Help me defeat my semi-writer's block!

[fan_elune]

The first 15 people to comment on this post, with a fandom, character or pairing and prompt of some sort get to request a drabble from you. If they feel like it, and only if they feel like it, requesters can post this in their journal and write a drabble for you.

And I swear to you people, I will actually write these drabbles straight off. No pushing it back, no waiting months for them. (And by drabble I mean tiny little ficlet. I can't be bothered with word counts.)

The fandoms I'll write in:

1. Firefly
2. Buffy/Angel
3. Profit
4. A Knight's Tale
5. Queer As Folk (UK)
6. Doctor Who (2005 and 2006)
7. Shakespeare In Love
8. Alias
9. Lost
10. The Lord of the Rings
11. The Pirates of the Caribbean
12. Harry Potter
13. Highlander
14. Casanova (the RTD series)
15. Rent

And, like houses_on_fire said, "any [reasonable] crossovers of the above list."

Comments

[maitheas.livejournal.com]

\o/!

fandom: A Knight's Tale
character: Wat, Kate (not as a couple, really, just the two of them interacting)
prompt: Duke of York

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Right! So. It appears that Geoff will always weasel his way into anything AKT I write. Hope you enjoy it!

--

Kate gasped, incredulity and mirth. "You did not!"

Wat shrugs, hanging his head with a grin that is almost bashful. If she didn't know him so well, Kate might have been surprised at the expression. "Couldn't let him get away with it, Duke of York or not. That's the thing with nobles. They think the whole world's theirs."

A table nearby erupts into laughter, Roland's louder than the others, and Wat and Kate both turn from the ales they are sharing at the inn counter to cast a look at their friends. Kate turns back to her ale first, glances back at Wat as his gaze clings to the table. Her lips quirk, knowing fairly well who he's looking at, but she knows better than to say anything, and goes back to the matter at hand.

"But just because he'd spoken ill to that cook?"

"Alice," Wat turns back to her and corrects her with raised eyebrows, and she can't help but smile that he'd insist on her not being referred to as 'that cook'. Then he catches himself, and hangs his head again, rubbing at the back of his neck. "If you let them speak, they soon come to think that they can do, too."

Which is a very Wat way of phrasing it, but Kate knows what he means, and nods. It's the first time she's having an actual serious conversation with Wat, and she's rather happy at what she's discovering, when he's not busy giving in to his fiery temper or being too awfully wary of showing attachment.

"What did he do?"

Wat winces. "Set the dogs on me, 'course." He pushes one of his sleeves up, traces the line of a scar across his forearm. "My only keepsake of Alice. I ran for me life." He shakes his head as he pulls the sleeve back down, and she can see the anger mounting in the clenching of his jaw, the sudden glint in his eyes. "Oh, if I could've been alone with the man for a few minutes... pain. Pain, and tears." He taps his fingers on the counter, clearly getting worked up. "Oh, such a fonging. And not the good kind either."

Kate tilts her head to the side, amused beyond telling. "So there's a good kind of fonging?"

That's when Geoff chooses to lean on the counter between the two of them, and he gives her a winning smile that shines all the way to his eyes. "Oh, but I do hope so." He slaps a coin down on the counter. "Another pitcher of ale, innkeeper."

Kate laughs as she hears Wat groan, and looks around Geoff to see him bury his head in his hands, fingers threading through that impossible red hair of his. Geoff winks at her and heads back to the table, where he - or, more accurately, the pitcher of ale - is greeted by cheers and claps.

Wat looks up at Kate, and she's still grinning, so he drops his head back in his hands.

She laughs again.

[the-grynne.livejournal.com]

ooh. PLeasepleaseplease.

Alias. Sark. "Most boats that go in the rocks really don't intend to go there."

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

He's behind bars. Faced with Sydney Bristow.

Again.

He wonders if he's forming a habit. Not the type of habit he's too keen on.

