On Prompts and Fiction

[scribblemyname]

So I've a friend in need of prompts and I collect prompts like candy, even getting a ton of fic written to them besides being chronically behind.

So. Throw in prompts, write to prompts, comment on prompts, whatever pleases you.

1. Canon (fandom or original)


2. Character and/or pairing (optional)


3. Prompt (can be text or image - detailed as you want)

---

PROMPT MASTERLIST



Text Prompts

• any, who turned out the lights: filled


• any, any/any, we could have danced all night


• He/she knew something was wrong when the regular tipped more than usual.


• "I'm not the girl you once put your faith in just someone who looks like me."


• "So better take the keys and drive forever / Staying won't put these futures back together / All the perfect drugs and superheroes / Wouldn't be enough to bring me up to zero."


• "Get out while you can / Baby, I'm pouring quicksand / And sinking is all I had planned / So better just go."


• "You look like a perfect fit / For a girl in need of a tourniquet."


• "And you will say / That you're making headway / And put it in overdrive / But you're mistaking speed / For getting what you need / And never even noticing / You never do arrive."


• "And you're powered by / The hopeful lie / That it's just around the bend."


• Author's Choice, You're all the time believing / The Very Best In All, / The Devil Was An Angel, / But He Took A Little Fall, / Oooh, You Keep Your Guard Up, / For The Lurkers In The Dark, / The Day You Let It Down, / Your Chased Through The Park: filled


• "I'll get a pen and make a list / And give you my analysis / But I can't write this story / With a happy ending / / Was I the bullet or the gun / Or just the target drawn upon / A wall that you decided / Wasn't worth defending?"


• MCU, ex-Winter Soldier (or pre-WS Bucky Barnes), A soldier on my own, I don't know the way / I'm riding up the heights of shame / I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest / I'm ready for the fight and fate


• Leverage, Parker(/any), Money or Person?


• Two people each about to pull the last flower from the garden/meadow/place.


• The one where they've grown up best friends and everybody but them realizes they're practically together: filled


• any, home is a person you cannot live without: filled


• any, this is the way we say goodbye (it's not how we said hello): filled


• Agents of SHIELD, Melinda May/Andrew Garner, culinary catastrophe


• any, "Technically, I didn't actually blow up the oven—just the spaghetti squash inside it.": filled


• any, "Is that your solution for all problems? Tea?" "You should try it.": filled


• any, she only pretends to know everything (but everyone believes she does): filled


• any, you're the answer and I am the question: filled


• any, 5 reasons they would never work and 1 reason they totally do: filled


• "Je ne t'ai pas vu partir / Ni entendu la porte claquer / C'est un peu facile a dire / Après quelques annees" — ("I didn't see you / leave / Or hear the door shut / That is easy to say / After a few years")


• any, friend is a part of you in someone else's body: filled


• any, any brothers, reconciliation: filled


• Kingdoms and Thorn, "In the hearts of men / In the arms of mothers / In the parts we play to convince others / We know what we're doing / We're doing it right."


• "Vous savez bien / Que dans le fond he n'en crois rien / Mais cependant je veux encore / Ecouter ce mot que j'adore / Votre voix aux sons caressants / Qui le murmure en fremissant / Me berce de sa belle histoire / Et malgre moi je veux y croire" — (You know well / That in the end I believe nothing / But in the meantime I want again / To hear the word I adore / Your voice and your caresses / That murmur in trembling / Soothe me in its beautiful story / And in spite of myself I want to believe)


• There is something utterly depressing about having to remove the carpet from one's home and knowing those bare floors are going to stay that way for a long time. It's like having poverty and failure stare you in the face every time you take a step.


• "I bruise you, you bruise me / We both bruise too easily / Too easily to let it show."


• "You said you liked storms / So I let you in / / Turns out you can only handle a little rain / And I am a hurricane."


• "If I could say anything, anything / What would it be? / Good question for our destined reality / I would tell you that I love you / Even when it didn't show / I would tell you that I love you, baby / By now I hope you know."


• "If your mind is always moving / It's hard to get your heart off the ground / Yeah, your mind was always moving / Your thoughts never made a sound."


• "You got my heart on a string / You want me back and you know / I'll do anything / Just when I thought I was free / Knock knock the door is locked / But you still got a key."


