Let the Promptathon Begin!

[sansets]

To join the battle, all you need to do is pick a prompt from below (any prompt, even if it's your own) and write/vid/manip/icon/draw/whatever the most creative bit of whatever you can create! And remember - PLEASE feel free to vid or icon or manip or do something non-written. We love ALL kinds of creative output equally!

When you've written/painted/made it, paste it into the comments here. Once you've done that, you can post it wherever else you want.

You may enter as many times as you like, so long as each entry is completely separate (not a series of linked pieces). Also, please do not link to old work - this should be something new, produced for the challenge, based on one of the prompts.

THE RULES

1. It must fit in one comment, so the limit is 4,300 characters (there's no minimum limit). It can be part of a longer piece that you may post elsewhere, as long as it's something new and based on one of the prompts, but all we want here is the part that you are most proud of. If you make art, if it's larger than 350 px wide, please use a thumbnail linking directly to the piece (directly to the artwork, not a post or site). The thumbnail can be up to 350 px wide, and 300 px high, and should include as much of the art as possible. If it is a vidlet or something else requiring dowloading, like a fanmix, please post the link to where we can download. Feel free to post a teaser image, but please confine yourself to the artwork preview rules.

2. Important! Please use the subject line of your comment to identify the snippet, like so: Title, prompt, rating (i.e. Fandom, Pairing, prompt word, rating system of your choice). For example, I might write: "Staying Awake, One Tree Hill, Lucas/Nathan, rain, R", or "The Sun Has Gone Down, Crossover, Torchwood/Stargate Atlantis, Jack/John, under fire, for all ages".

3. You have one week – the post will close for new entries next Sunday, April 1, at midnight eastern standard time. PLEASE be certain to check the World Time Clock to verify the deadline time in your area.

4. Don't forget that these prompts are only written as character one/character two for convience, NOT because of any requirement to make it a relationship story! Gen and friend are very welcome here. They can be interpreted in ANY WAY, so just imagine the FUN possiblities. You can take one prompt and write it, draw it, icon it, fanmix it, AND vid it. (Although if you have the time to do all of that in the week that these prompts are open, I might just have to kill myself out of jealousy :o) And you can use the characters in a different way each time. Don't be afraid to think outside the box!

5. Please don't post anything but your creations or feedback/feedback replies (to individual stories) here. If you've got any questions or comments, please leave them on this post right here, NOT on this post that you are currently reading. We'd like to keep this purely for the creative output (and feedback on the creations - readers/voyeurs, please do show the writers/artists much love for their creative offerings).

The prompts are right here
Thanks SO much to sageness for coding and lending hosting space on her site!

The prompts using only one character were listed first, followed by the prompts for more than one character. ALL crossovers are under both fandoms, so you don't need to worry about looking in multiple places for your crossovers - those listed under Smallville are the same listed under Supernatural, if you are looking for prompts for a Smallville/Supernatural crossover.

Finally! Warning: ALL ratings are acceptable here, from the things that you would show your aged grandmother, all the way up to to the things that would make a sailor blush. Use your own discretion, and please label your stories, art, and other creative output accordingly.

Thank you kindly!

rules stolen from oxoniensis and her AMAZING porn battle

Comments

How to Be a Grey, Rent, Alison, how to be a Grey, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Step One: Everything is done in style.

She knows it unnerves Benny a little, that she's always so perfect, so collected and controlled. She knows he's not used to that, coming from the East Village, coming from his friends.
She knows most of the time he can see past it – flawlessly styled hair, makeup, five hundred dollar pants suit, chilly smile – but sometimes he can't see past the mask. She knows those times, he starts to wonder.

Step Two: Everything happens for a reason.
Corollary: Those reasons are never your fault.

"They can't blame you," she tells Benny with a sigh.
"I did promise them–"
"That's very nice, but they have to understand this is reality, they can't just get a free pass, even if you were friends."
"Are."
"Right."
Benny doesn't get it. He sees friendship, but she knows it's business. He sees poverty, and to her it's just laziness. He sees disease, and she recognizes it as nothing more than justice.

Step Three: Never let anything get under your skin.