She's giving him the silent treatment, standing there wrapped in all of her righteousness and grief and strength. She should know better. All it accomplishes is offer him the leisure to study her features, and note the differences between them and Irina's. He's done this many times over the years, but each time he notices something new.

"How's Rachel?" he asks, after a few minutes, and wonders if he cares.

Sydney doesn't answer. He smiles, and walks forward. "How's Mr. Vaughn?"

He sees the working of her jaw and clings to his bratty smile.

It's hard.

Because he is behind bars again, and he learned a good few years ago not to hope that Irina would get him out. Not unless she needed him, and nobody's indispensable, he remembers Khasinau teaching him all these years ago, and then again when she killed him.

He thinks of the first words Irina ever spoke to him. "Most boats that go in the rocks really don't intend to go there," with perfect bloodred lips and a coldness in her eyes he has tried to emulate ever since. "You'll have to learn to steer clear of them."

He looks at Sydney, and tries to ignore the bars of his cells.

He never did learn.

[theemdash]

I can't post this in my own because I'll too far behind in fic, but here's a prompt if you choose to accept it:

Firefly
Wash and Mal
Bickering over any of the following things:
~the most recent live animal cargo
~spoon usage
~the color of Wash's shirt
~who has to sit next to Jayne

Bring in other crew members as needed. Please, no characters outside the crew.

I think this should be interesting.... ;)

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Wash is very rarely cranky. Once in a while, though, it happens, a bad mood triggered by Serenity stubbornly refusing to do exactly what he asks of her, Kaylee not helping, Jayne making one too many brainless remarks and, today, Mal taking a jab at what he's wearing over lunch.

"There is nothing wrong with my shirt!" Wash retorts, and Jayne snorts. Loudly, like everything Jayne does.

"There is nothing wrong with your shirt," Mal agrees, except his tone says how much he doesn't. "It's - dazzling, actually."

"Blindin', more like," Jayne grumbles around his spoonful of soup, and even that is loud.

"Oh, so what if it's a bit colourful," Wash insists, looking down at the bright orange material, the flashy blue flower imprints. "We could use something other than brown on this ship!"

Mal shoots him a look that says, 'do you really want to go there?', and Wash sighs with much exasperation. Zoe walks in and he does his best to drop it, because arguing with Mal in front of Zoe is not exactly wise. He reaches for his bread, only to realise that Jayne has reappropriated it.

Wash glares at the spot where the bread used to be. "Right. Why did I get to sit next to the man-ape again?"

"'Cause I'm the cap'n," Mal answers nonchalantly, "and I said so. I can order you all any which way I want." There's a soft noise of dissent coming from Inara, and Mal shoots her a look. "Most of you," he relents, and she gives him one of her sharply sweet smiles before the captain looks back at Wash with a congratulatory grin. "You're part of the lucky few."

"You know, this is just like the time with the akitas."

There is a chorus of groans over the fact that Wash would bring up the akitas again, and River mumbles something mostly incoherent into her soup. Zoe strategically wraps her arms around Wash from behind.

"Should I get worried, husband? The captain and you sound more and more like an old married couple."

A noise erupts from the back of Wash's throat, a small croaky noise of betrayal that his wife, too, would join in on the People Making His Life Miserable Today. At the same time, Mal lets out an amused, offended "Hey!" and Zoe pats Wash's chest comfortingly.

"It's one of those days, isn't it," she murmurs in his ear, and presses a kiss to his cheek before straightening up to go take her seat. "Just don't bring up the spoon thing again."

Wash looks down at his soup, the only one here on his side. "The spoon thing is annoying, though," he tells it.

It doesn't reply anything, and he ignores the laughter and snorts around the table, because he takes the soup's silence as agreement.

---

Okay, so apparently cranky!Wash becomes Wat, when I write him. Um.

[jade-plume.livejournal.com]

I *love* that kind of memes ^__^ So..

Fandom : BtVS/AtS
Character : Drusilla
prompt : She understands, she doesn't comprehend (I think Dru and River got some common points ^^")

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

She understands, she doesn't comprehend.