• Doing laundry like this: [link]


• "Today I realized, / You didn't care anymore / / And then I realized / You probably never did anyways. / / And the saddest part of it all / Is that you made me believe you did."


• "A perfect relationship isn't actually perfect at all. It consists of two people who never give up on each other despite any hurt or pain."


• "Never forget what someone says to you while drunk. Drunk confessions are sober thoughts."


• Come tell me your story to unload your glorious grief / Where you are the valet of honor and I am the thief / And don't ever mention the stains that you left on my track / How from a beautiful girl I became someone ruined and wrecked / Was all in your back, all in your back / / So I spin in the dance of your absence and put on a show / But why do I smile baby, you of all people should know / The one that you loved died a long time ago...


• And all those things I didn't say / Wrecking balls inside my brain / I will scream them loud tonight / Can you hear my voice this time / / This is my fight song / Take back my life song / Prove I'm alright song / My power's turned on / Starting right now I'll be strong / I'll play my fight song / And I don't really care if nobody else believes / Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me


• Hey now don't you runaway, don't you runaway. / You're safe. / Hey now don't you be afraid, don't you be afraid. / You're safe.


• So slow down / There's some kind of blessing here / But you have missed your cue / / So keep your eyes set on the horizon / On the line where blue meets blue / And I would let that silver lining / Where I know it'd find you soon / / 'Cause I have sailed a 1000 ships to you / But my messages don't seem to make it through


• The whole world is watching / When you rise. / The whole world is beating / For you right now. / Your whole life is flashing / Before your eyes. / It's all in this moment that changes all. / / What are you waiting for? / What are you fighting for? / Cause time's always slipping away.


• I'm gonna run to the edge of the world / Run to the edge of the world / Feel that I'm gonna get home if I try


• Shadowboxing the other half / Learning how to react / I've spent most of my time / / Catching my breath, letting it go, / Turning my cheek for the sake of the show / Now that you know, this is my life, / I won't be told what's supposed to be right

Other Prompts

• comment: image


• comment: image


• comment: image


• comment: link


• comment: word list

Comments

[scribblemyname]

any, who turned out the lights

[(Anonymous)]

A/N: Um... Go easy on this one because his head was hard to get into and it probably doesn't stand alone (remember the five scene fic I mentioned? These two are from it.)

---

“It's dark. Turn on the lights.”

“No one turned them off.”

Beauregard shook his head. He knew what he saw, and he knew what he didn't see, and that wasn't any form of light. No sunlight, no fluorescents or artificial source, no candlelight. Everything in this room was dark, darker than it should be, the kind of dark that meant danger and a criminal nearby. He braced himself, ready for the attack.

“Turn on the lights. Now. Let me see who I'm dealing with. Least you can do is face me honestly.”

“Dad, the lights are on. You just can't see that because you can't see anything,” the man told him, and Beauregard frowned. He lifted up a hand, turning it over, but everything in front of him remained black. That much seemed true, but it couldn't be right.

“I'm not blind.”

“It's hopefully temporary,” the voice went on, and he listened to its inflection, trying to determine the truth from the way it was spoken. “The doctors aren't sure yet, but they think that part isn't permanent. They're optimistic about your motor function and—”

“And the lies can stop any time now,” Beauregard cut him off, using the only weapon he had, his voice. “I don't have a son. So you can turn back on the lights and let me go. You sound like a young man, maybe mid-to late twenties, average height, probably average weight, though without you moving around I cannot tell for certain. I'd guess you to be one of the Nelson brothers. Now that I know that much, you can let me go.”

“Zut,” the other man said, and Beauregard remembered that tone, that inflection—so like the one he hated in his father's voice, but that was not his father. Too young for that, much too young. “They don't think the memory thing is temporary, though I think sometimes I'd rather you stayed blind than kept forgetting me. Just go back to sleep, Dad. Maybe when you wake up again, you'll remember.”

“Remember what? That I have a son that doesn't exist who has me locked in some kind of basement to torture me—and good use of the French, by the way, you know I hated my father and the way he used it, do you? How'd you—”

“Listen to the other things besides my voice. The faint hum of the ventilation system. The irregular beeping of your monitors. The smell of the disinfectant. Industrial grade. You would know—you made me memorize the difference between the different types of them when I was nine. As for how much you loathed Grandpa Villines—that's your poorest kept secret, and I still don't know why you made me learn French when you hate hearing it, but I always assumed it was part of your endless mantra of making me a better detective.”

