be_compromised | Promptathon is heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!

Entry tags:

promptathon 2012

Promptathon is heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!

The Good Ship C/N Promptathon
of Magic and Joy: Aka, The Promptathon of All Wonderful Things Involving Two Certain Badass Assassin People Doing Badass Things and Being Awesome. And Badass. And Pretty. And Stuff.

NOTE: The promptathon has now closed, but please enjoy all the lovely fic and fanworks. in our Masterposts below.

Master List of all Promptathon fanworks.

Master List, Part 2 now with more delicious everything!

**Many thanks to rayruzfor the beautiful graphic.

******************

NOTE: PROMPTING HAS NOW CLOSED, BUT FICS AND FANWORKS MAY STILL BE SUBMITTED THROUGH AUGUST 31ST. THANKS!

Welcome!!!! The time is now upon us. This will kick off a month's worth of prompting and fanworking and all the good things. Not sure what to do? Click below for our handy-dandy Promptathon Guide!

RULES ON POSTING SUBMISSIONS
(please read before you post! <3)

The Rules. Just follow these three easy steps!

1. Leave a Prompt.
Prompts can be anything--simple or elaborate, words or pictures, songs or poems, lyrics or phrases. Anything that, to you, inspires a C/N fanwork. Use your imagination. Go crazy. All I ask is that you keep it tasteful and warn for anything explicit or triggery. Also, try to be as specific as you can with your prompts--this is often very helpful to those creating the fanwork.

And leave as many prompts as you want. I’m serious. Keep coming back, y’all. We want all the prompts we can possibly get Also, be sure to leave each prompt as a separate comment.

2. Wait a week.
Tailgate and chitchat and keep leaving prompts. And mull over the epic fanworks you are creating.

3. Submit C/N fanwork like there is no tomorrow.
All submissions should either be posted here or linked to this post via a comment. The nitty gritty details of posting your stuff can be found HERE. Please read before you post

Timeframe:
Prompts will be accepted starting today, Friday, July 13th (!!!) and will remain open until Friday, August 10th. Submissions may be submitted beginning on Friday, July 20th and may continue to be submitted until August 10th.

What we hope to accomplish with all this promptathon-iness:

A chance to get in the game. Been wanting to jump into the C/N fanwork scene but not sure where to start? Now’s the time. There’s no length requirement on the works submitted, you can focus on drabbles and vidlets and short and sweet projects (or do longer more epic stuff if that strikes your fancy as well). It’s really entirely up to you. We’re just hoping to provide a fun, no-pressure environment.

Meet new and awesome people. Because srsly, I love everyone in this bar. It's a good damn bar. Don't be afraid to say hello
Ship like you’ve never shipped before.
Tailgate when appropriate. My motto is, if something ain’t a cocktail party, you just aren’t trying hard enough. In that spirit, aurora_0811and I are hosting the tailgate section (which I think at this point just includes random chatter and ridiculousness, cheerleading and tomfoolery, because I doubt our comm’s talkative nature will be suppressed even during the prompting/waiting period.) So pull up a helicarrier-shaped lawnchair, crack open a cold one and settle in for the festivities. And leave prompts.

And most of all, have fun. :)

Page 112 of 165

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Clint sets Natasha to chopping produce, since he knows she’s comfortable with a knife in her hand, and he watches in morbid fascination as she takes out her frustrations on the carrots, onions and celery.

He dices the still-steaming chicken and guides her through the spice cabinet. “Thyme.” “Basil.” “Bay leaves.” She does all the measuring, turning to him for confirmation before dumping it into the pot.

“This is stupid,” she says, and he says, “This is what people do, Tash,” and she says “People are stupid,” and he silently agrees.

They bring Tony chicken soup anyway. And more Kleenex.

The Black Widow is gone by the time he makes it to the appointed spot. No surprise. She’d given him a bare ten minutes to cover half the city, and he’s not Superman.

This is the third time she’s played this game, set him on a chase, led him on. She’s enjoying herself. But so is he.

He finds the cigarette balanced on the edge of a wrought-iron fence. It’s hers; by now he knows her shade of lipstick. He hasn’t smoked in years, but he takes a drag anyway, because it means putting his lips where hers have been.

A/N: Guys... I don't even know...

He’s just gotten himself back, gotten her back, and now she wants to go play soldier.

“What’d Loki do to you?” he asks, but he doesn’t expect a straight answer. He knows she can’t explain it to him if she can’t even explain it to himself. She’s changed since he saw her last in ways that are more important than the length of her hair.

