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Prompts for fics, anyone?
Okay, the last time I tried this, I never actually finished the drabbles. But I need to write something and I'm finding it hard to just *pick* an idea to write.
So give me a prompt for any of these: SGA, due South, House, Good Omens, Firefly, Daniel and H, and I'll try to write you something.
So give me a prompt for any of these: SGA, due South, House, Good Omens, Firefly, Daniel and H, and I'll try to write you something.
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And tag, babe, you're it.
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Aziraphale glanced at him, looking halfway between concerned and amused. “Better than you killing us both in a fiery auto crash.” He pursed his lips. “I’d really prefer not to spend the next three weeks filling out the new Corporal Manifestation Forms. They’re up to WZ-223, now.”
“As if Hell is any better.” Crowley retorted. His voice rose an octave as he mimicked a fussy voice: “We Just Give You A Body Last Century, Don’t Tell Us You’ve Ruined It Already!” He sighed, slumping down further and added petulantly. “’Ssssides, I can drive.”
Aziraphale looked skeptically at him.
“Oh, ssshut up, angel.” Crowley sat up straighter and tried to sober up. “Ouch.” It didn’t work this time either.
Aziraphale was now openly smiling at him. “Bless off,” he said and made a gesture which had been extremely rude in ancient Sumeria**.
The angel didn’t even look discomfited. Maybe Crowley needed new rude gestures. He simply turned his eyes back on the road. “This is why we’re never going back to Brighton, my dear.”
*A grandmother who baked cookies and had a rocking chair, to be precise. Not one who took up kickboxing and had more of a love life than her grandchildren.
**The gesture involved both hands, the tip of the left ear and a subtle twisting of the tongue. Crowley wasn’t sure whether he could do it sober.
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“Your wild animal happened to them, that’s what,” he said, glaring down at his arms. The wounds disappeared with a whoosh of air. They wouldn’t have dared to do otherwise
Aziraphale looked at him like he had lost his mind. “My…wild animal?”
“That thing.” Crowley said tersely, jerking his head towards the malevolent being of fuzziness that hissed at him from the corner.
The angel’s face cleared. “Oh, you mean Neko!” He scooped up the kitten in his, Crowley noted in disgust, completed unmarked arms. “Don’t worry about the big bad demon,” Aziraphale cooed to it, “he’s really a softy at heart.”
Crowley glared at him. Unfortunately, neither Aziraphale or the kitten disappeared. “Just for that, you’re paying for lunch, angel.”
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Poor Crowley - Aziraphale and his fluffy minions leave him no dignity :-)
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dS: RayV in Vegas, having deep and meaningful conversation with a hooker.
OR
House: House and Wilson are arguing about stethoscopes. Do not ask me how people can possibly argue about a stethoscope. I have confidence that House and Wilson will find a Way.
*flails* OMG DRABBLES!
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“Same thing I have against lab coats,” started House, not looking up from his Game Boy, “they make my delicate skin itch.”
Wislon snorted. “You’re just afraid if someone can identify you as a doctor, they might ask you to actually treat them.”
“Hey, high score!” House crowed.
Wilson sighed.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” House asked sweetly. “If it was about whether you could buy me lunch at the new deli, then why yes, darling, I’ll love that.” He batted his eyes.
“Bastard.”
“Does that mean Chinese again?”
Wilson threw up his hands. “Fine! But we are not taking the motorcycle.”
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Over his guffaws, Kowalski was chanting, “I hate you, I hate Welsh, I hate Saint Valentine, even!” He punctuated each statement with a jab of his plastic foot-long arrow, his white feathery wings almost sliding off his back.
It was close thing, but Ray managed to get a hold of himself enough to choke out, “Just tell the bad guys you’ll fix ‘em up if they confess,” before collapsing in laughter again. If looks could kill, Kowalski’s could’ve beaten him up, kicked him in the head and left him in the street for little old ladies to whack with surprisingly heavy bags.
Which was, of course, when Welsh came back in. “And this will be your costume, Vecchio,” he announced, dropping a long piece of flowing material into Ray’s arms. All hilarity drained, Ray straightened up and looked at the outfit, horrified.
It was pink.
He didn’t have to look up to know that Kowalski was grinning, but he did anyway. “Your halo’s slipping,” Ray informed him.
If possible, Kowalski’s grin grew even larger. “Bite me.”
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I say SGA, and obviously crack, because, well, it is sga, so:
They finally have found a way to recharge ZPM's, so the city is fully powered. John wants to take it for a drive test, so we've got SGA meets Star Trek, with John as Captain
Kirkof the U.S.S. Atlantis, Rodney as Dr. McKay (the guy who uses logic but it is so totally ruled by emotion), Teyla as the hot chick who keeps translating things, Ronon as the scary security guy and token stoic alien, and random officers, cause I want Carson being Scottish in Engineering and not understanding anything, and Radek just being there.no subject
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Well, I still think it should be crack. I love your SGA/QE crossover so...
Future-fic: The guys come back to Earth from Pegasus because their assistance is needed in the Biographical/sci-fi series that's being made about their lives. So, the ins and out of shooting the show, the casting call, the script as written per each of them, etc.
I imagine Rodney obviously wanting his character to be the superhero, John having some real issues with the hair of the guy they casted to play him, Teyla bitching because her character dresses completely inappropriately, Ronon staring at his character and mumbling he can totally take him, and so on, and so forth.
You get cookie-points if the writers cry when they try to explain Rodney that the show is pg-13, so the can't show his and John's character actually having sex.
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John eyed it warily. “You do scream like a little girl, McKay,” he commented dryly.
The force of Rodney’s glower promised a life spent sleeping on the lumpy hotel armchair, having alternatively freezing and burning showers and drinking decaf airport coffee.
John swallowed hard and attempted to look conciliatory. “Besides, you’re not the only one whose portrayal is screwed up.”
“Oh, please, like I care that the guy playing Ronon is 5’2 and painted purple or that Teyla’s character looks and acts like a teenybopper.” Rodney rolled his eyes.
“I wasn’t talking about Teyla and Ronon.”
Now Rodney just looked disgusted. “Like you have anything to worry about, Colonel. Your character gets all the heroics and most of the chicks.” He paused, and looked thoughtful. “Well ,except for the episode where you turn into an eight-year-old* but even that should have women bursting their ovaries.”
“Rodney,” John bit out, “They shaved off the hair. That’s just mean.”
*with all due respect to
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