rionaleonhart | And I Should Probably Finish That Supernatural/Pushing Daisies Crossover Some Day.

Passing on a recommendation from

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.

And I Should Probably Finish That Supernatural/Pushing Daisies Crossover Some Day.

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