Writing Prompt

(It all started with a rumor…)

MAIN SERIES (In Chronological Order)

Judges of Man

Judges of Man: A Foe and An Ally

Judges of Man: Enter Aubrey

Judges of Man: Investigation (PT. 1)

Judges of Man: A Spectator

Judges of Man: Investigation (PT. 2)

Judges of Man: Penny For Your Troubles

Judges of Man: On The Run (PT. 1)

Judges of Man: On The Run (PT. 1.5)

Judges of Man: On The Run (PT. 2)

Judges of Man: Watch And Watch And Watch

Judges of Man: To See The World

SHORTS (THE PAST; NOT IN ANY ORDER)

Judges of Man: How A + J = ◎

Judges of Man: Sweet Thing

Judges of Man: Weak

Judges of Man: ¿ ａｕｂｒｅｙ¿

Judges of Man: 2. ¿ ａｕｂｒｅｙ¿

Judges of Man: Less Than

(Thomas, Holland, and Penny’s past together)

Fruits

Love (A Fruits Story featuring Holland)

Fruits: (Another Tool)

“Aren’t you Tuna?” Sara asked hastily, staring me up and down with her watery blue eyes. I couldn’t hide my confusion. “What?” I asked. We had been walking to our bus, and I stopped walking and turned to face her. “Everyone’s saying you put tuna on your pussy and had a cat lick it off.” Sara made her statement calmly, and completely stripped of judgement. I watched her brown hair illuminate gold under the late afternoon sun, like an angel. “What the fuck? No,” I blurted out. I could feel the heat surge through me and redden my cheeks. Day one of what was going to be a long 7th grade year.

They must think I’m deaf.

I sigh, adjusting the collar of my mahogany turtleneck sweater as I stroll through the hallowed halls of Saint Winston’s College. Tossing my hickory-colored hair over my shoulder, I glance at my phone, feigning indifference to the stares that follow me. A clique of girls leans against their lockers, snickering loudly enough to ensure I hear.

“Looks like they’ll let anyone in these days,” one sneers. “I heard she’s sleeping with the professors just to stay here. Even the old, decrepit headmaster himself.”

“Mr. Harrison?” A doe-eyed brunette glances my way with open disgust. “My god. What a wh—”

“It’s all anyone’s talking about. We all know she’s not good at anything else.”

The echo of my heels against the marble floor makes the hallway feel emptier than it is, the sound bouncing unsettlingly against the low murmur of whispers. I send off a quick text and tuck my phone into my back pocket, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead.

After navigating the labyrinth of corridors, I arrive at the school café, where the warm scent of Italian sandwiches and pepperoni pizza fills the air. I claim an empty table in the corner, doing my best to look unbothered as I unpack the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d hastily thrown together that morning. I take small bites, my shoulders tense despite my attempt to appear relaxed.

I’m halfway through my sandwich when a chair scrapes against the floor beside me. I don’t even have to look up. A smile tugs at my lips as I tilt my head to meet the clover-green gaze of my blue-haired friend.

Cassidy plops into the seat with a lazy stretch, her floral tattoos on full display as she flashes her signature smile.

“And here I was thinking you’d leave me to die of loneliness,” I tease, clutching my chest and throwing a hand dramatically across my forehead.

Cassidy rolls her eyes, laughing as she bats my hand away. “Girl, quit playing.” Despite the growing number of stares directed our way, her smile doesn’t falter. Brushing short strands of hair from her face, she props her cheek against her fist and narrows her gaze playfully. “So, I heard the rumors this time are nasty. What did you do to piss off the hyenas?”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “Brittney’s boyfriend dumped her last week.”

Her brow arches. “Keith? Why? Last I checked, they were the school’s ‘perfect couple.’”

I lean in closer, my voice dropping. “That was before I found out Brittney was cheating on him—with multiple guys. And not just any guys—his teammates.”

Cassidy’s jaw drops. “No. Freaking. Way.”

I nod, resting my chin in my palm. “He was the only one who didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair to him. Keith’s practically family to me—we’ve known each other since we were kids. I couldn’t just stand by and let her keep breaking his heart.”

Cassidy whistles low, shaking her head. “Brittney has no shame. But that explains why her posse’s claws are out. You’re public enemy number one now.”

I shrug, pulling out my planner and a pen. “Let them talk. I know it’s not true, so their words don’t bother me.”

We finish our food in companionable silence, Cassidy occasionally sipping her mocha frappuccino. Just as we’re about to leave, a hot sensation washes over my back, soaking through my sweater.

