Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2009-06-22 05:56 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2009-06-22 05:56 pm
Entry tags:
- bradley james and his ridiculous face,
- crossovers,
- derren brown,
- dn angel,
- doctor who,
- fanfiction,
- fanfiction (really this time),
- final fantasy,
- final fantasy xii,
- iji,
- kingdom hearts,
- merlin,
- michael scofield is a real person,
- prison break,
- reality/fiction otp,
- silent hill,
- supernatural,
- time-travelling sky pirates of ivalice,
- top gear,
- whoctor do and other anagrams
And I Should Probably Finish That Supernatural/Pushing Daisies Crossover Some Day.
Passing on a recommendation from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kadrin: Iji is an excellent little free action-platformer. What really tempted me to play it was the fact that, if you choose to go through it whilst killing as few enemies as possible, the game recognises that and responds: the notes you find from enemies say 'hmmm, not sure what's going on with that human, she doesn't seem to be killing anyone' rather than 'oh God oh God she's going to destroy us all'; the dialogue in cutscenes is different. My housemate thinks I'm mad for downloading a shooter-platformer and then going 'YAY NOT SHOOTING ANYONE', but I think it's a rather nice touch. Also, the music is great, and I love reading all the logbooks.
I have a strange urge to write Satoshi/Daisuke DN Angel fanfiction. Here is the difficulty with Satoshi/Daisuke: writing something cute and fluffy and requited (and also a bit creepy, because Satoshi is involved, but mostly cute) is tempting, but it is almost impossible when Satoshi could snog Daisuke until his tongue broke off and Daisuke would still probably think he was just being friendly.
BE LESS OBLIVIOUS, DAISUKE.
The other difficulty is, of course, my complete inability to write anything lately. There are so many things I want to write! Why have you abandoned me, words?
Actually, here is a meme that may help! (Or not!)
Post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Let's see what we have here.
Merlin/RPF: Bradley James wakes up in Camelot.
And, yes, Bradley can see Angel and Katie and Tony all thinking it would be hilarious to mess with his mind by walking around in character, and maybe, maybe it’s conceivable that they could have rearranged the inside of the castle somehow, but actually chopping someone’s head off is going a little fucking far for a prank.
“You all right?” a voice asks from beside him, and Bradley turns to see – well, Merlin, apparently. Fucking hell.
Bradley quickly runs through what he knows in his head. He can’t believe that he’s actually swapped places with Prince fucking Arthur, but he can believe it more than he can believe Tony Head having someone beheaded in front of a large crowd, and his options are looking rather slim at the moment. If the man who looks like Tony Head is Uther, and if he thinks Bradley is Arthur, and if any hint of magic makes him want to kill everyone nearby, Bradley’s got a feeling that he probably shouldn’t give away the whole ‘possible magical bodyswap’ thing, and that means he just has to pretend to be Arthur.
Great.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks. He looks worried.
Bradley takes in a deep breath. “Merlin,” he says. “I thought you were ill.” Now that he’s paying attention, Merlin is looking a bit wobbly, a bit pale; he’s paler than Colin usually is, anyway, and Bradley hadn’t even realised that was possible. He looks more or less like Bradley feels, actually. Maybe it’s the execution.
“Just a cold,” Merlin says, glancing away. “I’ll be fine.”
He’s obviously uncomfortable, and maybe Arthur would be too thick to notice but Bradley doesn’t have to be. “D’you want to get out of here?”
Merlin looks back at him, frowning. “Out of...?”
“Out of the courtyard,” Bradley explains. He tries to look meaningfully at the headless corpse on the executioner’s platform, but looking directly at it makes him feel ill, so he looks meaningfully at a spot two feet to the left of it instead. “Away from... that.”
Merlin hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I wouldn’t mind getting away from that.”
-
Bradley walks with Merlin back to Arthur’s room, trying to cover up his occasional wrong turns as subtly as he can. Perhaps it’s a mistake spending any more time than he has to with someone who knows Arthur well, but he couldn’t very well leave Merlin there, staring at the executioner’s block with that haunted expression. Besides, Merlin has his own secrets. Maybe he’ll understand. If he realises that Bradley isn’t really Arthur, maybe he won’t give him away.
Of course, if he realises that Bradley isn’t really Arthur, maybe he’ll decide he’s some sort of shapeshifting monster and magically murder him before Bradley has a chance to explain.
Bradley tries to walk in as haughty and royal a manner as possible.