She’s always been angry, but now that anger has been distilled into something else, something strong, possibly toxic.

Her name has always been written in his ledger. First on one side, now on the other.

*adjusts halo* I do recommend the books, too! Or, at the very least, the first one - the second and third are a bit different in terms of overall plot.

It would really wig people out - a cross between 'OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING' and 'oh, okay, you two, get a room, that uh, wow okay'. Touching another person's daemon is...in the books, it's stated that not even enemy soliders in battle touch each other's daemons. Now, I think this is not quite true, but it's got a deep level of instinctual stigma attached. Lyra, the main character, has her daemon handled by an evil scientist (very much against her will) at one point, and she feels sick and violated. Obviously, it's different when lovers do it, but even then, it's a statement of huge trust and intimacy.

So, while I do see Clint and Natasha's daemons touching the other, if anyone were to witness it, it'd be...discomforting? in various ways.

(and of course this has to be written, For Reasons.)

Dude... thank you. My Clint feels are killing me right now, followed closely by my Natasha feels. FEELS. And my ever-expanding "save me from the monsters" thesis for this whole crazy patchwork quilt of a story.

Hey-- do you mind if I do a post over at my place (fic update and whatnot) that includes 'your heart was an open book' plus 'the sweet taste' plus this one?

Also, I keep wanting moar scenes from this verse. Just one peek more into this worls I keep teeling myself.... **shakes head**

So wait-- should I post everything so far in chronological order? I totally fine with doing that unless you wanted to save it for the big reveal.

Hmmm..... maybe hold off on telling everyone exactly where 'small acts/road to damascus' fit in right now (other than saying they were the inspiration. I feel like maybe we keep that secret until the end. also, we probably need to figure that out first.) but i'm fine with including bait/switch. What say you?

Lives ruined indeed. Not regretting it either. :D

(You guys do realize that you are killing us all ded over here, right? Right? Thought so. ;) )

Eeeeee!

Yeah, I'm fine with chronological. Might be helpful to tell everyone how they all line up (and agreed about the final presentation; I think we're going to want to play around with that.)

But we do probably need some sort of post for reference. And maybe everyone else wouldn't mind either. :)

Give me a few hours and I'll put something together.

(in a good way? i hope? i swear, it's going to be fun to actually start to line up these little puzzle pieces...)

Oh, definitely in a good way. ;)

It's fun now. You're just killing us making us wait for more!!! (And maybe with the teasing. Please don't stop. That's fun, too. Because I am greedy and impatient and loving this, so.) :D

*adjusts halo* I do recommend the books, too! Or, at the very least, the first one - the second and third are a bit different in terms of overall plot.

I see those horns holding that up, missy! ;)

I have a strange relationship with Phillip Pullman's books. The first thing I was given (by a favorite cousin who happens to be a children's librarian and sent me amazing books every birthday and Christmas) was the Sally Lockhart series, and I didn't like some of the plot twists therein. Because. She also sent me The Golden Compass, but I was hesitant to read more of his stuff, so I've just never gotten around to it. It's on the list for eventually, though (now more than it was.)

It would really wig people out - a cross between 'OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING' and 'oh, okay, you two, get a room, that uh, wow okay'. ... Obviously, it's different when lovers do it, but even then, it's a statement of huge trust and intimacy.

Hmm. Two questions, then: first, how far apart (in terms of physical space) would or could someone get from their own daemon? second: can an outside observer tell who's daemon is whose without cues like who they're in contact with or near?

Because Clint and Tasha are seriously messed up kids after all (I actually have two versions of them in my head at this point - the ones from the movie(ish) that are doing fairly ok and you can make PG-13 movies about, and the 'if they weren't so useful, or we knew what was going on between them when no one else is around, we'd probably commit them' version. This might be pinging on the later more than the former.)

Also I kind of want JARVIS to actually be Tony's Daemon. At least after Afghanistan.

I lied. Three questions: I know they fluctuate shape when they're young and then settle into a form - do they ever change after that if their person has a major shift? (Am wondering how being "unmade" would affect someone's Daemon.)

So, while I do see Clint and Natasha's daemons touching the other, if anyone were to witness it, it'd be...discomforting? in various ways.

Bug or feature? Cause they love to frak with people. ;) Poor Coulson.

(and of course this has to be written, For Reasons.)

