's stern expression softened slightly, and he nodded, an unspoken acknowledgment that left no room for doubt.
"Not the queen yet," Sophie offered, waiting for the inevitable questions.
Aunt Bethany covered her cheeks with her palms and grinned in absolute bewilderment. "It feels as though just yesterday I was welcoming you in Cordonia and now," she pressed a hand to Sophie's heart, "your heart is marrying the King."
"So," her uncle began sardonically. There was a strained pause. "Are we expected to curtsey when we meet you, Your Highness?"
"I hope you will treat me in the same manner you always have, I am your niece," Sophie answered easily, rising her cup, ignoring the ice in his voice.
"Now isn't that rich," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms. "A few months of pampering and a fancy ball or two, and all of a sudden you forget who took you in."
Sophie took a breath in preparation to fight back before Barthelemy clipped in again, cutting her off.
"No," he held up his hand and paused, "Your marriage to the king will be beneficial to this house. With that I am pleased, and I also want to give my congratulations. I should give you fair warning though. Cordonia has not been without her share of infighting. Ever since the monarchial system was first conceived the royals of Cordonia have played a balancing act between competing interests in order to hold the power to rule."
"So, what you are saying?"
"Power comes with responsibility," her uncle reminded her with an insincere smirk and a single nod, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wish you well, your highness."
The corners of his mouth lifted to a slight grimace. It was something.
"That will be all."
"Well," Aunt Bethany stepped forward, smiling fondly and extended an arm to her in greeting.
Sophie looked down at her left hand, fingering the warm gold on her finger.
"I love him so much," she looked up at her aunt's flushed cheeks and radiant eyes.
'She'd been drinking, Sophie could tell, the strong wine smell was mixed with something sharp on her breath.'
"Congratulations," Bethany threw her arms wide, but her embrace seemed hollow as it lacked enthusiasm. Sophie stood with her arms glued to her sides.
Sophie caught Barthelemy roll his eyes and run his fingers through the little remaining hair he had before the door closed in her face, leaving them alone in the room. Sophie took a deep breath as Bethany sank back into the bench and buried her face into her hands.
"Are you alright, Aunt Bethany?" Sophie questioned her as she slumped over and laid her cheek flat on the counter. She shrugged indifferently as a beeping sound interrupted the tranquility. "Just like that... it's been so quick."
Sophie returned to her room at Beaumont Estate when the lunch was over. Feeling a little tired, she decided to take a break before packing up the remaining personal items into her luggage. She sank down gently and laid down on the soft bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a faint sound of conversation crept through the wall and unexpectedly into her ears.
The voice was low and vague, and seemed to come from the next room. Sophie perked her ears curiously, trying to make out what was being said. By and by she realized that they were Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Barthelemy's voices, and they seemed to be speaking not in a calm tone, but with a hint of suppressed anger.
Sophie's heart was racing, and she leaned her ear against the wall, trying to hear better. Sure enough, the sound of the conversation soon became clear, but the content shocked her.
"How can you play favorites like that!" Bethany's voice was full of anger and disappointment, "Bertrand is your elder son and the heir of Ramsford, and you openly support him ...I have nothing to say about that. But what about Maxwell? He's our child too! You're like a stranger to him, and you've always been a terrible father and husband for years!"
Barthelemy's voice was cold and dismissive: "Maxwell? He's just a spare son, eating his head off and doing nothing. It's a disgrace that the Beaumont family has a son like that! '
"You... How can you say that about him!" Bethany's voice trembled with grief. "Maxwell is your son! Are you worthy of me by being so cold to him? Is it worthy of all these years of our marriage?!"
Barthelemy's voice was even grimmer: "Marriage? Well, it was just a trade. How much good do you think your family can do me? Now Bertrand is old enough to need you out of the family business. As for Maxwell, he's nothing!"
"Shame on you!" Bethany roared, "I will no longer tolerate your duplicity with me and my family! I'm gonna tell everyone the real reason you've been in a nursing home so long! I'll show them your true face!"
This sentence is like a bomb, that instantly brought the temperature in the room to a boiling point.
"Don't you dare!" Barthelemy's voice went up an octave and threatened viciously, "Don't forget who you are, Bethany. If you dare to tell anyone, I will make your and Maxwell's life a living hell!"
Then there was a violent quarrel, mingled with slamming doors and heavy footsteps. Soon a muffled cry faded away. Clearly, it was that Aunt Bethany had left the room.