Time-Travelling Sky Pirates of Ivalice: Doctor Who/FFXII, Balthier/Fran/Captain Jack Harkness.
The princess closes her eyes, and Jack sees a faint bluish glow appear around her.
“Libra,” Balthier murmurs into Jack’s ear. “She wants to make sure that the sceptre is genuine. It looks as if Dalmasca may have a very capable queen in line.”
The glow slowly fades, and she looks up at them.
“This is Dalmasca’s missing sceptre,” she says. “Where did you get this?”
Jack has already anticipated this question and has been mentally preparing the answer since almost before they acquired the sceptre; it is a magnificent tale of derring-do, involving a trail of coded maps and navigating the Strahl through unexpected meteor showers and heroically rescuing Balthier from enormous robots, and so he is slightly put out by the fact that Balthier gets there first.
“It was in my family home,” Balthier says smoothly. “I imagine my father had a hand in its disappearance. Admittedly, he hadn’t yet been born at the time of the loss, but I’m inclined to suspect him anyway.”
The princess smiles slightly, turning her attention back to the sceptre in her hands. “Well, a reward has been promised, and so a reward you shall have. Thank you for returning a part of the heritage of Dalmasca.” She stands. “If you would follow me?”
Prison Break: Michael Scofield is a real person. Everyone else in his life is an actor. Prison Break is the result of the insane Director forcing Scofield into various situations and waiting to see what he'll do. I'll post a few clips from this one, because it is very unlikely ever to be finished. Spoilers up to the beginning of Season Three.
It had been bad enough when he’d had to make the guy believe his father had been shot; the Director had assured him that Scofield would learn nobody had died sooner or later, but William’s conscience had still torn at him. And his face-to-face encounters with Scofield had been terrifying; he’d had to remind himself constantly that Scofield had never killed on-set before, of what was at stake if he ran away.
And then they’d told him that the third season would be set in another prison, but he hadn’t realised that had meant he would actually be imprisoned.
“They won’t let me out,” William said, immediately, when the Director came to visit. “Tell me you haven’t actually gotten me arrested.”
“Oh, the guards know you’re not a criminal,” the Director said, smiling his ever-present little smile. “But I’m afraid you can’t leave.”
William leaned his forehead against the wire mesh. “Why not?” he asked, his voice rasping; the water shortage within the walls was very real.
“Well, what if Scofield goes looking and realises you’re not there?” the Director asked. “What if he sees you leaving? What if he figures out that you can come and go as you please? That would take the season in an entirely new direction, and not the one we planned.”
“I don’t care,” William growled, “about the season.”
“Perhaps not,” the Director said, “but I have something you do care about.”
William closed his eyes and tightened his jaw and willed himself not to make threats.
“It’s method acting,” the Director said, brightly. “You’ll enjoy it.”
(...)
“Dom’s told him about Sara,” Chris said, pacing back and forth. “He might kill me. He might actually kill me.”
“He won’t kill you,” Robert said. “He hasn’t killed me, and I’m not exactly one of his favourite people.”
“But what if he does?”
“I can step in,” Robert said. “If it starts to look a little... dangerous.”
“Please don’t do the T-Bag voice,” Chris said. “Please. It’s very distracting.”
(...)
“So what are you saying?”
“You’ve already taken my brother’s toe – ”
“He’s not your brother.”
“I’m saying sometimes I feel more like a Linc than a Dom,” Dominic growled. “And I’m telling you to lay off him. Can’t anything good happen to him, like, ever?”
The Director nodded. “Character bleed. That’s not healthy, you know.”
“I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be this guy’s brother,” Dominic said. “I’m not even sure I know what ‘healthy’ is.”
Top Gear/Torchwood/Silent Hill: Jeremy and James meet Owen in a Silent Hill-ised Cardiff.
“Where is he?” Jeremy demanded, having bellowed himself hoarse and received no sign of having been heard from the encroaching fog. “People don’t just disappear from cars, James.”
James wasn’t quite certain why Jeremy was acting as if he were in some way responsible for Richard’s disappearance, but he said nothing; getting into a fight wouldn’t help them find Hammond. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you’re useless, then, aren’t you?” Jeremy muttered, glaring in a completely arbitrary direction. “Why would he get out of the car? He probably thinks he’s being hilarious. When we find him, I’m going to kill him.” He drew in a breath. “HAMMOND!”
“Hammond?” James called, in the rather tentative hope that Richard might show himself if called by someone who sounded slightly less murderous.
“Who’s there?” At last, an answer. James had a split-second of intense relief before registering that the voice wasn’t Richard’s.
