COMMENT FICLETS

[letterblade]

My writerbrain needs a jumpstart. So I'm doing that thing I sometimes do where I open myself for ficlet prompts and do my darndest to actually fill them all. Comment with a request and I'll comment back with fic.

First five prompts will get filled. I'll edit this post if I'm taking more beyond that. For a request, please give me a character/pairing and a prompt of some sort. Crossovers welcome.

Fandoms I'm Interested in Writing
Primarily...
Sekirei - new fandom squee! I need to make a pimping post for this, 'cause this is a fun series (anime and manga) that most people don't seem to know about. Probably because it's a harem anime. But it's a good harem anime.
Xenosaga
Secondarily...
Doctor Who - Eleventh Doctor era, specifically.
Final Fantasy XIII
Kingdom Hearts
Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Revolutionary Girl Utena
Star Trek - TNG or Voyager. Don't know enough DS9 canon, not interested in writing for original series or reboot.

...yeah, I know, a lot of you know nothing about any of these. If you're really interested in something else, ask me.

Comments

[laura47.livejournal.com]

doctor who/utena crossover!

[heavenscalyx.livejournal.com]

Whotena?

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

(...now with bonus fifth-Doctor references?)

"It's a planet!" Amy's in the lead, arms spread wide, grinning. "Finally a planet!"

"Er, yeah, I think it might be Mos Eisley." Rory tucks hands in his armpits and saunters after her. "It's certainly pretty hive-like. And scummy."

"That's not scum, that's a bio-chemical deposit formed by the interactions of the rock formations and the atmosphere." The Doctor squints into the bright blue sunlight and dances easily about a nosy vendor, hair ruffling in his eyes. "Quite pleasant-tasting, really, especially to the natives. Considered a delicacy." His humans are getting on ahead of him; he drags one fingertip against a rock, sucks it clean with a hum of appreciation. "Oh, probably poisonous to you two. Amy, Rory, Cantarella Spaceport, point of change for three solar systems and five sentient species, carved from the living stone..."

Far ahead of him. Up to the green-lit area where the passengers mingle, travelers looking for ships to give them passage, a motley mess of all sorts. His practiced eyes and the tingling awareness in the back of his brain spot two time travelers, one alien six galaxies from home, and--

Amy's talking to a little woman sitting in a corner. Short for a human. Humanoid. Whatever she was. Chocolate-cream skin, a ridiculous mass of purple hair, an impossibly twee pink suit, perched on a large suitcase with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Where are you headed, then?"

"I'm looking for someone," the stranger says, voice low and melodic. "What about you? You've come a far way, haven't you?"

"Ah, well." Amy bobs back and forth, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and grins. "I get about. For adventures, I suppose."

"A fine quest." The stranger smiles, slight and catlike.

The Doctor's brain itches. Not just his brain, either, but his right pinky and the backs of his knees. He hasn't felt anything like this since--

--six bodies ago in a cricketing uniform, hips aching from sitting still too long, brow furrowed and lip-bitten with his fingers framing a great blue crystal, focusing thought into energy into matter to fight the impossible fight, to battle a congealed idea--

The Doctor flips his screwdriver out of his pocket, runs one quick sweep of a scan, watches the readout lights pulse in confused alarm, and feels his heartbeats quickening. He closes the distance easily--gangly body, this new one, fun to gad about in--and slips between his humans, raising a hand slightly as if to shield Amy.

She, the stranger, the mara, looks up at him with grass-green eyes that contain universes.

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

"You shouldn't be here," he says quietly.

"Neither should you," she answers in kind.

"Doctor?" Amy starts.

"Hsh. You first." He pins the little woman with his best enigmatic-yet-menacing glare. Well, maybe his second best. Amy batting his hand out of the way is cramping his style. "I know what you are, and I know that this is not your natural form."

"It is now," she says mildly.

"You're a sentient idea," he says, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. Maybe that would make more sense of her. "A living symbol. You shouldn't have a body."

"Please tell me there's no psychic pollen," Rory mumbles under his breath.

A shadow crosses her face. "I spent...a long time, restricted, in a certain place. Where ideas became real. I am accustomed to being embodied now." Her voice has gone cold, clipped.

"What place?"

"A school. The projector is broken now, and the one who created it is...weakened. One cannot say that one of our kind is dead." She pauses, voice lightening again. "And what of you? You have no more right to exist than I."

"Yes, well, I'm stubborn like that. What, precisely, do you think I am?"

She smiles slightly. "One page still left of a book that has been burnt. An epilogue to a lost story."

"Metaphorical." The Doctor tightens his hand on his screwdriver, unwilling to admit how unsettling that was. Inhuman, she was, with inhuman perception; he doesn't have to deal with that much these days.

"Such is my nature." She stands, hair spilling behind her and curling in the scum-scented breeze. "You are not an idea, but you command and wield one of the greatest ideas of all."

"Well, command may be overstating the situation slightly."