Sophie's heart sank, deeply shocked and disturbed by the actions of her uncle, Barthelemy, and even more saddened for her aunt. Her heart felt like a big stone, and she couldn't breathe. But she also knew that it wasn't a good idea to ask Bethany directly, since she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown after such a furious fight.
Sophie sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself. She picked up her phone, hesitated, and then sent Maxwell a message:
"Max, do you have a minute? I have something to tell you. See you in the garden?"
Soon after, the phone vibrated and Maxwell replied,
"Sure, I'll be there. Let me know when you are back at the palace."
Sophie put down her phone, stood up, arranged her clothes, and slowly walked out of the room to the SUV downstairs. She was full of doubts and worries, not knowing what was in store for her, but she knew she had to face it.
☆☆☆
@choicesficwriterscreations
@monthlywritingchallenge
@nosebleedclub
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"I have needed a new body for a while now," said Translator Dlar, "and I determined that you, Tzid, will be a right Match for me."
Tzid knew there will come a day when adults will insist on e matching. All juvenile Translators were supposed to Match and transition to adulthood. But Tzid also had managed to shove that thought as far as possible outside e's mind. The notion that e would merge with another person, e's molecules will be reshuffled with that of another and redistributed between the two bodies in different ways, was so terrifying that e simply did not allow it in.
Except now e was forced to.
"That will be a great honor one day," Tzid squeaked out. The sound barely left e's throat.
"I meant now," said Translator Dlar. Tzid froze in shock. "Seeing your reaction, I was right in not wanting to draw it out for you," Dlar added.
"I am not ready," e breathed out. E didn't think e would ever be ready to melt down into a pile of goo.
"Teachers have observed that you are as ready as you'll ever be," said Dlar and took a step towards Tzid. The juvenile looked behind eself in panic. The door e just came through was gone. In its place was a white wall.
Dlar smiled, seeing a frantic look in Tzid's eyes. "The door is still there, but as a juvenile you can't see it. It is a Presger door. You'll walk back out through it as an adult."
Dlar extended e's arms towards Tzid. Tzid backed off as far as e could before wall stopped e. E clutched eself with e's arms.
"Please, no" e begged.
"You know that matching is inevitable," said Dlar, stopping an arm's length in front of Tzid. The terrified look in Tzid's eyes held them back. "Now that you've reached the Matching age, you'll die within weeks without it. Our fate rests in the chemical bonds in our bodies. It's not subject to choice."
Tzid did not respond, looking at the ground and panting heavily.
"And think about the privileges of being an adult Translator," said Dlar. "Not just ability to traverse the fourth dimension. Not just ability to move parts of space around. You will finally get to meet Them. The Presger."
"But Matching will hurt," Tzid gasped out.
"No," said Dlar. "Didn't the Teacher explain it to you? The anesthetic in my tongue will desensitize your melting skin. Then your nerves themselves will dissolve. You'll have nothing to feel pain with."
"But people feel the Match." Tzid was crying now. "Even as nerves dissolve, they feel!"
The adult Translator came very close to Tzid now. They put one arm around Tzid. With the other they tucked a strand of Tzid's hair behind e's ear. Exposing my ear for licking, for initiating the Match, Tzid thought, and broke out into panicked sobs.
Dlar held e's shaking body tighter.
"If you are disintegrating, how can it not be excruciatingly painful?" Tzid asked through sobs.
"Because it is an entirely different sensation. It exists on a scale orthogonal to pain / pleasure."
"Then what it is in us that feels, even as we are disintegrating?" Tzid said.
"You see, Tzid," said Dlar. "That which retains feelings when the chemical bonds between your atoms are breaking up - that comes from Them. From Presger. When you are liquefying here in three dimensions, your biochemistry is still working in the fourth dimension, weaving your consciousness together. Even as your brain temporarily becomes a puddle, its constituent molecules still perceive themselves. You become chemistry dreaming of itself."
Tzid dared to cast a brief glance at Translator Dlar.
"Look at me," Dlar said.
On the contrary, Tzid burried e's face in Dlar's shirt.
"In that dream, pain does not exist," Dlar said, stroking Tzid's hair. "For those sensations there are no words. They can only be experienced." Then the Translator tilted Tzid's face upward. "All your life you have been learning your human side. You were taught how to speak, walk, eat, talk as a human. Understanding the human species is very important for a Translator. That's why you were imprinted with their ways since you were a Tiny. But now you grew up and a time came to meet the other half of your ancestors. Those who don't just exist in space, but are space."