There's a letter sitting beside the sink as she applies her makeup. It has no return address, it's signed simply "Angel", and it begins with the words, This isn't for you, or Benny. This is for Mimi's sake. She's been trying to ignore it, but it's still there.
Finally, she sets it down and says in a soft, cold voice that masks all possible hurt and sadness, "Benny? We need to talk."

[mergatrude.livejournal.com]

*flails*

You are amazing, Sprat!

Hollow, Rent, Mark/Roger, protect me from what I want, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

The sounds of the heart monitor and the respirator were part of Mark's mental soundtrack now; if they stopped, something would be missing, empty, not-right... exactly how Mark's life would be once they were turned off.

"I wish I hadn't kissed you," he whispered to the too-young (always too young, always had been) former rock star in the bed. "If I hadn't done that... I would've been here. We could've worked it out. You wouldn't be here," he trailed off brokenly and sighed. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry."

There was nothing more to say. There was too much left to say. But he hadn't woken up in three weeks and Mark refused to be selfish anymore. He pressed a tender kiss to Roger's forehead, then called the doctor in.

The doctor turned the respirator off and left. Mark tried not to notice the absence of the hissing and whirring, concentrating on the beeping of the heart monitor.

The beeps melted together. The doctor came in again and turned it off. Mark's ears felt strange, empty. Hollow.

He didn't cry.

On the Appropriate Uses of Sarcasm, Rent, April/Roger, cage, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

"You're laughing at me."

"Yes. Yes I am."

Roger glared ineffectively at the cheerfully grinning girl perched on the windowsill. "You should be worried."

"I'm not."

"You should be upset."

"Not really."

"You should be in tears, begging me to reassure you that I'm alright."

"Roger, you're fine," she said, still grinning and suppressing laughter.

"I'm in the fucking psych ward!" he exploded in frustration.

"Well," she said mildly, "hopefully now you've learned not to be sarcastic to the school counselor."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, you mental patient."

Approval, Studio 60, Matt/Suzanne, feedback, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

"How was the show?"

Suzanne stopped on her way to Matt's office, wondering if he'd been waiting to ambush her specifically, or just whoever happened to come by first. "It was good," she said.

"You sure?" Matt wasn't very good at pretending he was calm, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Yeah." Suzanne nodded. Hesitated. "But, um, maybe you should ask Danny? 'Cause I generally think the show's good every week."

"Oh. Yeah." Matt nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. Suzanne started towards the office again. "It's just--" she stopped and turned. Matt's expression was nervous and earnest. "I wanted to know what you thought."

Suzanne smiled shyly. "It was good." Matt grinned crookedly.

"Okay."

They turned and went back to their normal post-show routine. Suzanne didn't stop smiling until she fell asleep.

Incomplete, Rent, Roger, portrait, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

He was the kind of person who inspired others - a muse, April had called him. She'd tried to capture him in lines, in curves,in shades of black and white and gray and rainbows. She'd tried to capture the cocky grin, the mischievous glint in his eye. She never quite managed it, but looking at the drawings after she died told a story of love and addiction and perfection.

Not that Roger was perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes... sometimes, on film, Mark could almost believe it. He could forget that Roger wasn't perfect and just see the passionate muse that would be remembered long after the real Roger was gone. There was no way to capture him without that one aspect drowning out everything else.

After he died, Mark thought as he filmed Roger laughing with Mimi, all that would be left would be these incomplete portraits of a larger-than-life rock star. And somehow, that seemed right.

Shoe Fetish, Sports Night, Dana/Natalie, shoes, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

"Natalie?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are your shoes?"

"What?" Natalie wandered out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry, and it took Dana a moment to remember that she had not called Natalie out of the bathroom to look at her naked.

"Your shoes," Dana repeated, motioning to the closet. "All that's in there are a pair of sneakers, a pair of loafers, and a couple different brown and black heels."

Natalie looked at her oddly. "Yeah?"

"Well where are the rest of them?"

"That is the rest of them." Dana blinked, startled, and Natalie laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Not every woman has as impressive a shoe collection as you."

"But you don't even have ten pairs and--" Natalie cut her off with a deep kiss that left Dana rather breathless and not caring about shoes.

"I'll make breakfast."

