To kick off the new year I present to you a challenge - the SGA gen comment-a-thon challenge (yeah, changed the title. I just really didn't like “non-kink meme.”) There are no due dates, no end dates, so feel free to participate whenever you want.
Rules: You'll be presented with a list of prompts. The challenge, should you choose to accept it...
Readers: Pick a prompt from the list below – only one – and request a story based on that prompt using the following format:
Prompt:
Characters:
Request:
Don't want:
Writers: Pick a request and comment with a story or pick a prompt from the list and comment directly with a story. Posting a story in your own journal or elsewhere is allowed so long as you comment here with the link. Please put the title of your story and/or (should you not have a title yet) rating in the comment header. If you are commenting directly with a prompt of your choosing, please put the prompt at the start of the story (Ex. Prompt: *your prompt here*). Also please warn for anything you feel should be warned for (blood, violence, torture, etc) at the start of the story.
But here is the catch: The story must be gen. Gen, for this meme, are stories that do not focus on a pairing nor anything sexual, though acknowledging canon pairings is fine so long as they are not the focus.
Permitted:
Aus
Crossovers
Commenting with a link to the story
Any questions you may have (just please put “question” in the header).
Posting Anonymously
Not Permitted:
Real people fiction
slash
het
Anything sexual (ex. non-con, off-screen sex, etc).
Prompts:
Bondage
handcuffs/chains/ropes
slavery
drugs/drugging
fetishes
role playing
humiliation
cuddles
dominate
subversive
whipping
beating
messy
dress up
pets
petting
hugging
animals
de-age
body alteration
touch
taste
toys
tentacles
bed sharing
Remember, all stories must be gen.
This meme is all about having fun, so have fun with it :D
ETA: Please post all new requests in Part two of the comment-a-thon. Link to part two can be found below. Thank you.
Click here for part two of the comment-a-thon
Rules: You'll be presented with a list of prompts. The challenge, should you choose to accept it...
Readers: Pick a prompt from the list below – only one – and request a story based on that prompt using the following format:
Prompt:
Characters:
Request:
Don't want:
Writers: Pick a request and comment with a story or pick a prompt from the list and comment directly with a story. Posting a story in your own journal or elsewhere is allowed so long as you comment here with the link. Please put the title of your story and/or (should you not have a title yet) rating in the comment header. If you are commenting directly with a prompt of your choosing, please put the prompt at the start of the story (Ex. Prompt: *your prompt here*). Also please warn for anything you feel should be warned for (blood, violence, torture, etc) at the start of the story.
But here is the catch: The story must be gen. Gen, for this meme, are stories that do not focus on a pairing nor anything sexual, though acknowledging canon pairings is fine so long as they are not the focus.
Permitted:
Aus
Crossovers
Commenting with a link to the story
Any questions you may have (just please put “question” in the header).
Posting Anonymously
Not Permitted:
Real people fiction
slash
het
Anything sexual (ex. non-con, off-screen sex, etc).
Prompts:
Bondage
handcuffs/chains/ropes
slavery
drugs/drugging
fetishes
role playing
humiliation
cuddles
dominate
subversive
whipping
beating
messy
dress up
pets
petting
hugging
animals
de-age
body alteration
touch
taste
toys
tentacles
bed sharing
Remember, all stories must be gen.
This meme is all about having fun, so have fun with it :D
ETA: Please post all new requests in Part two of the comment-a-thon. Link to part two can be found below. Thank you.
Click here for part two of the comment-a-thon
Come and Try 2/4
Date: 2011-01-10 09:45 pm (UTC)From:It was late, or early, depending on whichever notion you preferred. Neither day or night, but somewhere in between, it was a time of promise and regret with yesterday fading and tomorrow still hours away.
Carson sat at his desk, an array of reports and charts scattered in organized chaos. His screen was flickering through images of sea life from Old and New Lantea, a strangely colourless display of sliver, white and black. His shift had ended hours ago, and Keller would be chasing him home soon. Yet, it was not the charts, or reports and monochrome sea life that held him in place.
The curtain directly facing him had been pulled back to let in the cool breeze of a hot summer night. A single, bright green plant from Athos, twisted in the breeze, three or so leaves bending on the long stalk top heavy with a bright red flower.
Rodney was in the chair closest to the window, his feet propped up on the military style, hospital standard, stereotypical bedside cabinet of drawers. The little flower was perched perilously close to his feet, its blossom kissing his boots occasionally.
An oversized tablet was propped up on his lap, the glow from its screen a mirrored promise to the brightening horizon. A thick, black stylus ran along the tablet, squiggling through complex equations, twirling through the complicated dance of the universe.
Occasionally the mad dance would pause, the equation solved or a hitch in his thinking bringing the figures to a standstill. Either a new equation would appear, or he’d clear the slate and start again. Over and over again the dance began, wound to climax and ended. Waltz, foxtrot, tango, quick step. On and on, a ballroom’s delight, deciphering and plumbing the mysterious of space and time.
It wasn’t the dance though that captivated Carson and motivated Rodney. Because, sometimes, just occasionally, erratically, Rodney would pause at some unheard note. And he’d lift the tablet so that John could see better, and a trembling finger would wave vaguely at some complicated twirl. Rodney would stare sometimes, shake his head more often than not, or on the odd occasion scratch out his workings and make corrections, fresh leaps and pirouettes completing the solution.
The peculiar dance of stylus corrected by the haphazard finger of a friend refusing to sleep gave the whole scene a dreamlike moment, like you could blink and think it a dream. Carson waited for each movement, for each glimmer of John Sheppard. But what had kept Carson glued to his seat, legs numb, charts forgotten, bed ignored, was the complete and utter silence that enveloped the scene.
Not a word, or murmur passed between them, the only sounds the ambient noise of pre-dawn life and the scratch of the stylus.
*