“Who’re you?” Jeremy demanded.
“Move slowly in this direction,” the voice said. Male, very tense. James could see a vague figure through the fog now, blurred and barely distinguishable. “Keep your hands held up in front of you. If you move too fast, I’m shooting.”
Jeremy and James glanced at each other.
“Actually,” Jeremy said, “I think we’re happy not walking towards a lunatic with a gun.”
“For fuck’s sake,” the voice muttered. “Look, if you’re human, I really don’t want to kill you, but I’m not taking any chances. Walk over here, slowly. Hands over your heads.”
James, because he had a horrible feeling that Jeremy was going to get them both shot if left unchecked, obeyed. Jeremy, after some incredulous spluttering, rolled his eyes and followed suit.
The person who had been threatening them turned out to be a wide-mouthed, dark-haired man, younger than Hammond. He was levelling a pistol at Jeremy – not bluffing, then, James thought, secretly rather relieved that Jeremy was the more intimidating-looking of the two of them – and visibly very, very on edge, although his voice was more or less steady.
“Right,” he said. He moved the gun down a little – no longer pointing at them, but still ready – and glanced over at James. “Right. Who are you, then?”
“Jeremy Clarkson,” Jeremy said, rather curtly. Much though Jeremy complained about the constant demands for autographs and filthy looks in the street, he was always somewhat affronted when somebody failed to recognise him. James, to whom fame was still something of a novelty, quietly introduced himself, keeping his tone as polite as possible in an attempt to somehow make up for his comrade’s hostility.
“Owen Harper,” the young man said. James was very aware of the fact that he still hadn’t put away the gun. “Don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long; you don’t look up to much running. Have you seen any other people in this place?”
“No,” Jeremy said immediately, with obvious dislike. Owen narrowed his eyes at him, then looked over at James as if seeking a second opinion, which James found rather gratifying.
“For once, I’m afraid Jeremy’s right,” he said. “A friend of ours seems to have gone missing; is that what happened to you?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘friend’,” Owen muttered. “Was yours armed?”
James blinked and glanced over at Jeremy, who looked similarly nonplussed. “Well, he’s quite good in a fist fight?”
Owen shrugged. “He’s probably dead.”
There was a silence.
“Hammond doesn’t die,” Jeremy said. “Come up with a better theory.”
“The city’s been like this for about eight hours,” Owen said, checking his watch. “Do you really think your unarmed friend would’ve survived that long? How long ago did you lose him?”
James thought that, if Hammond really was in danger, a more sympathetic tone wouldn’t be uncalled for. “We only just came into Cardiff. What do you mean, ‘like this’?”
Owen snorted. “You can’t have just come into Cardiff. All the roads are blocked off.”
“Well, that one wasn’t,” Jeremy said, losing whatever tiny scrap of patience he may have had left and pointing back the way they had come. “Why would Hammond be dead?”
“You’ve not seen the monsters yet?” Owen asked, incredulously.
“Monsters?” Jeremy repeated, equally incredulous.
Owen laughed. “Well, you’ve got a treat in store, haven’t you? If that’s really a way out down there, I’d recommend you take it. It’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well, I can’t say we don’t appreciate the advice,” James said (“I can,” Jeremy muttered behind him), “but we really do need to find Hammond before we go.”
Owen shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And he disappeared into the fog.
Derren Brown/Kingdom Hearts: Derren is a Nobody.
"Let me just make sure I've grasped this correctly," he says. "You're inviting me to join a group called Organization XIII."
"Yep."
"Of which I would be the fourteenth member."
"That's right."
"I'm afraid that, purely for the sake of numerical elegance, I'm going to have to decline."
Derren Brown/Supernatural: the Winchesters investigate mysterious psychic guy.
"Of course, I've quite forgotten my manners," Derren said, laughing. He gripped Dean's wrist and led him over to a chair. "It's funny, the way you forget things, isn't it? It's a mystery: you're thinking of it, and suddenly it's gone."
He was still holding Dean's wrist. Dean wrenched it out of his grasp, because he hadn't come here to get hit on by some British guy. "Anyway, me and my brother, we, uh..."
"You...?" Derren prompted.
Maybe he had come here to get hit on by some British guy, because he sure as hell couldn't remember any other reason. "Uh, never mind. I gotta get back to my brother."
Derren Brown/Supernatural: Castiel and Derren-the-angel.
"This is Ithuriel," Castiel says.
Derren winces. "Don't call me 'Ithuriel'. Ithuriel is a wanker's name."
