Getsuyobi - Prompt is the First Line
Jan. 24th, 2011 07:20 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficHappy Monday, y'all. My name is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tiptoe39 and I am tickled pink to be your host for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic this week.
Inspiration comes in funny ways, doesn't it? We're all here because we love to write, but sometimes we just need a prompt - a beginning. So today your prompts will be the first line. Give your writers a push out of the gate and see where they run with it!
As always, obey the rules:
Feed the overworked codemonkeys correctly formatted prompts:
If you don't see a beginning you'd like to continue, head back to our Lonely Prompts and give them a happy ending instead.
[theme=promptisthefirstline]
tiptoe39 and I am tickled pink to be your host for comment_fic this week.Inspiration comes in funny ways, doesn't it? We're all here because we love to write, but sometimes we just need a prompt - a beginning. So today your prompts will be the first line. Give your writers a push out of the gate and see where they run with it!
As always, obey the rules:
- Three prompts per fandom, and no more than five total. If one of your prompts is filled, you may post another.
- No spoilers for new shows/seasons until at least one week after airing.
- If your fill contains spoilers, please warn for it and leave enough space for people to pass by.
Feed the overworked codemonkeys correctly formatted prompts:
- Supernatural, Dean/author's choice, It was the last person Dean ever expected to see through the peephole of the motel room door.
- Fringe, Peter/Olivia, "We're going to have to talk about this sooner or later."
- Heroes/Nu!Trek, Peter Petrelli/Jim Kirk, Peter couldn't help but wonder what his mother would say right now.
If you don't see a beginning you'd like to continue, head back to our Lonely Prompts and give them a happy ending instead.
[theme=promptisthefirstline]
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-24 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 01:06 am (UTC)Balthasar wasn't the least bit fazed by the scowl. "Well, that's one hell of a question. Do you love my father?"
Ben made a face. "No."
"How do you know?" He sprawled over the couch, making Ben look at him even more suspiciously. The more wrinkles appeared on the boy's forehead, the more fun Balthasar was having.
"Cause I don't know him."
"Are you sure about that?"
Ben stopped, pondered the question. “Why? Is he famous or something?”
Balthasar laughed loudly. “Yes, he’s quite famous.”
“What is he, a rock star? He’d have to be really old.” Ben wrinkled his nose and looked over at the doorway, mentally urging his mom to hurry up and come downstairs. This conversation was getting more confusing than boring.
“My father,” Balthasar said, kicking his feet up onto the sofa cushion -- damn it, Mom never let Ben do that -- “is an artist. I can guarantee you’ve seen his work.”
“An artist?” Ben wrinkled his nose. “That’s boring.”
“He’s also an inventor.” Balthasar went on. “He invented things you use every day.”
“Like what?”
“That,” Balthasar said, ”would be telling.” And now Lisa came through the doorway, looking radiant in a purple gown, and both Ben and Balthasar forgot their questions long enough to rise to their feet stare at her in rapt admiration.
“Do I even want to know what you two were discussing?” Lisa asked.
“Never,” Balthasar said, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”
They were almost to the door when Ben cried out, “Hey! You never answered my question!”
Lisa turned, amused. “ What question is that, sweetie?”
Ben blushed. Balthasar winked at him. “That,” he said, “would also be telling.”
no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 01:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 01:09 am (UTC)Balthasar wasn't the least bit fazed by the scowl. "Well, that's one hell of a question. Do you love my father?"
Ben made a face. "No."
"How do you know?" He sprawled over the couch, making Ben look at him even more suspiciously. The more wrinkles appeared on the boy's forehead, the more fun Balthasar was having.
"Cause I don't know him."
"Are you sure about that?"
Ben stopped, pondered the question. “Why? Is he famous or something?”
Balthasar laughed loudly. “Yes, he’s quite famous.”
“What is he, a rock star? He’d have to be really old.” Ben wrinkled his nose and looked over at the doorway, mentally urging his mom to hurry up and come downstairs. This conversation was getting more confusing than boring.
“My father,” Balthasar said, kicking his feet up onto the sofa cushion -- damn it, Mom never let Ben do that -- “is an artist. I can guarantee you’ve seen his work.”
“An artist?” Ben wrinkled his nose. “That’s boring.”
“He’s also an inventor.” Balthasar went on. “He invented things you use every day.”
“Like what?”
“That,” Balthasar said, ”would be telling.” And now Lisa came through the doorway, looking radiant in a purple gown, and both Ben and Balthasar forgot their questions long enough to rise to their feet stare at her in rapt admiration.
“Do I even want to know what you two were discussing?” Lisa asked.
“Never,” Balthasar said, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”
They were almost to the door when Ben cried out, “Hey! You never answered my question!”
Lisa turned, amused. “ What question is that, sweetie?”
Ben blushed. Balthasar winked at him. “That,” he said, “would also be telling.”