Something nagged at the back of Beauregard's mind, and he reached for it, yanking it toward him with desperation and need and maybe even some hope. “Trace?”

“Yeah, Dad. It's me. I'm here. I've been here every day since you got shot.”

[scribblemyname]

any, any/any, we could have danced all night

The Right Partner 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Almost did this one before, almost chose Enya/Cress or Dillon/Larina, even had this convoluted idea where Beauregard got Emma dancing and Trace spoiled the mood by correcting the story about his mother. I ended up changing my mind, said I'd leave it for someone else to do instead of stealing all the non-fandom prompts, and then got gripped by the insane need to do this when I should have been sleeping. *sigh*

---

“And then he went and stepped on my foot,” Cadence fumed, arms folded over her chest, the injured foot tapping on the ground. She hadn't been this angry in a long time, not since the last of her father's ridiculous edicts on her behaviour, and she wished she could hit something. She knew it wasn't ladylike, but then she wasn't sure she knew how to do anything ladylike, despite Edith's efforts to teach her. She didn't blame her former governess. She blamed herself. “So much for grace and elegance in the form. He was clumsier than that wounded marionette you carved for Stratford.”

Dare laughed, and she turned toward him with a frown. “You think all of this is funny? Even what I said about your carving?”

He gave her a slight smile, turning his head to the side as he did. “It danced better than you.”

She sighed. The worst part of it all was that Dare was right. The dancing lessons had been horrible. She had done as much as she could to avoid them, but she'd reached the end of her father's limited tolerance and the bottom of what Edith called her bag of tricks. She was that age now. Parties were expected of an earl's daughter, and an earl's daughter had to dance better than any other girl there. She had to be prettier and the most well-behaved and wear the best—most ridiculous and obnoxious—dress there.

“You're only laughing because you're not a girl. If you had to learn to dance, you'd hate it, too.”

Accent thick with his wounded pride, Dare frowned at her. “You think I am incapable of dancing.”

“I didn't say that,” Cadence said, though she supposed she should have guarded her words better. She knew that some people—her father included—treated him like a simpleton because he struggled with their language at times, but Dare wasn't stupid. He was clever and funny, and she didn't care if she only understood part of what he said. “I said you wouldn't like it.”

Dare rose, crossing over to her side. “Dancing is like art. Art is like beauty kept forever.”

“Whistler told you that, didn't he?”

Dare nodded, holding out his hand. “Edie said I was better than he was. That his art looked like a funny painting with a big nose.”

“Did he kiss her on the nose after that?” Cadence asked, almost sighing with the picture in her head. “They are so adorable. I don't think I've known anyone as happy in their marriage as they are.”

Dare frowned a little, and Cadence wondered if he might be remembering something from before he came to them, if maybe he finally knew something of his own parents. Had they been like Edith and Whistler? Or were they more like the sorts of couples she knew in her social circle, all miserable?

“Your parents?”

“Pashna hates dancing,” Dare said. He took her hand, setting the other on her waist with the barest of holds. She looked up at him, trying to decide when the laughter would start again because this must be a joke. “I go first. You follow. You lead, your feet get stepped on.”

“Very funny.”

“Panna,” he agreed with a smile, and she shook her head as he started them moving. She wasn't surprised Dare thought he was hilarious, but he wasn't. He prodded her with the hand on her waist, a constant guiding pressure that kept her moving where he wanted her to, and though she would never tell him because he'd smirk at her, he was good at this. Much better than her dance instructor. He made the whole thing easy. She followed, never stepped wrong, never got her foot stepped on, and she didn't have to worry about his breath stinking or if he might try looking down her gown.

[(Anonymous)]

Here is my one scenario (and wow it feels lame but maybe it will work this time):

He/she knew something was wrong when the regular tipped more than usual.

[scribblemyname]

Is intrigued

[(Anonymous)]

Image prompt:

http://m.grafolio.com/illustration/76830&from=cr_ill

[(Anonymous)]

"I'm not the girl you once put your faith in just someone who looks like me."

~Amiee Mann, "Humpty Dumpty"

[scribblemyname]

Kingdoms and Thorn and identity issues, oy. Love it.

:makes note to write later:

[(Anonymous)]

"So better take the keys and drive forever
Staying won't put these futures back together
All the perfect drugs and superheroes
Wouldn't be enough to bring me up to zero."