"He would prefer that you call him 'Derren'," Castiel explains.
There is a very good chance that none of these will ever be finished, but I hope you enjoy the snippets, at least.
kadrin: Iji is an excellent little free action-platformer. What really tempted me to play it was the fact that, if you choose to go through it whilst killing as few enemies as possible, the game recognises that and responds: the notes you find from enemies say 'hmmm, not sure what's going on with that human, she doesn't seem to be killing anyone' rather than 'oh God oh God she's going to destroy us all'; the dialogue in cutscenes is different. My housemate thinks I'm mad for downloading a shooter-platformer and then going 'YAY NOT SHOOTING ANYONE', but I think it's a rather nice touch. Also, the music is great, and I love reading all the logbooks.I have a strange urge to write Satoshi/Daisuke DN Angel fanfiction. Here is the difficulty with Satoshi/Daisuke: writing something cute and fluffy and requited (and also a bit creepy, because Satoshi is involved, but mostly cute) is tempting, but it is almost impossible when Satoshi could snog Daisuke until his tongue broke off and Daisuke would still probably think he was just being friendly.
BE LESS OBLIVIOUS, DAISUKE.
The other difficulty is, of course, my complete inability to write anything lately. There are so many things I want to write! Why have you abandoned me, words?
Actually, here is a meme that may help! (Or not!)
Post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Let's see what we have here.
Merlin/RPF: Bradley James wakes up in Camelot.
And, yes, Bradley can see Angel and Katie and Tony all thinking it would be hilarious to mess with his mind by walking around in character, and maybe, maybe it’s conceivable that they could have rearranged the inside of the castle somehow, but actually chopping someone’s head off is going a little fucking far for a prank.
“You all right?” a voice asks from beside him, and Bradley turns to see – well, Merlin, apparently. Fucking hell.
Bradley quickly runs through what he knows in his head. He can’t believe that he’s actually swapped places with Prince fucking Arthur, but he can believe it more than he can believe Tony Head having someone beheaded in front of a large crowd, and his options are looking rather slim at the moment. If the man who looks like Tony Head is Uther, and if he thinks Bradley is Arthur, and if any hint of magic makes him want to kill everyone nearby, Bradley’s got a feeling that he probably shouldn’t give away the whole ‘possible magical bodyswap’ thing, and that means he just has to pretend to be Arthur.
Great.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks. He looks worried.
Bradley takes in a deep breath. “Merlin,” he says. “I thought you were ill.” Now that he’s paying attention, Merlin is looking a bit wobbly, a bit pale; he’s paler than Colin usually is, anyway, and Bradley hadn’t even realised that was possible. He looks more or less like Bradley feels, actually. Maybe it’s the execution.
“Just a cold,” Merlin says, glancing away. “I’ll be fine.”
He’s obviously uncomfortable, and maybe Arthur would be too thick to notice but Bradley doesn’t have to be. “D’you want to get out of here?”
Merlin looks back at him, frowning. “Out of...?”
“Out of the courtyard,” Bradley explains. He tries to look meaningfully at the headless corpse on the executioner’s platform, but looking directly at it makes him feel ill, so he looks meaningfully at a spot two feet to the left of it instead. “Away from... that.”
Merlin hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I wouldn’t mind getting away from that.”
Bradley walks with Merlin back to Arthur’s room, trying to cover up his occasional wrong turns as subtly as he can. Perhaps it’s a mistake spending any more time than he has to with someone who knows Arthur well, but he couldn’t very well leave Merlin there, staring at the executioner’s block with that haunted expression. Besides, Merlin has his own secrets. Maybe he’ll understand. If he realises that Bradley isn’t really Arthur, maybe he won’t give him away.
Of course, if he realises that Bradley isn’t really Arthur, maybe he’ll decide he’s some sort of shapeshifting monster and magically murder him before Bradley has a chance to explain.
Bradley tries to walk in as haughty and royal a manner as possible.
Time-Travelling Sky Pirates of Ivalice: Doctor Who/FFXII, Balthier/Fran/Captain Jack Harkness.
The princess closes her eyes, and Jack sees a faint bluish glow appear around her.
“Libra,” Balthier murmurs into Jack’s ear. “She wants to make sure that the sceptre is genuine. It looks as if Dalmasca may have a very capable queen in line.”
The glow slowly fades, and she looks up at them.
“This is Dalmasca’s missing sceptre,” she says. “Where did you get this?”