She understands the twinkles of the stars and the sway of the blades of grass in the moonlight. She understands the burn of the sun and the dispersal of ashes in the wind. She understands the flow of blood and the pulse of the hunger. She understands the lust, the love, the hate, the tears, she understands the pain and the joy and the way the mouse can outwit the cat. She understands the details.

She doesn't comprehend the world they're in, and how things can be applied. She cannot see the big picture, only a few threads and knots in a much larger tapestry. It's more than most people - nonpeople - but it's not enough, and people - nonpeople - look at her as if she did not see truth and reality. Their truth is relative; hers is absolute.

And yet, it does not matter. Because she doesn't comprehend.

[the-swordman.livejournal.com]

Hmm crossover between Dr Who and Highlander, you can use whoever as long as the main characters are Nine and Methos. And there must be a pint of two (or you know... several :)
Prompt : 2 really old guys try to explain to Rose the difference between Quickening and Regeneration

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Um. I can't have Nine tell her about Regeneration. She doesn't know until he changes into Ten, does she?

[khylarenelf.livejournal.com]

One of the few scenes I enjoyed in the Firefly series was Inara and Kaylee interacting together in an intimate setting - doing girly stuff. I would have loved to seen more interaction between them on that level.

So, that's my request. Doesn't have to be femmeslashy unless you want; just a moment between the girls. :)

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

"Let me paint your nails, now," Inara offered.

Kaylee wrinkled her nose. "You'd think he'd like it?"

"I'm sure he will," the Companion assured her. "Which colour?"

Kaylee pondered over the different shades. "I don't know. What do you think? You're the expert."

Inara breathed a low chuckle. "I might be an expert in men, Kaylee, but you know Simon better than I do."

"No I don't," Kaylee protested. "I don't know nothin' about the kinda girl he knew back on the Core. I ain't anythin' like them."

Inara smiled softly. "Which is for the best, trust me. Simon likes you for who you are, and not some spoiled Core brat."

Kaylee failed to bite back a smile. "Ya think?"

"Think?" Inara repeated with mock-severity. "I'm a Companion, meimei. I don't think. I know." She presented her with the nail polishes again. "Which colour?"

Kaylee pointed at a red with a delighted smile. "This one."

[817.livejournal.com]

Alias/Buffy. Weiss and Xander talk about magic (magic magic or magic tricks or both).

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Right. So. I'd never written Weiss, and hardly ever write Xander. Hope you like it!

--

The Watchers Council. An organisation that used to have ties with the CIA, buried so deep that even Jack Bristow had not managed to unearth them. Their file said that their London headquarters had gotten bombed three years ago, destroying the seat of their power. It also said that a new Council had emerged in Cleveland since, and it was this Council that Weiss had been sent to investigate. Supposedly they might have information about Rambaldi, which meant that Weiss had prepared himself for anything.

Turned out that he really hadn't, he figured as he walked into the building just as a blue-skinned man with horns poking out of his hair hurried out. Nice costume, he'd called after him, but had gotten no reply.

Then he'd walked in, and things had gotten worse from there. He had been assigned a guide, one Alexander Harris - everybody calls me Xander, he'd been told - and while the young man had tried to keep some things from him, well. Needless to say, you didn't become a CIA agent if you didn't have an eye for spotting everything people didn't want you to. Young girls sparring with more violence than he'd seen Syd demonstrate on the field, a few more of these dressed-up persons, and, for the grand finish, Weiss had 'accidentally' stumbled into a room in which a dozen people were sitting in a circle on the floor holding hands, and a ball of shining light shimmered in the air in the centre of the circle.

Xander had carefully, quietly pulled him out of the room, and closed the door. Then he'd started really explaining what was going on around here, except none of it made any sense.

"Wait, no, I know magic. I do magic," Weiss protested. "They're tricks. Not real."

Xander shrugged sheepishly. "Well I'm telling you, my bestest friend's a top-notch wicca that started saving lives floating crayons."