I hiss, whipping around to see Brittney standing there, her now-empty coffee cup dangling from her manicured fingers. Her lips curve into a false gasp, her hazel eyes alight with glee.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Olive,” she chirps, placing the empty cup on our table with theatrical flair. “I didn’t even see you there.”

Her hand lands heavily on my shoulder, fingers digging in as she leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You really shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it didn’t belong,” she hisses. “Now I’m going to make your life a living he—”

Cassidy shoves her back before she can finish, her face a mask of fury as she inspects my burn. “Brittney,” she growls through clenched teeth, “I swear to God, if you don’t get your—”

“What’s going on here?”

A deep voice slices through the tension, silencing the entire café.

We turn to see Professor Zayden Sinclair, his charcoal eyes scanning the scene with detached curiosity. He strides over with the grace of someone completely in control, his tall frame towering over us.

Before anyone can respond, he kneels slightly, inspecting my shoulder with a frown. “This could get worse if untreated,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for my input, he takes my arm and gently pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s go. I have a first-aid kit in my lab,” he says curtly, already leading me away.

Behind us, Brittney sputters indignantly. “Professor, I—”

“I suggest you find better things to do with your time,” he cuts her off without a glance, his focus solely on me as we exit the café.

I follow him in stunned silence, my mind racing. Standing at 5’7”, I’m not exactly short, but next to him—easily 6’4”—I feel small. His broad chest and calm authority are almost… comforting, though now is definitely not the time to dwell on that.

As he guides me down the hall, I glance up at his chiseled features, my fingers twitching with the urge to brush the stray onyx strands from his face.

“Why were you in the café?” I ask softly, my voice breaking the silence.

“I was conducting an experiment,” he replies without looking at me, “until the noise became impossible to ignore.”

Of course, I think dryly. Leave it to Zayden Sinclair to handle chaos like it’s just another formula to solve.

Once there was an old woman who lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of a small town called Frostsville. The woman was well-liked and well-known for she made Christmas miracles and granted wishes.

The woman loved to grant wishes but she hated all of the attention it brought her. One year at Thanksgiving she made a vow to not grant a Christmas wish that year. Rumors spread amongst the townspeople. Some said she went bitter others said she just was tired of getting attention.

One night a young girl knocked on the woman's door. The woman invited her in. The young girl explains that her parents have taken horribly ill and the doctor said only a miracle could save them.

The woman upon hearing this gave the young girl a hug.

Now you shall return home and you will find your parents are well again,” instructed the woman.

The young girl did as she was told and found her mother and father were well again. Now because the old woman made this miracle she hast broken her vow and hast forefitted her life. When an angel breaks a vow while upon the earth their earthly time is over and they must return to the sky.

Though the townspeople were devastated they would look up in the sky and see a star shining brightly over them reminding them of the time with the Christmas miracle maker.

The end

Hello to all of my followers. This is not going to follow the prompt. As you may have guessed by the title, this is an announcement about my new writing status. As you may know, a lot of my writings take place around Christmas. I’m informing you now that any writing between November 1st and New Year's will be Christmas-themed or related. Please do give me feedback on it.

I’d also like it to be publicly known that I do not write Christmas writings with negative purposes, such as discrimination against non-Christians or anything of the sort. I myself am Christian, hence I write Christmas stories and poems. But I encourage you to write works taking place during your winter holiday. So enjoy the next 8 weeks of Christmas poems, stories, and romances.

-Daniel Williams

I wonder how rumors are spread.

Does it start as a bad assumption?

Does it start as a joke?

Yeah, right.

It’s not a joke.

I didn’t mean to hurt her, either.

It’s not my fault Ally Freedman’s a sensitive snob.

Well, I guess she’s Ally Rose now.

I didn’t even say she cheated.

I said the word, unfaithful, and left up for interpretation.

She’s the one who lied to me.

So all I did was make sure she got a little karma.

That’s what I did, so you can stop asking, what have you done?! __

I didn’t mean to start a rumor.

But I’m not sorry.

you'll never guess what.. i heard she got with him i heard shes a whore did you see her arms? i heard she cuts herself that is why she doesn't come to school oh really? i heard it's because shes depressed what a slag no one even likes her did you see her hair today? i saw her talking to that boy OH YEAH i heard there fucking i heard shes a lesbian nah no way shes too much of a hoe shes such a fag i cant believe she did that i heard- no. i'm a girl who is struggling, i hate myself , i hate my life, and i hate you for thinking you know me. you don't.