Jack has already anticipated this question and has been mentally preparing the answer since almost before they acquired the sceptre; it is a magnificent tale of derring-do, involving a trail of coded maps and navigating the Strahl through unexpected meteor showers and heroically rescuing Balthier from enormous robots, and so he is slightly put out by the fact that Balthier gets there first.
“It was in my family home,” Balthier says smoothly. “I imagine my father had a hand in its disappearance. Admittedly, he hadn’t yet been born at the time of the loss, but I’m inclined to suspect him anyway.”
The princess smiles slightly, turning her attention back to the sceptre in her hands. “Well, a reward has been promised, and so a reward you shall have. Thank you for returning a part of the heritage of Dalmasca.” She stands. “If you would follow me?”
Prison Break: Michael Scofield is a real person. Everyone else in his life is an actor. Prison Break is the result of the insane Director forcing Scofield into various situations and waiting to see what he'll do. I'll post a few clips from this one, because it is very unlikely ever to be finished. Spoilers up to the beginning of Season Three.
It had been bad enough when he’d had to make the guy believe his father had been shot; the Director had assured him that Scofield would learn nobody had died sooner or later, but William’s conscience had still torn at him. And his face-to-face encounters with Scofield had been terrifying; he’d had to remind himself constantly that Scofield had never killed on-set before, of what was at stake if he ran away.
And then they’d told him that the third season would be set in another prison, but he hadn’t realised that had meant he would actually be imprisoned.
“They won’t let me out,” William said, immediately, when the Director came to visit. “Tell me you haven’t actually gotten me arrested.”
“Oh, the guards know you’re not a criminal,” the Director said, smiling his ever-present little smile. “But I’m afraid you can’t leave.”
William leaned his forehead against the wire mesh. “Why not?” he asked, his voice rasping; the water shortage within the walls was very real.
“Well, what if Scofield goes looking and realises you’re not there?” the Director asked. “What if he sees you leaving? What if he figures out that you can come and go as you please? That would take the season in an entirely new direction, and not the one we planned.”
“I don’t care,” William growled, “about the season.”
“Perhaps not,” the Director said, “but I have something you do care about.”
William closed his eyes and tightened his jaw and willed himself not to make threats.
“It’s method acting,” the Director said, brightly. “You’ll enjoy it.”
“Dom’s told him about Sara,” Chris said, pacing back and forth. “He might kill me. He might actually kill me.”
“He won’t kill you,” Robert said. “He hasn’t killed me, and I’m not exactly one of his favourite people.”
“But what if he does?”
“I can step in,” Robert said. “If it starts to look a little... dangerous.”
“Please don’t do the T-Bag voice,” Chris said. “Please. It’s very distracting.”
“So what are you saying?”
“You’ve already taken my brother’s toe – ”
“He’s not your brother.”
“I’m saying sometimes I feel more like a Linc than a Dom,” Dominic growled. “And I’m telling you to lay off him. Can’t anything good happen to him, like, ever?”
The Director nodded. “Character bleed. That’s not healthy, you know.”
“I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be this guy’s brother,” Dominic said. “I’m not even sure I know what ‘healthy’ is.”
Top Gear/Torchwood/Silent Hill: Jeremy and James meet Owen in a Silent Hill-ised Cardiff.
“Where is he?” Jeremy demanded, having bellowed himself hoarse and received no sign of having been heard from the encroaching fog. “People don’t just disappear from cars, James.”
James wasn’t quite certain why Jeremy was acting as if he were in some way responsible for Richard’s disappearance, but he said nothing; getting into a fight wouldn’t help them find Hammond. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you’re useless, then, aren’t you?” Jeremy muttered, glaring in a completely arbitrary direction. “Why would he get out of the car? He probably thinks he’s being hilarious. When we find him, I’m going to kill him.” He drew in a breath. “HAMMOND!”
“Hammond?” James called, in the rather tentative hope that Richard might show himself if called by someone who sounded slightly less murderous.
“Who’s there?” At last, an answer. James had a split-second of intense relief before registering that the voice wasn’t Richard’s.
“Who’re you?” Jeremy demanded.
“Move slowly in this direction,” the voice said. Male, very tense. James could see a vague figure through the fog now, blurred and barely distinguishable. “Keep your hands held up in front of you. If you move too fast, I’m shooting.”
Jeremy and James glanced at each other.
“Actually,” Jeremy said, “I think we’re happy not walking towards a lunatic with a gun.”
“For fuck’s sake,” the voice muttered. “Look, if you’re human, I really don’t want to kill you, but I’m not taking any chances. Walk over here, slowly. Hands over your heads.”