Weiss waited for a few seconds, just in case that last sentence suddenly decided to make sense. He gave up at last, and clung to the one relevant piece of information. "Wiccans, we know about wiccans. They're mostly harmless - a few skyclad rituals, meditation, an orgy here and there, sounds pretty good to me, and there's nothing magic to it."

Xander made a face. "Just a tip. Don't bring up the orgies in front of Will, she's... touchy. About the Misrepresentations of the Ways of Wicca in the Modern World." Then, as if to explain the way he'd orally capitalised all those words. "She's writing a thesis."

"That would be Willow Rosenberg, right? One of your teachers here."

"Yep. Head of our coven and the above-mentioned bestest-friend-slash-top-notch-wicca."

"...right. Ya think I might sit down somewhere?"

Xander broke into a grin. "Let's go down to the cafetaria. It's been a while since I broke this news to anybody. You don't have a clue about the things that go bump in the dark, do you."

Weiss's only reply was the look on his face, and Xander's grin widened. The coffee was good, it turned out, but Weiss could already imagine Jack's reaction when he handed in his report.

This was going to be interesting.

[daphnee-l.livejournal.com]

OMG Profit *o* I hope I'm still in the 15 first... So... Joanne or Jim... Jim. I'd like something about his box, no more details : ) Thanks !

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Joanne thought she knew him well, but she didn't have a clue. None of them did. Not her, not Sykes, not Charles, Pete, Nora, and certainly not Bobbie. Carol, only, had come close, but he'd never let her see the other side of the wall.

What none of them understood, although they might come close, was that he was not ambition-driven. None of what he did was because he craved success, or money, or recognition.

It was all about family, and home. Family meant home.

Jim curled up inside the G&G box he had always slept in, Carol's red scarf wrapped around his wrist. The floor was littered with spread-out newspapers under the blanket, newspapers that told the story of G&G week after week. This was home, it had been for as long as he could remember, and nobody would ever take it away from him.

They did not see it, but his life was a work of love.

[houses7177.livejournal.com]

How about Pirates of the Carribean/Lost?

Jack and Jack

Rum

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Jack was checking up on Aaron when he strode onto the beach.

A tricorn perched askew on long dreadlocks, tanned skin, clothes from another century, an ancient-looking pistol in one hand and a sword in another; from the way he walked, unsteady on his feet, Jack would have bet on either a sunstroke, or too much alcohol.

"I demand rum!" the man shouted on top of his voice.

Alcohol, then.

Jack handed Aaron back to Claire and stood up to go see the newcomer.

"Sure, dude," Hurley was telling him. "You a Dodgeball fan or something?"

The man peered at Hurley curiously.

"I mean the movie, not the sport. Steve the Pirate? Yaarrrr?"

The man took a step back, a grimace on his face. "I do not yarrr. I leave that to baser pirates. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"You're who now?" Jack asked as he walked up to him.

The man puffed up his chest. "Captain Jack Sparrow." Off their blank looks, he added, "Surely you've heard of me. ...I sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot! Vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company!" And, with a fond grin, "It involved a nun's outfit."

"Dude, and I thought I had issues," Hurley muttered.

Captain Jack Sparrow stamped his foot down on the sandy ground. "It makes no matter! I'm still a pirate, and I seem to have misplaced my rum, and I am come to commandeer yours!" He looked at Jack, having clearly pinned him for the one to talk to. After a few seconds, Jack opened his mouth to answer when the pirate cut in with a wave of his hand, and thus of his sword. "I know, I know, nautical term, not to be used on alcohol, but we're not exactly in good society here, are we." That made him frown, and look around at the camp before leaning close to Jack to murmur. "...what kind of a society are we in exactly?"

"We survived a plane crash," Jack answered slowly.

"A plane crash..." Captain Sparrow repeated, and it was clear that the words meant nothing to him. "A plane crash, right, of course. Well. Do you have rum?"

"No."