Why the hell am I contemplating writing something from a universe I haven't even read? Why? ::this 'ship/fandom may be the ruin of me.::

Most of the teasing is actually unintentional (except when we're just being evil), b/c this story is truly a work in progress. Hell, half the time we don't even know where we're going until one of says, "hey, wouldn't it be cool, IF..." ;)

I figured it probably wasn't intentional, and I get what you mean about that kind of collaboration. I've done that a little bit in some HP Next Gen fic with a friend before. :D

SQUEE!! OMG pheeels!

<3 <3 <3 <3

(With thanks to Bee for graciously beta-ing her own prompt and being typically awesome. Four parts here, or in one hit at my lj: http://im-ridiculous.livejournal.com/1382.html)

“I shouldn’t have to tell you how significant this opportunity is, Agent Barton.”

The SHIELD director leans forward, his expression dark.

Barton says nothing, but takes the file Fury hands him. Its dog-eared cover is stamped with an inky red ‘CENSORED’.

“I know who her target is and I don’t care. You’re going to let it happen, take her out, bring the body back here when you’re done. I have... questions.”

Barton raises an eyebrow at that, but Fury only scowls. “Everything you need to know is in the file. Read it, get ready. This one could get interesting.”

***

Coulson wanders into the rec room on Tuesday afternoon looking for a snack and a coffee. Instead, he finds Barton hunched over the table. The sandwich in the agent’s hand is hovering, forgotten, halfway between the plate and his mouth.

Barton looks up from an open file when he hears his handler come in. “You heard about this mission?”

Coulson nods as he pours himself a coffee and sits down. “What’s it say?”

Barton snorts derisively and pushes the file across the table. Coulson leafs through pages marked by more thick black lines than text. His mouth tightens to a thin line. “I see.”

“Codename: Black Widow,” Barton recites. “Origin? Redacted. Age? Redacted. First recorded activity? Redacted. Appearance? Who the hell knows. Fury ‘isn’t ready’ to hand over the pictures yet.”

Barton reaches out to take the file back. “Is he serious about this?”

Coulson sips his coffee. “There’s gotta be something in there. Old ops reports?”

“Yeah, but can I trust what’s in here? Look at this--” Barton flicks to the top of the second page. “First of all, it lists one of her primary weapons as ‘thighs’. Seriously. And then there’s this: ‘Kill rate: 100 per cent’.” He looks up at his handler. “I’m expected to believe she’s never failed or aborted a mission? Ever?”

Coulson almost rolls his eyes at that. “Well, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to believe that, sure.”

Barton’s eyes narrow.

“What is your kill rate again, Barton?”

“You suggesting I can’t take her?”

“I’m just asking what your percentage is.”

Barton looks back down at the file, muttering.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said you know my kill rate and 97.8 per cent is still the highest in the agency. And there were mitigating weather factors involved.”

“That’s what it’s called, huh?”

Barton doesn’t answer, just scowls at the page in front of him.

Coulson allows himself the smallest of smirks as he takes another sip of coffee.

***

Edited 2012-08-02 07:03 (UTC)

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question.”

Coulson turns in surprise at the sound of Barton’s voice. It’s 5am on Wednesday and the archer’s sitting in semi-darkness in the rec room with an open file on his lap.

“Barton, have you been here all night?”

“Hypothetically,” Barton says, ignoring him, “you’re trapped in a warehouse full of leaking oil barrels--”

“Why are there oil barrels?

“It’s a warehouse.”

“Why are they leaking?”

“Because they’ve been sabotaged, Coulson,” Barton says impatiently. “Look, you’re in the warehouse, you’ve been ambushed and knocked out. You come to and you’ve been tied to a pallet of leaking barrels. You target’s tied up, still out cold and out of reach, and tied to him is some kind of incendiary device with a timer, which is counting down and currently reads two minutes. What do you do?”

“Barton, wh--”

“C’mon, what do you do?”

Coulson sighs. “Well, I guess I’d have to free myself first--”

“Can’t. Not in time.”

“Ah... I would call in backup--”

“Don’t have any.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow. “If I didn’t have any backup, I wouldn’t have gone into the warehouse in the first place, Barton.”

“Let’s pretend you decided to live a little. No backup. And your only weapon within reach is,” he consults the file, “some kind of taser thing.”

“Ok... well... I can’t use my weapon without sparking the oil--”

“Very true--”

“And I can’t free myself?”

“No.”