James, because he had a horrible feeling that Jeremy was going to get them both shot if left unchecked, obeyed. Jeremy, after some incredulous spluttering, rolled his eyes and followed suit.
The person who had been threatening them turned out to be a wide-mouthed, dark-haired man, younger than Hammond. He was levelling a pistol at Jeremy – not bluffing, then, James thought, secretly rather relieved that Jeremy was the more intimidating-looking of the two of them – and visibly very, very on edge, although his voice was more or less steady.
“Right,” he said. He moved the gun down a little – no longer pointing at them, but still ready – and glanced over at James. “Right. Who are you, then?”
“Jeremy Clarkson,” Jeremy said, rather curtly. Much though Jeremy complained about the constant demands for autographs and filthy looks in the street, he was always somewhat affronted when somebody failed to recognise him. James, to whom fame was still something of a novelty, quietly introduced himself, keeping his tone as polite as possible in an attempt to somehow make up for his comrade’s hostility.
“Owen Harper,” the young man said. James was very aware of the fact that he still hadn’t put away the gun. “Don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long; you don’t look up to much running. Have you seen any other people in this place?”
“No,” Jeremy said immediately, with obvious dislike. Owen narrowed his eyes at him, then looked over at James as if seeking a second opinion, which James found rather gratifying.
“For once, I’m afraid Jeremy’s right,” he said. “A friend of ours seems to have gone missing; is that what happened to you?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘friend’,” Owen muttered. “Was yours armed?”
James blinked and glanced over at Jeremy, who looked similarly nonplussed. “Well, he’s quite good in a fist fight?”
Owen shrugged. “He’s probably dead.”
There was a silence.
“Hammond doesn’t die,” Jeremy said. “Come up with a better theory.”
“The city’s been like this for about eight hours,” Owen said, checking his watch. “Do you really think your unarmed friend would’ve survived that long? How long ago did you lose him?”
James thought that, if Hammond really was in danger, a more sympathetic tone wouldn’t be uncalled for. “We only just came into Cardiff. What do you mean, ‘like this’?”
Owen snorted. “You can’t have just come into Cardiff. All the roads are blocked off.”
“Well, that one wasn’t,” Jeremy said, losing whatever tiny scrap of patience he may have had left and pointing back the way they had come. “Why would Hammond be dead?”
“You’ve not seen the monsters yet?” Owen asked, incredulously.
“Monsters?” Jeremy repeated, equally incredulous.
Owen laughed. “Well, you’ve got a treat in store, haven’t you? If that’s really a way out down there, I’d recommend you take it. It’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well, I can’t say we don’t appreciate the advice,” James said (“I can,” Jeremy muttered behind him), “but we really do need to find Hammond before we go.”
Owen shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And he disappeared into the fog.
Derren Brown/Kingdom Hearts: Derren is a Nobody.
"Let me just make sure I've grasped this correctly," he says. "You're inviting me to join a group called Organization XIII."
"Yep."
"Of which I would be the fourteenth member."
"That's right."
"I'm afraid that, purely for the sake of numerical elegance, I'm going to have to decline."
Derren Brown/Supernatural: the Winchesters investigate mysterious psychic guy.
"Of course, I've quite forgotten my manners," Derren said, laughing. He gripped Dean's wrist and led him over to a chair. "It's funny, the way you forget things, isn't it? It's a mystery: you're thinking of it, and suddenly it's gone."
He was still holding Dean's wrist. Dean wrenched it out of his grasp, because he hadn't come here to get hit on by some British guy. "Anyway, me and my brother, we, uh..."
"You...?" Derren prompted.
Maybe he had come here to get hit on by some British guy, because he sure as hell couldn't remember any other reason. "Uh, never mind. I gotta get back to my brother."
Derren Brown/Supernatural: Castiel and Derren-the-angel.
"This is Ithuriel," Castiel says.
Derren winces. "Don't call me 'Ithuriel'. Ithuriel is a wanker's name."
"He would prefer that you call him 'Derren'," Castiel explains.
There is a very good chance that none of these will ever be finished, but I hope you enjoy the snippets, at least.
no subject
That is more than just a little scary. I wasn't sure at all what you meant by your summary of this or how it would work, but it's like the Truman Show in a very dark place. I must admit I'm intrigued.