~Aimee Mann, "Humpty Dumpty"

[(Anonymous)]

"Get out while you can
Baby, I'm pouring quicksand
And sinking is all I had planned
So better just go."

~Aimee Mann, "Humpty Dumpty"

[(Anonymous)]

"You look like a perfect fit
For a girl in need of a tourniquet."

~Aimee Mann, "Save Me"

[(Anonymous)]

"And you will say
That you're making headway
And put it in overdrive
But you're mistaking speed
For getting what you need
And never even noticing
You never do arrive."

~Aimee Mann, "Driving Sideways"

[(Anonymous)]

"And you're powered by
The hopeful lie
That it's just around the bend."

~Aimee Mann, "Driving Sideways"

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Author's choice

You're all the time believing
The Very Best In All,
The Devil Was An Angel,
But He Took A Little Fall,
Oooh, You Keep Your Guard Up,
For The Lurkers In The Dark,
The Day You Let It Down,
Your Chased Through The Park
Little Red, Cathy Davey

Contagious Paranoia 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Using characters from the same story as before. Maybe one day I will get the hang of writing stand alone pieces or ones that fit in a single comment. :P

---

“You have to stop believing everything Dad tells you.”

Emma looked up from wiping down the table and frowned. “Why should I?”

“Because,” Trace said, taking the sponge from her hand and holding it out of her reach. “You are too nice a person. You take everything he says at face value, and you really should know better. You were hired to be his nurse because he got shot in the head and is only half there—if that—most of the time. You can't trust what he says. Or him.”

Emma shook her head. “Your father is harmless. I mean, yes, he gets confused sometimes, but everyone does, and he has been nothing but nice to me.”

“That still doesn't explain how you can feed him pastrami day after day after day,” Trace said with a shudder. Emma tried not to laugh, but he did look comical like that, the sponge in his hand, his suit rumpled, and his hair every which way from when his father had given it an affectionate ruffle a few minutes ago. “Or why you seem to think you have to clean the house when that is not your job. You are too nice. You are a nurse, not a candidate for sainthood.”

She did laugh then, pushing back loose strands of her hair and shaking her head. “I am nowhere near close to that. You don't have to be upset with me, you know. Having to hire help with your dad isn't a sign of weakness or failure. It just means you're sharing the load, that's all.”

Trace dropped the sponge in the sink. “Look, I have known my father a lot longer than you have, and one of the reasons Beauregard became the legendary detective he used to be was his ability to get people to believe he was whatever he wanted them to believe he was. You can't trust what he says. Do yourself a favor and remember that. And go home—you've been here longer than you were scheduled for already.”

She nodded, going to gather her purse and coat from the rack by the door. She heard him rummaging in the fridge. She could have made sure there was something for him to eat, but then he'd just tell her how she didn't have to do that. “You're a good man, Trace.”

He snorted, lifting a hand to wave her out of the door. She smiled to herself as she pulled on her coat. Stepping out into the evening air, she shivered and forced herself forward. She hadn't been able to get a ride from a friend today, so she would have to wait for the bus. She knew Trace would probably have given her a ride, but he already felt that too many lines were crossed between client and nurse with all she did for his father. Maybe he was right, but she didn't see how helping with a few extra things around their house hurt anyone.

She hurried her pace, not wanting to be out in the cold any longer than she had to be, and while she knew the bus would not be there for a while, at least the wind chill wouldn't be as strong. She started humming to herself, trying to keep warm. Beauregard told tales about the bus stop, how dangerous it was supposed to be, calling it a one stop bust shop because of all the criminals there, but if Trace was right, then his father was exaggerating, and she would be fine.

She stepped under the awning, forcing a smile for the man already sheltering there. She leaned against the realtor's picture, blocking the graffiti, and took out her phone. She winced when she saw the time—Trace was right; she'd stayed way too late again—and sighed when there were no messages of any kind. Liz would call her pathetic, and maybe her best friend would be right—no one else would have called. Emma looked back toward the Villines home. Maybe it was easier to stay late where there was a family rather than always going home to be reminded that hers was gone.

She shook her head, about to put the phone back when she saw the man moving toward her. She swallowed, hit the wall of the bus stop again, and decided maybe she should have listened to Beauregard after all.