A Leap Begins, Sports Night, Dan/Natalie, here goes, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"I think it's a bad idea."

"I realize that, I acknowledge it, and I'm saying I don't care."

"You don't care?"

"I just said that."

"No, you said that you were saying that, there's a difference... Look, all I'm saying is you're her boss, it could be considered sexual harassment."

"Actually, Dana's her boss. Dana's also our boss, so I don't see the problem."

"Workplace relationships are a bad idea, Danny, always."

"What about Dana?"

"I never dated Dana."

"But you want to."

"And you know why I don't? Professionalism."

"Professionalism?"

"Professionalism. Professionals don't date people who work in their office."

"What bad thing do you think is going to happen if I ask her out?"

"I don't know, the sky could fall down, you could get a lawsuit–"

"I think you're jealous."

"Jealous that you're not asking me out?"

"No, jealous that I'm asking someone out and you're not."

"I'm married, Danny, I can't ask people out."

"Exactly."

"I'm sure that made sense, but for the life of me I can't–"

"Here she comes."

"Do not–"

"I'm going to."

"Danny, I'm telling you..."

"Hey, Natalie! I was just thinking..."

So This Is Love, Sports Night, Dan/Natalie, dizzy, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Dan keeps trying to explain it – to Casey, who's tired of it, to Dana, who alternates between flustered-and-not-listening to flustered-and-somewhat-bemused, to Isaac, who really doesn't care (or pretends not to), to the crew, whose reactions range from thinking he's kind of cute (Kim) to looking at him like he's a little crazy (Will). He's been trying to explain it to basically everyone but Natalie, because telling her would just be embarrassing, but...

It's hard to believe he's never felt like this with anyone before, he's never really loved anyone this much, so much he smiles just because she's in the room, so much her voice gives his heart a little jolt, so much her kiss leaves his head spinning, every time.

Sleeping With The Devil, Rent, Roger/the Man, demons, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

They sleep with their backs to each other, never touching then if they can help it, and were it anyone else Luther would wonder what the hell kind of relationship this is, where that becomes the norm. But they don't have a relationship, not unless you stick the phrase love-hate before it, maybe minus the love.

This is not a relationship, and it's not love. It's easy to say what it's not, but what it is, and why, Luther can't say. He hates him – God, he hates him more than he's ever hated anyone – but he's his last real connection to April, in some twisted way, and he can't let go of that. So he fucks him, tries to hurt him as much as he can when he does, gives him smack from time to time, and sleeps with his back turned, wishing like hell he could let go and put a bullet through the bastard's heart.

Alone, Rent, Mark/Collins, can't breathe, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

It hurts so much he can't breathe, his chest hurts from the loneliness, and by the time he manages to get his shaking hands to dial the Loft, he's sobbing uncontrollably. Maureen picks up and almost instantly hands the phone off to Roger, and Mark can hear her telling Roger to keep him calm while she gets dressed.

"It's okay, man," Roger says softly. "We'll be there in five minutes. Ten tops. You just hang on, okay?"

"Okay," Mark manages to choke out, and somehow the time passes and Roger and Maureen are letting themselves in, and Roger's picking him up and saying something to Maureen about packing a bag.

"You're coming home with us," Roger tells him calmly, and Mark wonders what he did to have friends this amazing before it hurts again too much to wonder anything except how he's going to go on without Tom to keep him going.

Only This, Rent, Paul/Roger, I can help, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"Roger?"

Roger lifted his head after a long moment, watching Paul with a baleful gaze. Even when he'd come to Paul's office on his own – and let Paul lead him to his apartment later – he acted like he was forced to be here, either eying the exits or keeping his eyes on the floor. "What?"

"We're not in Life Support now."

He raised an eyebrow, a bit of a sardonic smirk on his lips. "I hadn't noticed."

"What I'm saying is you don't have to look at me like I'm going to try to feed you some message you don't want to hear."

"You believe it, though." Roger looked down again. "That... message. You'll try to fix me."

Paul sighed. "Not fix you. Help you." He shifted over cautiously, rested a hand on Roger's knee. "Let me, please."

Roger bit his lip, then nodded slightly, shifting ever so slightly to lean against Paul. It was enough.