And your Derren Brown runs rings around the Winchesters fic MUST BE TOLD.
no subject
Derren Brown is clearly one of the psychic children.
no subject
...And don't you not-love Asha?
no subject
And I do indeed not-love Asha. I also don't particularly love myself after finding out that I missed A Certain Opportunity in Sector Eight, thus making myself partially responsible for A Certain Unpleasant Event.
no subject
Well, yeah, doing another run to use A Certain Item on A Certain Position in order to prevent A Certain Unpleasant Event does make things a lot happier. And Iji doesn't even have to kill Asha that way. (Though you have to be a little clever, and - happily, he gets his anyway. It's not spelled out in the game, but, um, I should probably say this in a more private manner.)
TOO MANY ITALICS
SO MUCH
Jack has already anticipated this question and has been mentally preparing the answer since almost before they acquired the sceptre; it is a magnificent tale of derring-do, involving a trail of coded maps and navigating the Strahl through unexpected meteor showers and heroically rescuing Balthier from enormous robots, and so he is slightly put out by the fact that Balthier gets there first.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
I want to read that story so badly. And oh my gosh, your characterization is so wonderful I cannot even handle it. Also, Balthier murmuring into Jack's ear: surprisingly hot. And yet, not surprising at all!
You are so fantastic. If you don't finish this, I will cry. I am even considering being a jerk and holding the next part of the genderswap hostage, but that would hardly be a fair trade, because the genderswap is ridiculous, while Jack fantasizing about rescuing Balthier from giant robots is, to be perfectly honest, the most amazing thing ever.
And oh my gosh, Dean is adorable. I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO FIND DEAN ADORABLE. Why have you done this to me.
Re: TOO MANY ITALICS
The genderswap is amazingly ridiculous. Er, please do not withhold it.
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That Merlin/RPF is amazing, and the Time-Travelling Sky Pirates reminds me how badly I need to play FFXII. Also, I'm stealing this meme now.
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I actually laughed aloud at this. Oh, Daisuke. I love him. I love how absolutely true this is. Poor, poor Satoshi.
You do need to play FFXII! Balthier and Fran are truly ridiculous levels of wonderful.
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Also, Silent Hill fic! And with the new series of Top Gear I need more Top Gear fic.
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(I'm quite sure Richard is alive, and well, and having slightly more fun than is appropriate, beating monsters to death with something.)
Funnily enough, although I currently seem to be completely unable to write anything other than tiny fragments (this statement means there's eighty-percent odds I'll have something posted by the end of the day, weirdly enough), I have been drawn, by Cenea, into writing a "Top Gear in a freaky supernatural town that isn't Silent Hill" fic. There's no static, no fog, and no Pyramid Head, you'll be happy to know. Just shadowy bird-things that leap out of the darkness and bite off Richard's finger and Jeremy's toe. And a creepy mild-mannered duplicate Jeremy who's grown from the severed toe. And ominous knitting (why fic should never be based off weird dreams). And a complete lack of proper plot.
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A plank.
That plank was my best friend in Silent Hill.
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And a creepy mild-mannered duplicate Jeremy who's grown from the severed toe.
This sounds absolutely terrifying. I do not know why the prospect of a mild-mannered Jeremy is so alarming, but it is.
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(It's going to be tricky for them, because in the city, getting on the bus means safety, at least temporarily, and if anyone offers you a lift if a car, they're probably up to no good.)
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ALSO YOU HAVE TO WRITE MORE OF THE JACK, BALTHIER, AND FRAN CROSSOVER. IT IS A REQUIREMENT.
Also also, this: “Don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long; you don’t look up to much running." and this: “Hammond doesn’t die,” Jeremy said. “Come up with a better theory.” are completely brilliant lines.
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I do have to write more of the Jack, Balthier and Fran crossover, really. They are a trio that should not be neglected. I hope I'll get back into writing for them at some point in the near future.
Thank you!
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<3 <3 <3.
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...which means you have to write Derren and the Sky Pirates. You know you have to, Riona. It calls to you.
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Derren can go hang out with Alex in the corner where the people who should not be expected to deal with Torchwood-related weird crap go. They can go hang onto the sad scraps of their rationality. (Wait until they start with the magic, Derren Then you'll really be unhappy.)
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Also, I'm pretty sure this is somehow you're fault (http://community.livejournal.com/chekov_sulu/42371.html#cutid1). (Ignore the part that says it's my fault. It's totally you're fault.)
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And the Prison Break one was so brilliantly unusual and dark. The Director! ALSO KNOWN AS THE WORLD'S BIGGEST LUNATIC! his ever-present little smile! THE CREEPY HAS BEEN TURNED UP TO ELEVEN. And William. Poor, poor William, caught up in this madness. (It is kind of brilliant that he is actually imprisoned and that the guards know.)