[(Anonymous)]

"I'll get a pen and make a list
And give you my analysis
But I can't write this story
With a happy ending

Was I the bullet or the gun
Or just the target drawn upon
A wall that you decided
Wasn't worth defending?"

~Aimee Mann, "That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart"

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

MCU, ex-Winter Soldier (or pre-WS Bucky Barnes),

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way
I'm riding up the heights of shame
I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest
I'm ready for the fight and fate

Iron, Woodkid

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Parker(/any), Money or Person?

No fill quite yet but

[scribblemyname]

Is it weird that I read this as "is Parker money or a person?"

:D

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, stopping the lyric spam.

(Sorry. I did warn you, though.)

Scenario number two:

Two people each about to pull the last flower from the garden/meadow/place.

[scribblemyname]

Spam? Spam? :bats eyelashes:

I adore lyric prompts

[scribblemyname]

The one where they've grown up best friends and everybody but them realizes they're practically together

[(Anonymous)]

I like that one. It goes well with a couple pairs I already know. Or that one you wrote about with the rain and running.

[scribblemyname]

any, home is a person you cannot live without

[(Anonymous)]

I was going to do this before I got the news about my cat. I couldn't decide who was best because Garan/Effie have a conversation about that in the end of book three and there are others, too, that would fit. In the end, I went back to this. It's probably not great, but I did like the idea behind it.

---

“It's taking its toll on you, isn't it?” Malina asked, sitting down next to the other women. Felise looked up from her book and frowned. Lisea tensed, but neither of them answered. “The running. The constant moving. Never being in one place for more than a day.”

Felise wrinkled her nose. “It's not great, but it's what we have to do to survive. So we do it.”

Lisea nodded. Malina figured it was harder for her. She'd had more stability in her life than any of the rest of them—aside from the time she was sent off to Devington, that was. She hadn't lost anyone like Felise had, hadn't been forced to run from her home or for her life before, whereas that had been a near constant for Malina since she was seventeen.

“How do you do it?”

Felise turned her frown on her cousin. “You just do. We don't think, we do. We react. I hate it, because I'd rather be on the offensive, but it's how it goes.”

Lisea shook her head. “I wasn't asking that. I just... Malina knows how to cope with it better than anyone else.”

“That's right,” Felise said. “That's what Enadar said you've been doing for years now. Running.”

“You don't need to say it like that,” Lisea said, shaking her head. “It's not like you can really accuse Alik of cowardice, not after all he's done for us. Running is... it's survival, like you said.”

“I'm not calling anyone a coward.”

Malina sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I didn't intend to start a fight. That's usually Enadar's job, and I don't want it.”

“No, Lisea's got a point. How do you stand it all the time? Living like this?”

Malina shrugged. “When we stop somewhere, we do our best to make it a good place to stay. We build it up, bring with us the important things that we value most, and we settle in as much as we dare. Even if we've had to rebuild and restart over and over again... The one thing that doesn't change is that we're family. We have the most important things even when we've got nothing. Alik is there, he's safety, and he makes it home just by being there. He carves it out for us every time, that place where we can hold on, and I love him for it. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't there, though. Mom used to say where family was, that was home. I think it's more that it's the person you can't live without. Though I say that, and people will think the wrong thing about me and my brothers.”

“I don't see how.” Lisea's voice carried a note of envy in it. “A family that loves each other that much is beautiful.”

“You are so sheltered,” Felise muttered, and Lisea glared at her. “I'm not saying it's not... sweet. Just so long as it's not the wrong kind of love.”

“Well, since Enadar's in love with you and Alik claims not to be able to love, I don't think that's anything anyone has to worry about,” Lisea said, and Malina thought she just might have enjoyed Felise's reaction to that. Just a little.

[scribblemyname]

any, this is the way we say goodbye (it's not how we said hello)

Telling Silences 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

Combined this thought with things I was going to do for the album challenge and the song "To a Poet." Couldn't have done this if I didn't already have an entire novel of them finding their way back to each other, though.

---

“Sea Shell?”

He must have been too tired to think straight if he was calling her that. Too tired or in too much pain or—No. She didn't want to ask. She didn't want to know. If she asked, she made it real. She made them things they weren't anymore. She let him know things she couldn't say, didn't dare say.

“You sound like hell.”

He grunted. “Been raining like a sun of a gun here.”