"Right. I suppose I'll be on my way, then. My deepest thanks. For your cooperation in my search for rum."

Still frowning, and clearly thinking the lot of them absolute lunatics, Captain Sparrow strode back into the forest. Jack scratched at the back of his head, grimacing, and then sighed. "Well. Better go after him."

[shadesofbrixton.livejournal.com]

Oh god. You know, I was going to comment on all of them, but most of my replies turned into 'OMG SO PERFECT HEE' so I just, you know, thought I'd consolidate. Though Weiss as part of the Watcher's council makes a terrifying amount of sense, and also saves me from having to ask you for sark/weiss. mm. So much wonderful here.

I'm tempted to ask for Snape/Black. ...tempted.

But I want Will/Kit instead. Or, if you're feeling cracktastic, Chaucer/Kit. NO ANGST.

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

"Tell me about him," Kit asks, leaning an elbow on the counter.

The way Geoff smiles illuminates his face, even though his head is lowered, and he glances at Kit before returning his gaze to the knot in the wood his nail is scratching at. "He's..." He bites his lip, a gleaming set of teeth on the pink flesh, and tries again. "He's impossible. More stubborn than the worst mule I've ever met. Convinced that most of the world is out to get him. Obsessed with food and ale. He won't let me teach him to read, and he won't ever say anything."

Kit tilts his head to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. "Tell me about him, truly."

Geoff chuckles, because he knows exactly what his fellow writer means. "Instead of saying things, he'll show them. It's in his eyes, his smiles, the way he clenches his jaw and scowls at the ones he loves. He loves fiercely, protectively, and I pity the poor soul that would hurt his family and friends. He's got so much fire in him that it's coloured his hair bright red, and nothing will ever extinguish his flame. There's a riot of blue in his eyes when he's happy, or hurt, or his anger's been roused, the iciest winter instead when disappointment comes over him."

Kit turns back to his tankard of ale, takes a sip, looks at Geoff with melancholy eyes. "Listening to you fills me with sorrow, Master Chaucer."

Geoff raises his eyebrows, hand going instinctively to his chest as if to ask, 'To me?'

Kit nods, eyebrows knitting with vexation. "The way you talk of him... I never stood a chance, did I?"

Laughter bubbles up in Geoff's eyes, trickles past his lips, a sound of pure mirth which the writer reins in immediately. "I'm sorry, Kit. I suppose not."

But his laughter has drawn the smile out of Kit that he was trying to hold back, and the game is ruined. "Ay, and all the better for it."

Geoff leans forward, his interest sparked. "Have you met someone new, then? Who, pray tell."

"You'll adore him," Kit asserts, casually because he is, in fact, quite sure of himself. "He has a way with words... almost as good as me, I dare say."

"Ay indeed, this sounds rather impressive. And what is the lucky man's name?"

Kit smiles. "Not a lucky man, but Fortune's fool if you listen to him. He has notions of persecution."

Geoff winces. "I thought him a writer, now you make him sound an actor?"

"No, I've had my fill of those. In more ways than one. He is a writer. Will."

"Will," Geoff repeats, testing the name on his tongue. He frowns, and. "William Shakespeare? I've seen one of his. Richard Crookback... it was interesting. You've done much better."

"And will do again," Kit nonchalantly replies, and then leans toward Geoff, lowering his voice. "His best works tumble off his lips in bed, Geoff. You should hear him then. Come with me, I shall introduce you, before you hurry back home to the quaint little village where your Wat awaits."

Geoff finishes his own ale, and smiles. "Ay. Let us meet your new pet."

[faeries-wing919.livejournal.com]

I think I counted less than 15 requests...

Could I have a Collins/Angel one from RENT? Or one with either of them is good, too. :D

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Collins has dragged a chair outside, on Angel's fire escape landing, and is comfortably seated, legs propped on the railing, peering over the New York Times crosswords. Instead of trying to solve the puzzle thanks to the definitions, though, he's filling in the squares with random words he likes and, when the puzzle demands it, invents. In his left hand he's holding his cup of coffee and, stuck between two fingers, his morning joint.