SERIOUSLY THE DIRECTOR IS CREEPY LIKE A DERREN BROWN. "You'll enjoy it." WHAT WHAT NO HE WON'T.
THIS IS...IDEK WHAT THIS IS. IT IS MADNESS. They are worried about him actually killing them! DARKEST REALITY SHOW EVER. Also, the bit about the T-Bag voice was a really lovely piece of banter. Like, twinkly-heart level lovely.
ALSO THE LAST SCENE IS OH-MY-GOSH AMAZING. It shows the incredible disturbingness of the situation! And the last three lines are really quite beautiful. It's just so...dark. And well-written. Particularly the last line. If this was an actual film, that line would be on SO MANY ICONS.
AND THE TOP GEAR ONE. Jaaames and his keeping quiet. And Jeremyyy and his intense glorious grumpiness. I particularly love He probably thinks he's being hilarious which is somehow both a really amusing line and so incredibly Jeremy-ish I fear you pay have plucked it out of his mind or that he might leap out of my screen at any minute.
in the rather tentative hope that Richard might show himself if called by someone who sounded slightly less murderous.
I had forgotten quite how much I want to marry your James.
“I think we’re happy not walking towards a lunatic with a gun.”
REALLY, I HOPE HE DOES NOT KICK ME IN THE FACE WHEN HE LEAPS FROM MY SCREEN. (Or that you are treating him well as he is being kept as a hostage.)
“Depends on your definition of ‘friend’,”
Ahahaha your Owen is such an Owen. Obvs the 'you don't look much up to running' was amaze, but everyone has already quoted that. (Also, YOUR JAMES YOUR JAMES YOUR JAMES.)
“Hammond doesn’t die,”
RIONA I AM SEVERELY TEMPTED TO DRAW A MASSIVE HEART AROUND THIS. It would kind of ruin my screen. Also, you should get some sort of award for it, yo.
a more sympathetic tone wouldn’t be uncalled for
AHAHAHA OH JAMES YOU CLEARLY HAVE LITTLE EXPERIENCE WITH THE GITTISHNESS THAT IS OWEN. Also, ♥.
losing whatever tiny scrap of patience he may have had left
I sort of love this because it is like a thing that is basically the reality of Jeremy Clarkson.
“I can,” Jeremy muttered behind him
USE YOUR MIND-READING POWERS FOR GOOD, NOT EVIL.
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MAN RIONA THAT FIRST PARAGRAPH IS THE GREATEST.
I love the stages he goes through and the fact that YES OBVIOUSLY THEY WOULD DO THIS PRANK AND GO THAT FAR. I ♥ this cast so hard, and your writing of them is perfect omg.
Oh, and poor lovely confused Bradley, and crazy Uther, and the SARCASM OF JOY.
he’s paler than Colin usually is, anyway, and Bradley hadn’t even realised that was possible
OH WONDERFUL LINE OF FLAIL. Bradley and Colin! You writing delighful things about them!
maybe Arthur would be too thick to notice but Bradley doesn’t have to be This works on AT LEAST TWO GLORIOUS LEVELS. There is the charming caringness of Bradley, and the TOTAL AND UTTER FAIL OF ARTHUR.
Aww, and the scene between them is so charming!
trying to cover up his occasional wrong turns as subtly as he can
HEEE. My comments become increasingly incogherent.
Okay, Bradley's train of thought about Merlin? ALSO REALLY CUTE.
And the end! ♥ ♥ ♥! It's so funny, man.
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Thank you so much for these notes; they made me smile a lot. I'm glad you enjoyed the snippets!
SERIOUSLY THE DIRECTOR IS CREEPY LIKE A DERREN BROWN.
I began the Prison Break fic before I discovered Derren Brown, but upon rereading my reaction was '...er, this clearly awful person sort of reminds me of Derren.' Worrying!
If this was an actual film, that line would be on SO MANY ICONS.
Heee! I think this is my favourite thing anyone has ever said about a line I wrote.
REALLY, I HOPE HE DOES NOT KICK ME IN THE FACE WHEN HE LEAPS FROM MY SCREEN.
And this made me laugh really hard. How are your reviews always both immensely flattering and utterly hilarious?
And I'm so pleased you like the Bradley-in-Camelot fic so much! I couldn't quite work out what to do with it, but perhaps I should try to pick it up again at some point.
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