His shoulder. It had to have been killing him. Always did when it rained, an unnecessary reminder of the day they put Robbie in the ground, and the damn bullet that created the worst what if in her life. What if her brother had survived, not her husband? Would she be happier if she still had him, or would there be a different gaping hole in her, the one Tremayne used to fill?

She shook it off. She didn't know if it made her petty or evil or just human, but a part of her would rather he was in pain than on painkillers.

She didn't ask. Say something, she almost begged, but she didn't beg, not even when psychotic killers were telling her just what they'd do to her in a few minutes and her mind was screaming out for the pain to stop, desperate to hold out a little longer just to hear the voice of her tarnished white knight again one more time.

Him and his big mouth. He used to say he talked because she never did, used to blame his mouth for all his trouble, and then he'd give her one of those looks and say something crass about how she liked his big mouth.

Trouble was, she had. She'd loved just about every bit of him.

Every bit except the weak part that had turned an undercover narcotics cop into a junkie cliché.

“The house sold today.”

She pressed her eyes shut. That was it, then. Last tie broken, last piece of what was packaged away and gone. She almost asked him what he'd do with his half or if he was living in the Cougar these days, but she didn't.

“Check'll get to you soon enough, I guess.”

She nodded, then remembered he couldn't see that over the phone. “Whatever.”

“That's it, then,” he said, and she heard the echo of her thought in his words the way she'd done a thousand times. Who needed to say anything when he knew her well enough to know what she was thinking? Or when he'd say it for her? “Nothing left to come back for.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. He didn't mean that. He couldn't. He had to want her back, didn't he? He was the one that begged her to stay. She'd been the one who walked out when she learned he was an addict.

“Don't argue with me,” he said, and she would have snorted, but he knew her silences well enough to hear the words. “Only reason to come home is to get yourself killed. This town will be the death of you. You know it. I know it. Go on, Chel. You left, so don't come back. You do, you'll die. That's not a threat. It's a fact.”

She flinched, thinking of the mausoleum, of generations of Corbett family cops all buried in neat little rows, of being the last one standing and the only girl, knowing she'd only barely escaped joining the boys there less than two years ago.

She opened her mouth to speak, swallowed, and started. “Tremayne—”

The beep of her phone cut her off, and she looked down to see the words call ended on the screen. She shook her head. This was what they'd come to. Six years of marriage, most of them good, and now, hang ups and ugly silences. She knew he'd always hated goodbyes, but he didn't even try anymore.

Not what she thought he'd do when she first met him, not when she listened to him ramble on and on about everything he could after Robbie had passed out and she heard a lifetime's worth of stories in one night.

Goodbye was too final, he couldn't take that, and neither could she.

If they did, one of them would be brave enough to get the damn papers filed.

[scribblemyname]

Agents of SHIELD, Melinda May/Andrew Garner, culinary catastrophe

[scribblemyname]

any, "Technically, I didn't actually blow up the oven—just the spaghetti squash inside it."

[(Anonymous)]

Mind if the food is not spaghetti squash? I am trying to decide if I will let Dillon/Larina take this one or do a Trace + Beauregard + Emma but either way, the food in question would have to change. Can't see Beauregard trying to cook that. Or Larina.

[scribblemyname]

any, "Is that your solution for all problems? Tea?" "You should try it."

Tea and crisis 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Because I couldn't think of anyone who would value tea as much as Whistler does.

---

“This is unexpected,” Whistler began, frowning as he held open the door and studied the woman standing there. While he had not thought much of her habit of wearing dresses so ill-suited to her occupation, he would not have expected to find her in such a state, either. Were the weather worse, he would have blamed the violence of the storm, but he feared she might have experienced some of another sort, judging from the torn fabric of her skirts and the rip that had all but separated her left sleeve from the dress.

Edgar pushed some of her loose hair back from her face. “Is the magistrate in?”

Whistler shook his head. “I'm afraid not. His trips to the capital are rare, but nevertheless he did leave on one this morning.”

“I suppose I must settle for you, then,” she said, and he refrained from commenting as he held the door open for her. She need not have an attitude about it, not even if she was in obvious distress and the local law had just left the area.

“I am hardly qualified to step into Stratford's place.”

“I know that. I did not expect you to admit to it,” she said, and Whistler almost slammed the door shut behind her. She did seem to provoke the worst of reactions from him. He did not know why—he was known for being calm and unflappable. He had endured Stratford for years and now had a mischief maker named Dare on his hands as well. Who was this woman to ruin all of that?