"You breathe time," she says, offhandedly.

"All right, I'm lost," Rory says. "You're. An idea?"

"Yes."

"What idea? What are we talking about here? Something somebody thought once, or--"

"Think Jung, Rory," the Doctor says. "The great metaphorical concepts of the subconscious. The last one of these I met was the serpent. Unpleasant fellow."

"A girl who cannot be a princess," the stranger says calmly, "has no choice but to become a witch."

"Pardon?" Rory said.

"I am the witch."

Rory looks rather uncomfortable.

"Well, princesses are boring," Amy says briskly, as if she understood perfectly what she'd said and wasn't the least bit alarmed by it. The Doctor isn't particularly surprised by that. "Though aren't there other things to do than to be a witch?"

"Well, one could always be a prince instead," the stranger answers blandly. "But it's rather difficult."

The Doctor laughs, soft and wry. The TARDIS' translation feed, in that familiar bit of his hindbrain, is feeding him paragraph upon paragraph for every word the woman says now. Layers of meaning and symbolism, the language of thought. Rather difficult, she said. To be a prince. To save everybody, all the time. To be the man who makes people better. Either it kills you or you have to let one go. Watch one die. And another, and another, and with every death survive the hatred from yourself, the world, for failing to be the prince you claimed...

"Huh." Amy shrugs. "Well, who are you looking for?"

"The girl who became a prince."

The Doctor stares at her for one long moment, and then jolts into motion, suddenly, pointing back to the TARDIS. "Well, that's a good person to be looking for, isn't it? I think I'd rather like to meet her myself.

[heavenscalyx.livejournal.com]

STTNG: Beverly and Deanna drinking together and commenting on the relative attractiveness of their shipmates. Bonus points for random outbursts of bisexuality!

[sixthbrightest.livejournal.com]

I love your icon!

[heavenscalyx.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I got inspired one day and made a flurry of Troi icons.

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

A few weeks after that unfortunate incident with the water virus, Deanna discovers that the new bartender--the same one whose emotional output is roughly that of a subtly mysterious brick wall--makes the best girly fruity drinks she'd had since her psych rotation parties back on Betazed.

That same unfortunate incident had left her collaborating with the CMO, more closely than she had before; the medical and psychological cleanup had run them both ragged. So it's Beverly Crusher, several drinks in, to whom she's singing the praises of the chocolate martini, which might have surprised her a month ago, but one can never quite tell who one's closest friend on a new deployment will be.

Beverly tries the brilliant chocolate, makes a wry face, and orders a very dry red wine. "Too much time around Jean-Luc has turned me into an utter snob," she says, sipping it delicately. "Do you know his family has owned a vinyard for generations?"

"No. That's fascinating." Deanna swirls her martini. "He doesn't speak much of his private life, even with me."

"Mmm, he's like that. Always has been."

"Jean-Luc?" Deanna asks pointedly.

Beverly laughs. "Ah. Well. There's history."

Deanna thinks, unbidden, of Will. Damn it. "History?"

"He was my husband's best friend."

Deanna does her best to ignore the synthehol-tinged wash of complicated emotions dripping off Beverly, and declines to pry.

"What about you and our towering first officer?" Beverly asks, with a hint of mischief. "I don't have to be an empath to tell there's something there."

"Was." Deanna takes a very long drink. "Years ago. Once we were both in Starfleet, we put it on hold, and then when we were assigned to the Enterprise..."

"No shipboard romance?"

Deanna makes a face. "They can get so messy. Believe me, I've dealt with the fallout of more than one."

"Mmm. I see where you're going. Though I served with Jack, back then."

"Marriages are different. Something that long-term and stable tends to survive the hothouse effect." Deanna gestures vaguely with her swizzle-stick. "That's more-or-less a technical term."

"But you and Will are long-term...?"

"And have a rather ridiculous ability to make each other act like stupid teenagers. It would be a bad idea." She shrugs. "Besides, the Enterprise is worth it."

"That she is." Beverly glints at her over her wineglass. "Though in that magical universe where everything works out..."

"Oh, I'm sure in that universe I'm having a very good time." Deanna stares off in the middle distance and unfocuses slightly. She's a little drunk, maybe more than a little drunk, and too relaxed to throw off the synthehol haze. "What about you?"

"Well, it isn't just the shipboard romance matter. Though Jean-Luc would have a fit at the thought of doing anything with his crew...no, that's complicated."

"He seems a complicated man."

"Oh, yes."

"Magnificent, though." Deanna raises her eyebrows, mostly at what just came out of her mouth.

"Mmm." Beverly seems to be matching her state of contented drunkenness. "Especially his voice." She gulps a mouthful of wine. "I must say, I don't quite see what you see in Will. I mean, he's a fine officer, and objectively handsome, though he could really benefit from a beard..."

"No, he's quite straight," Deanna says absentmindedly.