Against e's own will, Tzid's tears were drying.
"So come with me, and I will lead you to them," said Translator Dlar. "Let's sit down on bench over there?" Dlar pulled Tzid down beside them and whispered: "In the fourth dimension, the Presger are as close to us as I am to you. When we meet them, they will make you part of me and me part of you."
Then e embraced Tzid. Tzid instinctively attempted to evade the adult Translator's proximity, to turn e's back and lean away from them, but only made things easier for Dlar. Dlar's lips closed over Tzid's exposed ear and started to lick it. Tzid whimpered. There was the tickly sensation in e's throat; e heard it described as delicious, but that was said by adult Translators who had already Matched and thus possessed the new range of qualia. But for Tzid it was like the time e tried fish sauce and didn't know what to make of it. It was neither tasty nor revulsive, it was something on a different, orthogonal scale.
And so it was with this sensation; e had yet to integrate it into e's range of qualia. At least e will not have to go through it alone. Translator Dlar was a cocooning, surrounding presence. Soon something tugged at Tzid's ear, and e knew those were sticky strings between Dlar's mouth and Tzid's skin. E's skin was melting, the boundary between them dissolving. The molecules of their bodies were breaking up and forming new bonds, new pathways that were going to guide e towards the new state, all the way.
"He was a jerk. A loud-mouth Ascalonian and I could tell by his arrogant laugh he came from nobility. A real piece of shit do-nothing whose only hobby was mocking the loss of the Arch. He was in Shaemoor drinking, fully geared for godssake, and had the gall to laugh while bodies burned. Piece of shit.
"It still lives in my head, that laugh. But some god must have been watching, because I didn't lay him low that day. I had the right to. I almost did. But I didn't.
I didn't know what to expect when he found me in Amnoon. I was ready to finish what he started. Then he apologized, offered me guide work. I didn't have much of a choice. He said he saw me in a hard place and wanted to make amends. I still resent him for that.
We kept working together. His presence became tolerable, I guess. He was useful.
It wasn't long before we encountered the Forged. It happened that I saved his life then. He seemed sincere in his gratefulness. Maybe that's why he wouldn't let me go into the desert alone.
I'm glad for that. He proved himself capable, more than I was, at times. I don't know how many times we owed each other. At some point, it didn't matter."
The night was well advanced when Alzagar regained consciousness. A rope was biting into his wrists, a pounding headache throbbed at his temples, and the air smelled of damp cellar.
“Bloody hell…” he groaned, trying to sit up.
“Ah, finally awake.”
A rough, bitter voice. Alzagar squinted and made out a stocky man with a fierce expression, arms crossed.
“What the fuck is this?” Alzagar hissed.
“Venec,” the man answered, as if that single name explained everything.
“What about Venec?!”
“You’re his accomplice, aren’t you?” The man crouched in front of him. “I’ve spent years tracking him down, and then bam, someone mentions his name alongside some ‘Alzagar.’ So I thought—why not grab him? See if Venec actually gives a shit about something for once.”
Alzagar rolled his eyes.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
The door burst open. Venec walked in, looking annoyingly relaxed, hands in his pockets.
“Well, shit. What’s he doing here?” he said, nodding toward Alzagar.
“He’s with you. Been hearing that for months!” the man spat.
Venec raised an eyebrow and glanced at Alzagar.
“I’m flattered, but you got the wrong guy.”
“Oh yeah?” The man pulled out a knife. “Because I could always slit his throat and see if you care.”
Venec raised his hands.
“No need to waste a perfectly good throat.” He stepped forward slowly. “Tell you what—let’s sit, let’s talk, and you’ll see you’ve made a mistake.”
Alzagar was fuming.
“Oh yeah, you’d better fucking talk well.”
Venec smirked.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t move, I got this.”
He settled in front of the man and started his little routine. Within minutes, the tension had eased. Venec lied effortlessly, twisting the situation to his advantage. Soon enough, his former enemy had set down his weapon and was even considering sharing a drink with him.
Hours later, Alzagar and Venec walked side by side through the night, far from that damned cellar.
“Why do you always have to get me into shit?” Alzagar muttered.
Venec slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Oh, come on. Admit it, you like it when I save you.”