Ceasefire, Facilitated By Chicken Soup - dS - Fraser, Kowalski (asleep)

[kinetikatrue]

[This is a coda to Bathrobe Wars, but you don’t necessarily need to read that to read this.]

The television is on when Fraser gets home, tuned to the Discovery Channel – one of the nature program hosts is saying something about sea otters or Bengal tigers or three-toed sloths. Ray isn’t paying it any attention, though. He’s sacked out on the couch, curled up under the blanket that usually lives on the back, hair spiking out at one end and Trudeau holding down the other, warming Ray’s feet as only a kitten can. Fraser expects he’ll find Diefenbaker in the middle of his bed.

A closer look reveals that Ray has curled himself around a bowl, empty save a spoon, and that there’s an empty plastic quart container sitting beside the couch. Fraser hadn’t been quite sure what he was apologizing for, except perhaps general tactlessness and insensitivity in the face of Ray’s protracted illness, but he’d felt that a gesture needed to be made, all the same, and it seems that it has, in fact, accomplished what it was intended to. Ray has certainly eaten all of the soup.

Fraser moves away from Ray, from unsanctioned intimacy, back to the safe haven of the mat by the door. He takes off his boots, pads on silent sock-feet towards his bedroom, gathers up jeans and a sweater from the seat of the chair where he’d left them folded the night before, moves on into the bathroom to change out of his uniform, freshen up. The uniform is armor, certainly, but this apartment is home, as would be any place that had Ray in it.

Ray’s bathrobe is lying on the floor, just as it has been more often than not, recently. For a moment, Fraser is prisoner to instinctual annoyance, but when he picks up the robe, he finds the action unaccompanied by its usual companion, frustration. Ray is unwell. And Fraser wishes to make a fresh start.

He changes his uniform trousers and shirt for the jeans and sweater, uses the bathroom, washes his hands and face, then returns to his bedroom to deal with his uniform properly. Dief is still curled up on Fraser’s bed, right in the middle, taking up somewhat more room than even someone familiar with wolves might expect, though not someone familiar with Dief. He has a forepaw thrown across his eyes, in a gesture that would clearly indicate mortification if made by a human (though not necessarily a half-wolf), and might yet mean the same thing in this instance, given that Dief is the half-wolf in question. It’s entirely possible that Fraser will find some evidence to back this theory up when he appropriates the kitchen to make dinner.

First he should apply hanger to uniform, though. His emotions may be disorderly, but that hardly means that the disorder must be allowed to spread into any other areas of his life.

Out in the kitchen, nothing is out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that Ray’s usual coffee cup and teaspoon are absent from the sink. Dief’s dramatic gesture perhaps means nothing, after all. Fraser retrieves the peanut sauce he’d carefully rescued the night before (he doubts he will ever be able to allow perfectly good food go to waste, even in anger) from the refrigerator, the cookbook Ray had been using from its home on the small kitchen bookshelf. Then he sets to work chopping peppers and chicken and boiling rice. It’s soothing work, familiar in its rhythms, even if Ray sometimes favors more exotic ingredients than Fraser had access to, growing up. But, then, he supposes, Ray might say the same about his lichen and caribou venison. Has done, even, on numerous occasions. And yet gone on to taste it, just as he’ll try anything once. A fact that continues to give Fraser hope.

He looks up some time later, to find that Ray has wandered over to the kitchen while he was occupied is now leaning one hip against the far counter, looking pale and sleep-rumpled. He yawns a bit as he says. “Hey, Frase. Thanks for leaving Dief here to keep me company.”

Fraser answers, habitually, without turning away from the stove, but he means it quite sincerely and he expects that comes through in his voice. He turns partway around to ask, “Now, how was your day?”

And Ray grins and says, “Well, Fraser, let me tell you a story . . . “

[laylee.livejournal.com]

That was so very sweet. I love all the unspoken words between them. They do know what the other is thinking, they just need to be brave and take the leap!

[mezzo-cammin.livejournal.com]

Oh,that was just great. I loved how the expressions on Fraser's face just went with the words of the song soooo well...and it was beautiful and funny...just like them! :)

[qe2.livejournal.com]

Um.

I am ded now.

(But happily so. God, your writing.)