There’s a rumor going around, about those people who’ve died….

They’ve been murdered, of course, but by whom?

Some say it’s God, making them pay for their crimes.

But some are innocent!

For now! Maybe God sent his angels to kill them off?

Angels wouldn’t kill in such a bloodly way.

But the bodies!? Where did they go.

Well, whatever’s going on, this isn’t the work of God or angels.

This is the work of Satan himself.

Jack had a thought, a thought that made him smile.

His three lovers were busy at the moment. All in their respectful quarters. Thomas was probably busy sketching an old body he liked looking at. Holland, from what Jack could smell, was cooking dinner and Thomas’ separate stew. And Adon was most likely outside of Jack’s office door, waiting for when he could come inside and beg for attention.

Jack sighed, leaning back in his leathered recliner. Such a wonderful life he had.

Such a wonderful life.

Jack wanted to share is thought with them all, but that would wait for dinner, when the eyes of them all would be on him.

“Come in, Adon.”

Adon quickly opened the door and shuffled to Jack, wearing one of Jack’s shirts and Holland’s sweatpants. Jack scooted back to invite small, little Adon onto his lap. The man sat and curled into Jack like a cat. Jack stroked him as such, fingers trailing the tips of Adon’s ears and the start of his dark forehead. Adon made a noise close to a purr and closed his eyes.

“How was your day today, Adon? More importantly, how was work. Did you find more information that could aid us in our next endeavor?” Adon worked at the local police station as an assistant to the Chief. Also, the man was very good at the art of stealth and steal, finding files of past convicts that they could hunt.

Jack loosed his hand a bit, making feather-like caresses on Adon’s skin. Adon was half-asleep at that moment, but shook himself and nodded. “Yes! I found someone by the name of Harry Fiver,” Adon straightened as gave Jack a smile, “He was arrested for sexual assault and murder of his six-year old daughter. He was let go earlier this year, but his ex-wife is still angry about the whole affair. She wishes he served more time.”

Jack stilled in his stroking. “How much time did he serve?”

“18 years.”

Jack grinned. It seemed his thought would fully form into reality indeed. “Good work, Adon,” he kissed the man, who giggles at the softness of them, and stood, carrying Adon in his arms, “I believe it’s time for dinner.”

Harry took another swig from his beer, before laying it down on the bar. It was a long night, a very long night. There was a low murmur beneath the jazz music of the place. Harry felt light-headed, and for once his mind was on something other than his ex-wife’s endless calls and trails. All the older man wanted to do was to get a good lay.

He peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw a lost looking young man with the face of an angel. He smiled.

Perhaps he would get just that.

Harry straightened himself, dusted off some imaginary dust off his booze stained shirt and sucked in his stomach. He was still lean, and, in his opinion, good looking despite the white that streaked his dark hair. It couldn’t be that hard. Get the angel-man a drink or two, strong of course, then tumble into bed with him, tying his arms in case of a struggle.

“Hello there, you seem to be lost. Can I help you?” Harry patted himself on the back inwardly. Good act, good act indeed.

The young man blinked, his blond, almost transparent lashes fluttering across his startling blue eyes. “Oh, yes, um…I need help finding the nearest hospital—it’s where my mother is stationed, and I’m new to the part of town.”

Harry nodded, seeming to be understanding. Score! He said to himself, grabbing the young man’s shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but that made Harry grip tighter; he wasn’t about to lose a chance like this one.

“Don’t worry,” Harry guided the young man out of the bar and into the cold, lamp lighted streets, “I’ll get you there in a jippy! We can go in my car.”

The young man paused. Fuck Harry, he scolded himself, _that was too pushy. You scared him. _

But when Harry looked back at the angel-man, he jumped. There was a large grin upon his face, his blue eyes suddenly dark and sinister. The man licked his lips. “I don’t think that would be possible, Mr. Harry. You see, one of my loves wants you dead. The other wants your flesh. And the last one really wishes to go home and take his bubble bath.”

Harry took a step back and froze when a strong chest bumped into him from behind. Large hands gripped his shoulders, preventing him from escaping.

Oh shit, oh SHIT!

The angel-man continued forward, a syringe held like a knife between his long fingers. “And I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

(Sooo. I haven’t done one of these stories in a long time. Also, you might recognize two characters in this if you’ve read some of my other stuff!

Thanks for reading and have a great day!)