Alzagar pushed him off, half-heartedly.
“I don’t like trouble.”
Venec chuckled softly and stopped. He pulled Alzagar close, resting their foreheads together.
“Well, maybe you don’t like trouble, but you love me.”
Alzagar opened his mouth to protest, but Venec kissed him—a quick, insolent kiss.
“Fuck…” Alzagar exhaled, his gaze burning.
Venec grinned and pulled him into a brief but sincere embrace.
“You’re such an asshole,” Alzagar murmured against his shoulder.
“And you,” Venec smirked, “are still my partner in crime.”
Multiple writing challenges, one overarching story.
Castle/Bones Crossover
@monthlywritingchallenges Prompts: First Impressions
Writing challenge: Start a sentence with each letter of the alphabet.
Installment 2: The Crime Scene
Detective’s Ryan and Esposito - the junior detectives that rounded out her team - had beaten her to the scene. “Par for the course”, Beckett mused, taking one last sip of the cold sparkling water she had snagged from the fridge on her way out the door. She pulled her new cruiser up next to the beater the boys shared, windshields facing a clearly abandoned warehouse, sides to the icy Hudson river. Vagrants frequented a place like this, and she was glad that the presence of cops may have spooked them away for now; too much foot traffic made these types of scenes extremely difficult to solve. This murder call was right on the edge of their precinct boundary- territoriality between the different precincts of Manhattan occasionally allowed some grey area overlap depending on who was busier, or how complicated the case was. Flicking a curt but polite “good morning” to the patrol officer setting up the crime scene tape, Beckett blinked the last of sleep from her eyes, the first beams of the sunrise beginning to deepen the shadows around her.
Making eye contact with Esposito as she stepped into the warehouse entrance, she took a customary breath to calm her racing brain. “Approach every scene as a rookie. Look at everything, not just what you want to see, but what you actually see,” she let the silent mantra guide her eyes over the scene. Before her lay a woman, young ish - definitely less than thirty, but no longer a teen- sprawled face down on the dirty concrete floor. Neon pink fishnets, ripped and bloodied, tangled the woman’s legs together, while a cheap sequined crop top that was once complete pulled down over one shoulder, stabs and slashes having ripped the other side. Curly short blonde hair framed the woman’s face, frozen in pain, eyes shut; hair still so perfectly curled and set that a small part of Beckett wondered if it was a wig, and if not, she needed to know what hairspray the woman had used. Obvious drag marks ending under her body lead to where she had initially been stabbed, about one hundred yards farther into the warehouse. Xanthic disturbances in the dust telegraphed the struggle, and Beckett was glad the guys noticed as well, setting the evidence barrier farther back to capture any rogue footprints, hopefully from the suspect. Underneath the body, a pool of blood was partially congealed; Beckett had been doing this long enough to know that this body was only a few hours old at this point. Hell of a first impression.
“ID?” Having completed her initial cursory observation, Beckett turned to Esposito near the garage door entrance, who was wrapping up the rough sketch of the scene from that angle.
“Zinnia Elegante,” he didn’t normally add small flourishes to information dumps- she had trained them early on to have more respect for the dead and to keep their gallows humor limited to the precinct and each other- but he had a small chuckle as he handed her not only the woman’s driver’s licence with her given name (Alice Chalman), but also her photo id for the club she was a dancer at.
Quietly cursing the fact that it was around four in the morning, and pushing down yet another unwelcome roll of nausea that reminded her she hadn’t had any coffee yet, Beckett had a shorter than normal fuse.
“Explain?” she asked, testing his ability to theorize on the spot, demonstrating their training and reputation as an elite squad. He never got the chance to redeem himself though.
“You need to see this, Beckett,” Detective Ryan interrupted with a quiet reverence to his demeanor, kneeling close to the body and snapping photos of evidence as he went along.
“What is that?” Becket, who had switched her usual heels for sensible flats in the rush out the door, sidestepped the dried blood indicating where the dragging had stopped and the pooling began. Jutting out from around the victims fingers was what appeared to be a bone, poking a mere inch out of the concrete floor, the victim’s grip concealing anything more.
“Good catch….” Beckett allowed her observation to trail off as she crouched closer. “Keep this one close to the vest,” she advised her team, recognizing the bone for what it was - human. Reeling just a little from the sudden change to standing, she slid her phone out of her pocket as she stood. This case was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