Angel sticks her head out of the window in his back, and plants a kiss on his cheek. "We should dress up for New Year's Eve."

Her head disappears back inside and Collins frowns vaguely, takes a drag off the joint, a sip from the coffee, and fills in VENT vertically, using VENEER's V and NEUROTIC's N. It gives him the opportunity to scribble out TREASURE with the new word's T, and he leaves the crosswords unfinished as he comes to the end of his joint.

He shrugs out of the big leather coat Angel bought her a couple days ago and hangs it up with a fond smile. Angel's busy at her sewing machine, working on some shimmering blue cloth, and Collins leans against a wall to watch her as he finishes his coffee. She glances up at him with a smile, and he idly notices that her nails are blue and white this morning.

He heads for the sink, to give the empty cup a quick wash, and asks over his shoulder. "So. New Year's Eve costumes?"

"Yes," is her only answer, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

"Any ideas?"

"Yes," and the smile is even more evident this time.

"Are you going to share?"

She makes a small thoughtful noise, as if considering her answer, and he heads back to her. She leaves her work and stands up, holding him at arm's length and assessing his build, smoothing a hand over his wrinkled shirt, chest and shoulders. "Yes... yes. I think you could pull off a wonderful James Bond."

He chuckles. "James Bond, huh? Yeah, I have a bit of the 007 in me. Who will that make you?"

She smiles, and he sneaks his arms around her waist at that, because it's very simply an irresistible smile, and it really deserves - more than - the kiss he presses to the soft skin right under her ear. "You'll see, Mr. Bond. And you'll love it."

He grins against her skin. "That a promise, Angel?"

"It's a fact."

[twixou.livejournal.com]

Is that too late to request something? :p You know the Andrew/Vince thing? Well this one. Has to involve some Star Wars and Doctor Who references.
Pretty please? :p I'd love to read something about the two of them. I watched Storyteller yesterday, again, and my love for Andrew is even bigger now. ;)
Thank u!

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

And once more without screwing up the code!

--

Andrew looked down at his banana daiquiri and twirled the little paper umbrella, feeling ashamed and unable to meet his interlocutor's gaze. "No, I haven't watched any of the old series."

"You haven't?" Vince exclaimed, and shook his head with a smile. "Alright, that's it, you're coming back to the motel with me. Not one episode? You can't really enjoy the new series if you haven't seen all the other Doctors. You don't even know about the Daleks! Sarah Jane! The Cybermen, they're coming up next week!"

Andrew looked up at him with raised eyebrows and an awkward smile. "You'd show them to me?"

"'Course I would! Introducing more people to the old series, it's public service, it is! Let's finish our drinks and we can head to the motel, start off with... um, maybe the Dalek Invasion of Earth, and we'll have to do the Resurrection of the Daleks as well. And something with Sarah Jane Smith, we'll have to. So much to show you!"

Andrew grinned into his glass, and took a sip. "Cool. Although you know, it's plenty enjoyable without having seen the old series - you can enjoy Next Generation without having seen Classic. Of course, the best of them all's DS9, but Enterprise got better after a pretty bad start."

"Oh, Star Trek, now I never was much into that," Vince replied with a small wince. "What did you think of K-9?"

Andrew grinned childishly, and did a passable impression of Ten's accent and tone at discovering his tin dog. "'K-9!' He was amazing. 'Affirmative.' Do you have the episode where the Doctor leaves Sarah Jane? Now I'd like to see that."

"I've got them all," Vince answered. "Wouldn't go anywhere without them."

Andrew beamed at him. "Fantastic."

[stampinground.livejournal.com]

bah si ça te dit, un cross over Firefly/Dr Who avec Nine je précise :) Ensuite, as you wish :)

[fan-elune.livejournal.com]

Ce sera avec plaisir mais donne-moi une 'prompt' au moins, n'importe quoi, ou sois plus spécifique niveau persos !