There’s a rumor going round that the king got replaced. The guy we see on TV is too tall. They never show his eyes close up, which is how you can tell when they’re wearing a hyper realistic mask- it sags at the eyes. His voice is wrong, too, a little high pitched and goofy, like an imitation of how he used to sound. I heard it from one of the palace guards, who sees him all almost every day. Those shuffling little steps he takes that make him look so old and vulnerable? Jim says that once he turns the corner and he’s out of camera range, he starts walking normal, confident, like a much younger man. So it makes you wonder, if the king isn’t the king, who is he? What happened to the real King Fitz? And what’s so necessary about what the imposter is doing to pull off a fraud like this? Larry is a buddy of mine who works in the livery at the palace. He said there’s a lot of strange characters coming and going, folks who look human most of the ways, but there’s just something off. Like, they stare at you a little too long when you’re talking. Their eyes twitch back and forth when they talk. And the oddest smell, like the reptile house at the zoo. Larry’s ready to quit, he says he can’t sleep at night. I can barely sleep, myself. I close my eyes and I see another set of eyes watching me, behind my eyelids, yellow, and when they blink it’s like a third eyelid goes sideways across them. I get up and pace, telling myself it’s all crazy, I’m working too much. I have sketch books filled with eyes, the king, the masks I find online that are so, so really looking. Haven’t you heard the stories of the Faceless Men? The ones that come in the middle of the night and take you? The ones who could be anyone, but then they take their masks off and it’s all blank, no eyes, nose, or mouth? How do they even breathe? It doesn’t many sense! Sorry, sorry, I’ll call down. I don’t want to get us thrown out of here. You must have heard all these rumors too. What are we supposed to do? Leave the country? Run to the hills and be shepherds? Quo Vadis, that’s what we gotta ask ourselves: who benefits from us living in fear, questioning everyone and everything, looking over our shoulders and watching out every step? The ones who want to control us. If we don’t trust each other, if we can’t sleep at night, then we’re afraid and we never stand up for ourselves. You’re right, it is time for me to see a doctor, get on some medication. I’m so paranoid, and it’s not healthy for me. I can’t live like this anymore. Hey, there’s something on your cheek there, like a little bit of… oh. It’s your mask. It’s coming off at the ears. Just do what you gotta do, man, I’m tired of fighting.

The party was on Sunday.

And the rumors started on Monday.

“I heard she told him no because she thinks she’s better than him.”

“Well, I heard that she came onto him and he said no.”

“I’ll do you one better, she drugged him by putting something in his drink, and even stole his phone.”

“Yeah, rumor has it, the phone is in her backpack right now.”

I felt the straps of my backpack snap before I was drug backward and knocked to the ground. “Let’s see if it’s true!” An ominous voice coming from the school jock, Bradley sent a shiver down my spine.

After all, he was the reason that I was almost—

No.

I don’t believe it.

I don’t believe myself.

There’s no way that he tried to—

My stomach lurches and bile rises in my throat.

I’m gonna be sick.

Leaving my backpack, I duck into the bathroom and spew whatever was left inside of me into the toilet.

By Tuesday, the rumors still swirl.

This time, I’m pregnant and don’t know who the father is. I can’t say I can give them any points for creativity, the pregnancy rumor goes around St. John’s every sunrise.

No one talks to me in the halls, they all just whisper, and look at me with those eyes.

Some pitying, others condemning, but all of them kill me a little every day.

Wednesday comes and goes, the teachers have gotten a hold of the rumor by now, and they all give me parental pity. “You okay, Chelsea?” “Administration is here for you.”

Tell a trusted adult praddle that never means anything.

Thursday is horrible.

He finds me in the stairwell alone, pushes me against a wall and threatens to kill me if I tell anyone.

I haven’t because no one’s asked me, and if they did, they wouldn’t believe me.

Then, the principal tells me my presence is becoming a distraction and I’m slapped with a three day suspension.

Way to victim blame, very saintly of you.

My dad downs a bottle of beer when I tell him and hits me, my mom watches.

That night, I find his 22-caliber pistol and fire one round into my head, ending it all right there.

A blow hits my shoulder from Daniel, Chelsea’s old best friend. “Dude, that’s not what the rumors say!”

I ignore how perfectly he can recall that Sunday night party, and how he laughs when he gets to the part about Chelsea’s suicide.

This ravenous rumor has been roaming the halls of St. John’s for a year now.

But no one ever learns.

I let them call me by my new name, Cassie, and listen to them talk about me—I mean—Chelsea.