Beverly blinks at her, and they both burst out laughing. "I know what you mean though," Deanna says. "He's got this babyfaced chin. But...oh. I have a weakness for tall, dark, and handsome. And rakish. Don't ever let him know I admit it, but rakish is a wonderful thing where I'm concerned. He's not allowed to know, because he'd just get incorrigible, but..."

"Ah, you put your finger on it. Rakish doesn't actually do much for me." Beverly turns her wineglass, contemplative. "Bit of a turn-off, actually."

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

"Really? Well. Beverly of the alternate universe where shipboard romance always works will just have to find somebody unrakish then."

"Well, who?"

Deanna sees where this is going and orders another martini. "Well..." She's quite used to running through crew rosters in her head. Usually not to this end, but... "LaForge?"

"Geordi? Oh, dear. I'd feel like I was cradle-robbing."

"He's not that young. And he's really quite..." Adorably eager was the first thing that came to Deanna's mind. Maybe she'd have to take that back. "Attractive."

Beverly gives her a quick grin of unbridled mischief. "Well, I never knew you felt that way. All right then. Worf?"

Deanna sputters her drink and laughs.

"Tall, dark, and handsome," Beverly prompts.

"You're horrible. And he is. Mmm. So uptight though." Deanna pauses. "May all the powers that be ensure that my mother never hears me uttering those words, or she might explode me with hypocrisy."

Beverly cackles.

"Data," Deanna says, emptying her glass.

Beverly blinks at her. "Is he even...?"

"Fully functional and programmed in multiple techniques. Don't ask me how I know this, I'd have to stonewall you." Yar had been fairly standoffish and defensive whenever Deanna had an appointment with her, but had opened up a little about what had happened under the water-virus influence.

"Oh. Interesting." It's Beverly's turn to stare off fuzzily. "That...that's an intriguing thought."

"Isn't it? He's unique. Completely unique. And such an interesting psychology..." Deanna stops herself from running off a little too much, from elaborating on her private musings on what it would be like to be with somebody with an inorganic mind, no emotional output whatsoever, completely unreadable. Data had almost alarmed her at first--what her eyes and ears told her was a person and her Betazoid hindbrain told her was an empty spot in space. But Deanna had always been the sort to turn fear into intrigue as a way of coping with it, and, well...

"Certainly a handsome body he's got," Beverly murmurs, shaking her out of her own rambling thoughts.

"Certainly," Deanna echoes, grinning. The bartender has deposited another martini with a cryptic cat-smile and drifted off, her strange purple robes wafting after her.

"So, er..." Beverly's searching her own crew roster, Deanna imagines. "Chief O'Brien?"

"Oh, dear," says Deanna. "Not physically attractive. Decent fellow, but...so old-fashioned."

Beverly laughs. "Have you met his girlfriend?"

"Keiko? He's a very lucky fellow." Deanna smiles. "Clearly he must have some hidden talents." They share mischievous smirks. "Lieutenant Yar," Deanna says.

Beverly sputters a little. "Pardon?"

"Tasha Yar. Please don't make me actually utter the phrase 'hot or not'?"

Beverly laughs. "Oh, yes. I'm rather straight. I think. You're not?"

"If you make one Betazoid joke, I'll have to throw something," Deanna says mildly. "And I--primarily, but." Largely because women fierce and, frankly, manly enough to catch her eye were rare.

"I mean, objectively she's quite lovely, I suppose. Though very...hard-edged."

"That's part of her beauty," Deanna says. "She's not...exactly my type, really, but still quite attractive."

"I can't quite see her doing rakish, no."

"Rare is the woman who can pull off rakish."

Beverly laughs. "Well, if it's going that way, then..." She pauses, leans close, and motions to the bartender.

Deanna blinks, thinks of that cryptic smile and the way her hindbrain can't quite process the woman's presence, gives her only a vague sense of something wise and enigmatic and ancient...

"Oh, out of my league!"

[heavenscalyx.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, I LOVE it. Especially the conclusion. Yes, Deanna, yes, she is, but that might pull at you for YEARS to come...

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

Something from the Sekirei multiplication table. You pick which pairing. :)

[wired-lizard.livejournal.com]

Where by "pick which pairing" I mean "fire up the random pairing generator and reload until it gives us one within that set..."

Matsu/Minato.

Want to give me any more specific a prompt?

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

Yay random pairing generator! I want to play with it.

Hmm... Something in the aftermath of the bridge arc (and Matsu venturing outside.)

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

I would love a Sekirei/Utena crossover, preferably involving Miya.

[nevacaruso.livejournal.com]

Prompt: Harvest.

[fiddledragon]

No writing prompt from me - but I'd be interested in learning more about Sekirei - if only because it might be an anime/manga that Beena might be interested in?

[londo.livejournal.com]

http://londo.livejournal.com/28215.html

[slipjig.livejournal.com]

Oooh! Hope I'm not too late!

Okay, you know I have to go with Doctor Who on this, so: Eleventh Doctor and co. picking up Ace for one last spin.