anthony, mine

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    tired tired


it's been brought to my attention that the purpose of this community isn't made clear enough in the userinfo. quite simply, this is a community for posting prompts and responding to prompts. posts must be one or the other. when you respond to a prompt, you should clearly state what prompt you're responding to, and i don't want any of that "this kind of fits" stuff. if you're looking for readership, lj has hundreds of communities for that.

transrelativity and i have been pretty lax about this in the past, but we're going to start being more strict. so please, please don't make this difficult for us. we both love this community and we want it to stay focused and run smoothly.
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    sick sick

Response: Ant & Grasshopper

Prompt--I hate this job. Too many people depend on me, and I'm tired of fucking up. Someone always gets hurt because I failed to be the hero. I never asked to be a hero in the first place. I just got handed the damn job when no one else had the balls to do it.
I'm tired of losing friends because of me. I'm tired of the shit I have to deal with. I'm just tired.

Low blood-sugar? You think?Collapse )

"You Were Talking About the End of the World"

It had been snowing. She was sitting in a room that seemed to be a porch or front room that faced a huge picture window. Then she couldn't see out into the world, it was all white and she saw, closer to the window, where the rain was pelting the snow. The temperature had fallen and now it was raining, which made sense, as the white that stole the visibility was just the steam resulting from the rain hitting the snow. Then someone, it was probably her sister, shouted, "Whoa, look at that!"

The "that" was something that looked like hail, but regular, shaped like the mini-marshmellows for hot chocolate, and they fell to earth. She looked up as one the size of a haybale rolled down the street as if it was just a puff. It couldn't have been that she actually opened the door to scoop up one of the things up, but she must have because she was holding one in her hand and it disintegrated into white grit. She was facing forward, where she couldn't see but knew the ocean was, out there, in the white.

Red and orange broke through as something bright streaked down to the sea and she knew at once it was a meteor as it exploded. The shochwave would come, she knew, and she wondered if the building she was in was in the blast range. All she could think was, "I'm about to be obliterated. I'm about to find out what death is really like." The shockwave came and shook the house but they lived. There was more, for example being in the upstairs computer room from the house in Wallingford and wanting to call her best friend to see if she and her family were ok, and her father telling her not to go out, because the space radiation might still be in the air.

CHALLENGE: Take a line from a song you like, match it up to the narration of a dream you've had. Have fun, write drunk.
  • Current Music
    Title Screen Music from DVD 'Amalie' playing repeatedly

Time to break the silence

I was looking through my journal and found something that someone said would be good as a prompt. Well, here it is:

"I like you and she reminds me of you, so when I see her face I think of you. It makes me bite my lips to continue working."

Nothing else, just the line. See what you can come up with.

Fan-Fic Challenge II: Secret Origins

Much in the vein of the original Fan-Fic challenge, the goal here is to muck about with published works. In this case, comic books.

I want to see your version of an established comic book character’s origin story.

This can be a complete restructuring from the ground up (“Broos’Wain watched in horror as his entire world was destroyed before his eyes…he vowed that day to take revenged on the Earth criminals who had done this, in the form of his people’s sacred animal, the Bat!”), a retelling of the classic origin from another point of view (“When the radioactivity hit me, I knew I had not long to live…if only I could pass on my spidery essence to someone else, like that nerdy kid below me…”), or a revealing take to show that there was more going on there than we were led to believe (“Clark always believed that his coming into my and Johnathon’s life was pure change. But it was I who directed his spaceship from Krypton to us.”). Or you can tell a formulative moment in a characters life that has until now be left up to speculation (“The Day After The Horrible Day of the Telephone, by Spider Jerusalem…”).

The Fine PrintCollapse )

There are a few guidelines:

1) Must include at least one pre-published character.
2) Character does not have to be a superhero, but it does have to be originally published in comics. Despite the vast amount of STAR WARS comics, those are movie characters first, so don’t use them. Setting your story inside the world of a TV show or movie based on a comic, however, is fine.
3) Character must still be recognizable by the end of the story. Any story where Bruce Wayne dresses like a butterfly and starts handing out candy to small children is not going to win. Conversely, a story where her parents are killed in a police crossfire and Batwoman becomes the world’s greatest criminal mastermind has a chance.
4) Manga is not allowed; let’s save that for another Fan-Fic Challenge. Western sources only, please.

There will be bonus points for fan service.

The winner of the competition will get a custom-made work of art relating to their piece. Possibly an illustration of a vital scene, a replica of an important prop or gadget, or an action figure made in your character’s likeness. I won’t know what to make until I read them.

Deadline is April 7th. You have two weeks.


She knew quite well that she would be let go the next day, knew it with a certainty that bordered on obscene. It was the same way that you hoped your parents hadn't gotten the mail yet the day your interims were due to arrive but knew they had. Then with a sickening certainty, that same certainty, in fact, you walked in to find them opened and on the dining room table. You knew then that there was no escape from the destiny that would dog you for the next few days, hell, maybe even the next few weeks. It was kind of like that, actually.

Barb Hardy had a nose for these things, hell, she'd been at the company long enough. In a way, her doomsaying made sense; it was a payday after all and the timing was right. There had been all the folks let go, and then all the folks put in new departments that very day. She wasn't worried now because she knew that if they intended to let her go, that there was really nothing she could do.

She felt too postmodern that night, if it can even be said that someone can feel like that, like all the lights and sounds and sights of night was too much for her. Sometimes, and she thought about this as she wandered through the Giant looking for things to eat. But then, everyone here with her was wrong, like the way they scrutinized the sides of boxes of foods, my so-called low-carb life she thought. It really didn't matter, and this came back to her during the drunken rounds of charades, none of it mattered except the harsh lick of tequilla at the bottom of the shot glass.

Maybe they wouldn't lay her off the next day. At least she could pass out comfortably in her own bed and maybe even have some time for herself to feel that lovely throb of pleasure before hand. Probably not, though. Probably she'd just fall asleep again. Or watch Inu-Yasha or something. It was hard to think about life when they might lay you off in less than 24 hours. Maybe she'd go to the movies or something after that.
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    drunk drunk