scribblemyname: (raining story and song)
[personal profile] 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

Other Prompts

Re: Beauregard Tells Possible Tall-Tales 2/2

Date: 2015-06-04 09:48 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
She nodded. “It's still a cute story. You wanting a science fair and all the exhibits you made, your little experiments and—”

“And on that note, I am out the door,” Trace said, shaking his head as Emma grinned. She did think that was just about the cutest story she'd ever heard, though she knew it was bittersweet, too. Trace must have had a pretty lonely childhood, no one around but his father. They were close, but he should have had some friends his own age, too.

“Where are you going?”

“They asked me to consult on a case and hopefully will pay me more than a pastrami sandwich for doing so.”

“It's not about the money. Not even about the recognition.”

“It never is, Dad,” Trace agreed. “Behave while I'm gone.”

“Who is the parent here?” Beauregard asked, though his tone was so childish he should have stuck his tongue out at his son.

“I have no idea, but je peux appeler un chat un chat,” Trace told him, dodging Beauregard's attempt to swat him and making his way to the door. Emma reached for her cup and used it to hide a smile. She could watch those two for hours, just like she could listen to Beauregard's stories forever. Her dad would have loved them, too. She could picture him sitting in the other chair and swapping the same kind of stories, though his would have been about catching fish, not catching criminals.

“You mind that clutch!” Beauregard called after him. “She's tricky.”

“I know. I've only been driving that thing since I was seven.”

“Now who's exaggerating?” Emma asked, and Trace rolled his eyes before pulling the door shut behind him.

“He's not, actually,” Beauregard said, and she turned to him with a frown, trying to decide if the two of them were working together to pull one over on her this time. He smiled. “Obviously, I haven't told you this story yet. You'd remember it for sure. Now, let's see... You'd have been proud of him. That boy has the calmest head in a crisis. I don't think I've seen the like in grown men and veterans, not even in the strongest of mothers. No, you should have seen it. There I am, wrapping up this forgery thing, thinking I'm dealing with a couple of prize losers—they didn't know pastrami from parchment—and I've got it in the bag. I tell Trace 'wait in the car; I'll just be a minute.' Next thing I know, I'm stumbling out bleeding all over creation, trying to decide how anyone that stupid got a hold of a gun, and I get to the car, almost fall in the window. He jumps over to the driver's seat, digs out the first aid kit, and shoves it at me as he starts her up. He was so small he barely reached the peddles, but he doesn't let that stop him. No, he gets her in first and tells me to tell him when to turn. Somehow we ended up at the hospital without wrecking, small miracle because I don't remember most of that trip and was barely conscious when we got there, but as they start yelling at him for joyriding and blocking the entrance he's telling them how long ago I was shot, how much blood he figures I've lost, how responsive I've been, and taking the blame for not monitoring my heartbeat.”

“He was driving, though. At seven. Driving a stick shift without being able to see.”
Beauregard held up his hands. “What can I say? You know the guy. He always figures there was something more he should have done or should be doing.”

Emma nodded. That she'd figured out day one, when Trace wouldn't stop trying to clean even though he was dead on his feet, she told him she could handle it, and he was supposed to be working. He still tried to take on more of Beauregard's care than he needed to—she'd been hired to do all that, but she knew Trace would do it himself if he could.

“All right,” she said, setting down the empty cup and leaning forward. “Truth time. How much of that story really happened?”

Beauregard just laughed.

Re: Beauregard Tells Possible Tall-Tales 2/2

Date: 2015-06-04 11:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] classics-lover.livejournal.com
I am really enjoying these stories. Have you written more with them, or are they new creations?

Re: Beauregard Tells Possible Tall-Tales 2/2

Date: 2015-06-04 11:51 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
They're slightly new. I did write a few parts before the promptathon. All total, which does include the parts I posted here, I have a little over 9,000 words. Or twelve scenes, only nine of which are complete.

Re: Beauregard Tells Possible Tall-Tales 2/2

Date: 2015-06-05 09:43 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I used them for one of the other prompts, and if you're interested in seeing any of what I haven't posted, I can get it to you.

Re: Beauregard Tells Possible Tall-Tales 2/2

Date: 2015-06-05 12:00 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
:) It was nice to do fun stuff, since life is... very not fun at the moment and a lot of this particular story is more on the angsty side.

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