There’s a pause while Coulson thinks.

“Well, as the target will also be killed in the blast, I guess I would be honoured to die in the service of my country.”

Another pause.

“Wow.”

“Fine, Barton. What would you do?”

“We’ll never know. But if I were the Black Widow, I would use my famous thighs to drag myself within reach of the target and disarm the bomb with my feet. Then I’d free myself, kill the target and set fire to the warehouse as I leave, destroying the evidence. All within five minutes.”

Coulson’s eyebrows are dangerously close to his hairline.

“I know. And there’s pages of stuff like that,” says Barton, flipping through the file, picking out passages at random. “She’s pushed out of a plane over an unspecified body of water, somehow survives the fall, swims to shore and makes it back to base a week later with a broken leg... She’s caught trying to cross a ‘redacted’ border at ‘redacted’ checkpoint, takes out five soldiers and escapes... She cosies up to the dictator of Redactedsville, then sparks a riot and brings down his regime so a new one can be installed...”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If only half the stuff in here is true... The woman’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.”

***

On Thursday, Coulson’s back in the rec room looking for lunch. He’s barely surprised to see Barton sitting at the table as he walks in.

“Afternoon Barton. Those my pre-mission briefs you’re working on there? Weapons inventory?”

Barton glances up before turning back to the file.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen to this: she once took out 27 heavily-armed assault troops in Kazakhstan, using only a nail file.”

When his handler doesn’t respond, Barton looks up to check he’s listening. “Twenty-seven heavily-armed troops, Coulson. A nail file.”

Coulson pours himself a coffee. “OK, well, be sure and ask what brand she uses. I’ll add a few to the next requisition order.”

“You’ve gotta admit that’s impressive.”

Coulson takes a sip of coffee and looks over at the archer, who’s now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at the file with something like admiration.

“She’s a highly trained assassin, Barton. That’s her job. Do I look impressed when you take out a bunch of guys with one arrow?”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not impressed though, right?”

“Barton--”

“And even I never managed 27 people with a nail file.”

Coulson lets out a long-suffering sigh, picks up his tray and leaves the room without another word.

“Fine,” Barton calls after him. “I’m just saying it’s, y’know... above average.”

***

Edited 2012-07-31 13:02 (UTC)

On Friday evening, Coulson has to call Barton’s name three times before the man hears him. Even then, a grunt is all the response he gets.

“Still looking at that file, huh?” he asks carefully.

Barton ignores the question and doesn’t look up from the file when he speaks.

“None of the stuff I really need to know is in here.”

“You’ve been giving me the highlights of that file for a week Barton, you know plenty.”

“There’s plenty I don’t: where she grew up, how old she is...”

Coulson eyes Barton warily, but says nothing.

“Fury did finally hand over some photos, though. Only three, all hard copies, and they’re... strange. This one,” he hands a photo to Coulson, “seems too old to be the right girl.”

The picture is a faded square the size of a beer coaster. The image isn’t quite in focus and seems to have been taken through a golden filter, making the girl’s auburn hair shine, the whole retro feel compounded by her vintage 60s miniskirt and turtleneck sweater. Large, heavy-framed sunglasses obscure her face.

“Well, if Fury added it to the file...” Coulson says, squinting at it.

“Yeah, but how old would you say that girl is? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight, maybe? Now, look at this one...”

It shows a very similar-looking girl, blonde this time, in a nondescript European street glancing warily over her shoulder; the only label, a simple ‘West Berlin’.

“She looks exactly the same. Which is... whatever, but also ‘West’ Berlin? And I checked, that cafe behind her closed down seven years ago.”

“What are you saying, Barton?

Barton doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at the photograph. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Nothing that makes any sense,” he says finally, picking up the third photograph and handing it to Coulson. “This one was taken a week ago by the source for this job.”

It’s labelled ‘Intercontinental Hotel, Bucharest’ and shows the same pretty, 20-something redhead holding a martini and laughing with a fat and balding mustachioed man, her hand on his arm.

“Doin’ a real number on that guy, huh? Yeah buddy, she thinks you’re hilarious,” he snorts. “What an idiot...” Barton is craning his neck to look at the photo in Coulson’s hand, a smug smile on his lips.

When he chuckles softly to himself, Coulson decides it’s time to intervene.

Edited 2012-07-31 13:02 (UTC)

“OK, that’s it - Barton, are you sure you’re in the right frame of mind for this mission?”