“Come in and have some tea.”

“I do not plan on staying. It is only...” She drew in a breath, putting a hand to her head and the other to the wall to brace herself. “It is Cadence. That is what concerns me. Her safety. She will be alone now, in that house, and she is such a wilful child I fear for her... I did my best to make her understand, but she... She does not see it.”

“As much as I believe she despises her father, I doubt she believes he would harm her. He is, after all, still her father,” Whistler agreed, easing her away from the wall. Despite the impropriety of the situation, he put an arm around her waist to support her as he escorted her into the parlour. “Stratford does not trust that. Even I am not certain his paternity or need for some kind of heir will protect her. For now, perhaps, while she is still young and while he could conceivably still another if he chooses, but as soon as she is of no use to him, the danger to her increases tenfold.”

“Trust you to use inflated words and too many of them to say what's already been said,” Miss Edgar muttered, pulling out of his hold and taking the first available chair. “Yes, she is in danger. Yes, she will be in more later. A few more years...”

“It is Stratford's hope that the earl will not be a threat by then.”

The former governess laughed, a bitter sound he hoped never to hear again, unsettling as it was. “Is the magistrate a killer?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then that is very unlikely, isn't it?” Miss Edgar asked, shaking her head as she leaned back against the chair. “I just wanted Morren's word that he would watch over Cadence. She's here most of the time anyway. As long as that continues, she will be safe.”

[scribblemyname]

any, she only pretends to know everything (but everyone believes she does)

[(Anonymous)]

I couldn't think of a better candidate for this, and I should be ashamed of my in-joke and have changed the name, but I refuse. Also, you don't see her pretending to know everything, just them believing she does.

---

“I still don't know how Father found out about it. He should never have known,” Stratford pouted, kicking at the dirt in frustration. Whistler looked up from his book and shook his head. The plan was foolish, and his friend should have known better, but Stratford was like that—always thinking of crazy schemes and assuming he could get away with them.

“You don't know how he knew?”

Stratford looked back at him, frowning. “You're not saying...?”

“Do not pretend to ignorance. It has never become you. You are not a fool, even if sometimes you wish to act like one.”

Stratford grunted, dropping down next to Whistler. “I don't understand, though. How did your mother know?”

Whistler snorted. “She's my mother. She knows everything.”

The other boy sighed. “I hate that. It shouldn't be possible. No one's mind can retain all that information, for one thing, and for another—she cannot be everywhere at once. She is not a goddess, she's not omnipresent. She's just a nosy woman with strict rules and a spoon that should be considered a dangerous weapon.”

“Mother is not a cook, nor does she does not carry a giant spoon everywhere. You are being absurd,” Whistler told him. Stratford glared at him. Whistler closed his book. He did not know that he would ever convince his friend that his mother was not a spoon-wielding maniac, but then Stratford did have the bad sense to misbehave too often when a spoon was within reach.

“Your mother is a nasty mean hag, Whistler. I don't know how you can stand her.”

Whistler frowned. “She is my mother, and she is not so mean as—if you did not disobey so much you wouldn't think so cruelly of her. Remember, those that discipline—”

“Discipline is not love,” Stratford insisted. He leaned back against the tree. “I suppose it is the only time I get much of my father's attention, when he is busy berating me for some fault, and that must be the only form of love you know—but no, it can't be because if it was, you would misbehave more yourself. Instead you're this annoying sort of perfection. Has she beaten all resistance out of you already?”

Whistler was tempted to beat someone, but it was not his mother. “She is not the monster you would make her. You are stubborn, wilful, and insistent on breaking the rules that you see only that part of her that would restrain you and you see as something evil. She is not as you fear or believe.”

Stratford made a derisive snort. “You say that because you have to. You're her son. To you, she must be good because she is your mother. You must love her because she is your mother. It does not matter that she is an unholy creature risen from the depths of the sea and come to terrorize the populace into obedience.”

Whistler would have laughed at that if not for the tale-tell sound of skirts behind him.

“Admit, Whistler, if she wasn't your mother, you'd hate her. Tell me, is she a gorgon or a—”

“Boys.” Stratford jumped, glaring at Whistler for failing to warn him, which Whistler ignored because he rather deserved it for what he'd said. “You are late for your lessons and your supper.”

“How did you know where we were?” Stratford asked, looking around them. This wasn't their typical spot, nor was it all that open and visible, also accounting for her ability to arrive undetected by the magistrate's son.

Whistler's mother said nothing, giving Stratford a look. He grimaced, lowering his head before she walked away.

“I told you,” Whistler said. “She's Mother. She knows everything.”

Stratford shuddered.

[scribblemyname]

any, you're the answer and I am the question

[(Anonymous)]

I'm not sure I even know who these people are but this just begs for this bit and I would so not be surprised to have unintentionally copied this.

---

"You," he said, cutting into the silence and compelling her to look at him.

"Me what?"

"You're the answer."

She frowned. "I didn't know there was a question."

He touched her face, brushing her cheek with his palm before covering her mouth with his. Oh, she thought. That question.

[scribblemyname]

any, 5 reasons they would never work and 1 reason they totally do

Annoying Brothers and Foolish Lists 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

I thought about this, and I came up with some different lists for different characters of mine (though I think maybe I should have let a fanfic writer take this one) and as I was creating these various lists, I ended up with a bit of semi-silliness started by Enadar.

---

“You should probably burn that,” Alik advised, and something in his voice made Malina pause on the threshold, tempted to stay in the room her brothers were in rather than continue on to the kitchen as she'd planned. “Malina will be very angry with you if she sees it.”

Enadar snorted. “Malina doesn't get mad at anyone. Even when she should.”

“Sees what?” Malina asked, folding her arms over her chest and wondering just what her younger brother was up to this time. “Answer fast. One or both of you, I don't care, but answer me.”

“Enadar composed a list of things he thought would convince me to intervene in something I consider not my business,” Alik answered, and Malina frowned before going over to snatch that list from Enadar's hands.

“What? This is a list of why Vred and I don't belong together. Enadar, what were you thinking?”

Enadar sat down on the couch, arms folded over his chest, full on pout on his face. “I don't like that guy.”

“I can see that. It's number one on your list,” Malina muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I told him you would be the one that had to live with Vred and therefore his opinion did not matter,” Alik said, and she wasn't sure if she agreed or not. She knew they were closer than most siblings, and it did matter to her what Alik thought, at least. She didn't know that she could marry someone Alik disliked. She couldn't stand the idea of someone coming between them, not when he had always been that source of safety, even when she should have been too young to know what that was.

“I don't think—Enadar, whatever Vred did or didn't do for Felise is not a part of what I feel.”

“He let her brother die.”

“He made a difficult choice,” Alik disagreed. “You don't know what you would have done under those circumstances. Neither do I. I know I would have tried to find another way. In fact, I might even have had one, but it isn't the same as what was available to Vred at the time.”

“You're just saying—”

“I could possibly have faked Enrik's death. That is not something Vred would have been able to do in the same way I could. I can stop hearts with energy. He can't.”
Malina swallowed. She did not like the idea of her brother doing that. She wasn't even comfortable with him knowing that he could do that. “I don't... This is...”

“Not all of the reasons are mine,” Enadar said. “Think about what Alik just said. Vred probably has blood on his hands. Not accidentally, either. That's bad enough, knowing that... I doubt Vred feels the same way about what he did as what I did and I... I still wish that guy disappearing in front of me was just a dream and not some nightmare created by what I can do.”

Alik said nothing, and Malina felt sick, ready to vomit because of that silence. She didn't want to think about Alik killing anyone—or Vred—but she didn't really know that she doubted either of them had done it to protect their families. That was the kind of men they were.

“I think Vred hates what he's had to do,” Malina said, shaking her head. “It might not be accidental, but it might have been the only way. You acted in defense, you were protecting me, and Vred does the same thing but for a lot more people than that. He might have had to do it, but that doesn't make him evil. What about the police or soldiers or—”

“Or the people who want us dead because of our genetic abnormalities?” Enadar grumbled, and Malina flinched. She knew that the Watch had infiltrated many of those organizations, but that didn't make all of them killers, either.

“I don't believe this. Come on, Malina. You're... you're practically innocent. You can't really be okay with killing people.”

[(Anonymous)]

"Je ne t'ai pas vu partir
Ni entendu la porte claquer
C'est un peu facile a dire
Après quelques annees"

("I didn't see you leave
Or hear the door shut
That is easy to say
After a few years")

~Nolwenn Leroy, Casse

(My phone doesn't want to do accents right and my French is rusty but I love that song.)