fan_elune | Help me defeat my semi-writer's block!

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Help me defeat my semi-writer's block!

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."

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\o/!

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

ooh. PLeasepleaseplease.

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

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.

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.

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."

Oh, Fan... That was amazing. Brilliant use of the quote, and faced with defeat (again) the emotions you'd given Sark trying to hold it together is just... You've taken my breath away. And for working in Irina, so eloquently.

*BEAMS* Thank you. ~~Writing something for you doesn't make me nervous or intimidated, no it doesn't.~~ I'm so happy that you liked it. And I'm far more fascinated with the relationship between Sark and Irina than any fan of Alias should be (maybe because it's a little sick, mostly because it means always being disappointed by the show).

Thank you.

Sark-love has been a kind of masochism since s3, hasn't it? -- Sark/Irina even more so. But we keep at it because of the mystery, I suppose, and the richness of that untapped vein. They have such a twisted and uneven relationship, which in many ways is more interesting than healthy, balanced one.

You writing was fabulous. Everything I hoped for and more. :)

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.... ;)

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 ^^")

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

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. :)

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.

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

You know what ? I think you might have a point...
Well it's up to you. Depending on which one you'd rather write, you can have Nine and Methos and the pints I was talking about or keep the initial settings but with Ten.

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.

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

Aow. Beautiful, beautiful piece, thank you so much !

^_^

*clutches fic to bosom*

I love it! bashful!Wat! omg!

After I gave you the prompt, I started noodling with one of my own, which I may actually write down and maybe even post later, if that's ok.

<3.

"So you're not a Timelord?" Rose asks, just to make sure, and the man smiles. It's a charming smile, she finds, but there's something in his eyes that takes her aback.

He takes a drink of his beer. "Not quite."

"But you died."

"Yes."

"And you're alive!"

"Yes."

"He's an Immortal, Rose," the Doctor cuts in, and turns to speak to the man. "You know, this beer is rather impressive. I didn't expect anything that good in the United States of America." He pronounces those four words overly distinctly, as if they were some sort of foreign or obscure entity. "What is it, Irish?"

"Scottish, actually."

The Doctor makes a small sound of interest, and takes another sip of his beer.

Rose feels as if she has to cut in. "Wait, sorry, he's a what?"

"An Immortal," the Doctor repeats. "Goes around living centuries - " he glances a look at the dark-haired man, frowns, "- millenia, even, I'm impressed, I'd never met any of your kind that was quite that old..."

The man purses his lips. "I'm a survivor."

"I can see that," the Doctor states, and then snaps out of it and turns back to Rose. "Right, sorry, um. Immortals. They... live forever. Unless you chop their heads off."

"Oh." Rose frowns. "Why would anybody do that?"

"Ah," the Immortal lets out. "Let me know if you figure it out."

The Doctor frowns, tilting his head to the side as he observes the man. "Most Immortals believe in a Game. It's - complicated..."

"The last standing Immortal is supposed to get the Prize," the Immortal fills in.

"...or not," the Doctor finishes.

"The Prize?" Rose repeats.

"We're a bit shady on what exactly the Prize is," the Immortal admits. "Now if you'll excuse me. Plane to catch, cities without impending time disasters or alien invasions to be in, not sure I wanna know which one it's going to be this time." At the Doctor's frown, he explains, "Duncan told me about you."

The Doctor breaks into a smile. "You know Duncan!"

"Yes, and I'm rather attached to my life. Thanks for the pint, Doctor. Rose. Hope I won't cross paths with you again."

Rose stood by the Timelord's side as they watched him walk away. "How old is he?"

"Older than he assumes," the Doctor replies, and shakes his head with a small annoyed expression. "I could've told him, if he'd asked."

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 !

Heeee! Brilliant. And of course, by all means, what do you need my permission for! I don't see why it wouldn't be okay, and I strongly encourage everybody everywhere to write more Knight fic. We need more fic, damnit!

You're very, very, very welcome. Mwah!

Oh, it certainly has been. I don't know what possessed me to watch the S3 finale again the other day. Possibly just jonesing for Weiss and Lauren. But. It hurts so much. Oh, Sark, what they have done with you.

And I am completely sold on the interest of twisted and uneven over healthy and balanced. ;)

"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."

LOL! *cackles*

Brilliant! I love cranky Wash.

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