Barton looks up from the photograph, surprised. “Are you kidding? I’ve been going over this file for four days now.”

“Exactly. This file. No language skills, no location assessment. No weapons inventory either, which was due on my desk yesterday by the way.”

“Coulson, c’mon. You really need me to write ‘the usual’ every time I--”

“Yes, Barton, I do. It’s protocol. It exists for a reason. It forces you to prepare properly.”

The archer gestures to the file spread out in front of him. “This is preparation.”

“It’s somewhat single-minded.”

“She’s an expert assassin. A professional. You don’t think single-mindedness is a good idea?”

Coulson chooses his next words carefully. “You don’t think you’re taking more than a professional interest in this mission?”

Barton frowns, then laughs, bemused. “The hell? No.”

There’s a pause, as Coulson opens his mouth to speak, stops, closes it again. He changes tack.

“I want the weapons inventory and the location report on my desk before you leave in the morning. And I want you to do a risk assessment.”

Barton scoffs. “I can do that now. ‘Brief: take down deadly and highly effective assassin who’s been known to kill 27 troops using only a nail file. Risk category: high.’ Happy?”

“Not particularly. This woman is deadly and highly effective, Barton. And you seem to be more interested in enjoying her exploits than planning a mission to take her out.”

“Coulson, you know how this works. I need to know everything about a target: how she operates, how she’ll react, that she’s capable of killing 27 armed men with a nail file.”

“You seem unusually preoccupied with that detail--”

“Why aren’t you? You’re the one who wanted the risk assessment!”

“Listen to yourself Barton! I’ve been listening to it for a week now and to be honest, you’re starting to sound... Well, you sound...”

“What, Coulson?” Barton snaps, his temper fraying. “I sound what?”

“Fannish.”

It’s a moment before Barton can speak.

“‘Fannish’? ‘Fannish’--”

“--and I think it’s clouding your judgement.”

Barton glares across the table at his handler. Several seconds tick by before he takes a deep breath and shifts his attention back to the file.

“You’re dreaming it, Coulson. And you’re forgetting that I am also a deadly and highly-effective assassin. Relax. She’ll be dead by Sunday morning.”

Coulson seems to think about speaking, but thinks better of it and gets up to leave instead.

Alone in the rec room, Barton looks again at the Bucharest photo, at the redhead smiling so convincingly at her mark, and mutters to himself.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a waste, is all I’m saying...”

Okay, you already know I love this story like whoa, but let me say it again: I LOVE THIS STORY LIKE WHOA.

Also? 'Redactedville' is never going to stop being hilarious. Ever.

There is so much West Wing bantery awesomness here I can't even.

Edited 2012-07-31 13:36 (UTC)

I find your confidence inspiring. ;P

I'M BACK. WITH FLAIL.

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude. This installment is just awesome incarnate. Is it wrong that when Barton walks into the room and he and Coulson are squaring off that I'm just sitting there having an 'oh hai' moment? Srsly, the testosterone they are throwing off in that scene is giving me the vapors. It's just two Major Players sitting down for a little chess game and it works. It totally works. And the underlying friendship/respect works too. Their whole dynamic here just fucking kicks ass.

(and why do i suddenly feel like we've set out to write a noir epic? b/c i think that might be exactly what we're doing....)

And the ending. Kills me ded. KEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS ME. DED.

Edited 2012-07-31 13:59 (UTC)

...LUUUUUUSH that is all.

Have you read Naked Pantomime in the Dark by samalander on AO3? High school theatre AU *grins*.

Dare you to write your own! :D

Haha, the things kids say are brilliant :D

...I know this quote, but I can't remember where it's from and it's driving me nuts lol. Is it from Angel?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 112 of 165

Promptathon is heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!

DRABBLE: For the Soul (G)

DRABBLE: Like Smoke (PG, for, um, smoking?)

DRABBLE: Not a Soldier (G)

Re: FIC: In Sickness and in Health (G; daemon!AU)

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: In Sickness and in Health (G; daemon!AU)

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: Fic: Shelter in the Curving of My Heart, Rating: PG

FIC:Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (1/4); Rated R (violent references, no warnings)

FIC: Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (Part 2/4)

FIC: Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (Part 3/4)

FIC: Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (Part 4/4)

Re: FIC: Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (Part 4/4)

Re: FIC: someone else’s song (rated R for language and violent references) 2/2

Re: FIC: the sweet days of sugar (rated PG-13 for language) 2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject